Five and a Half Months Later

Ella

A strange atmosphere hangs over the palace today, and I admit I don't quite know how to feel. It's half dread, half excited anticipation—at least, that's how it feels for everyone else. For me? It's just a great deal of discomfort.

"Ella," Cora scolds as I try to bend over and pick up one of Rafe's socks. "Let me do that—"

"I can do it!" I gasp, reaching for it.

But I stumble and almost fall. Cora catches me.

"Enough!" she snaps, shaking her head. "Back to bed! Stop getting out of it! You're six months pregnant—full term! For heaven's sake, if you fall, I'm scared you'll split like a watermelon and spill the baby out."

"That might be better," I mutter, glaring at the sock and heading back to bed. "This baby is big, and I'm not precisely looking forward to pushing her out."

"Well, what did you expect?" Cora says, tossing the sock into a hamper and following me. "You decided to have babies with the most gigantic man I've ever seen."

"First," I say, holding up a finger as I settle onto the bed, "I didn't choose to have children with that gigantic man. I chose a nice, slim sperm donor for my first child—"

"Yeah, well, you chose to have the second baby," Cora reminds me, raising an eyebrow as she sits beside me.

"And second," I say, ignoring her logic, "Rafe was a little baby. It's not my fault this one is content to stay put as long as possible." I sigh, resting my head against the pillows and placing my hands on my belly.

"Poor sister," Cora coos, stroking my stomach. "She'll be here soon enough."

What Cora says is true. I've been in pre-labor for a couple of hours, experiencing mild, irregular contractions. Cora says they're unlikely to be Braxton Hicks at this stage. So, baby girl is coming soon, even if she's taking her sweet time.

"Remember how crazy it was when Rafe was born?" I say softly.

"I do," she replies. "Do you miss it?"

I smirk, peeking at her through my eyelids. "Do I miss almost dying, fearing for my life, and having to give birth in a strange palace because the roads to the hospital were blocked?"

She shrugs. "Well, do you?"

"Maybe a little," I murmur, then laugh. "It was all very exciting. Poor baby girl needs a fuss, too."

"We'll give her plenty of fuss," Cora says, running her hand across my stomach. "Besides, in two months, we get to have her baptism, and then it's Aunt Cora's revenge."

"Cora," I groan. "Honestly, it wasn't so bad—"

"I'm going to come back from it soaked," she says, grinning, "covered in mud, with an insane story about your daughter's future—"

"You know," I say, sitting up and glaring at her, "you don't have to be her godmother—"

"Oh, whatever, Ella," Cora says, rolling her eyes and laughing. "Like you have any other friends."

"I have plenty of friends—" I protest, but our unserious fight ends abruptly when the door opens and our mates enter, carrying our sons.

Rafe cries happily when he sees me. "Mama!" he calls, reaching for me.

"Whoa, kid," Sinclair laughs, catching Rafe before he falls. He sets Rafe on his feet, and the little boy totters to the bed, breaking my heart with his cuteness.

"Hey, Rafey!" I call, reaching for him. He bumps into the bed, giggles, and Cora lifts him so he can cuddle with me.

"God, when did he get so big?" Cora murmurs.

"Don't remind me," I sigh, kissing my son. He's one now. I cried all day on his birthday. Sinclair was honestly a little freaked out.

"He's a show-off," Roger says, sitting beside Cora with Jesse in his lap. Sinclair sits beside me.

"Roger's just jealous," Sinclair says, kissing my cheek. "Because Rafe is faster than Jesse."

"Jesse's six months old," Cora says, rolling her eyes.

"He could be faster in six months," Sinclair says dryly.

"Don't worry, Jesse," Roger says fondly, petting his son's hair. "You'll beat that meatball someday—you're lighter and quicker—"

I laugh at my ridiculous family. "I can't believe you're debating which kid will win a footrace when I'm lying here in agony—"

"She's not in agony," Cora says dismissively, "not yet, at least—"

"In agony," I insist, smacking her arm.

"Sorry, my Queen," Sinclair sighs, wrapping his arms around me. "But the good news is that everything's wrapped up. Roger and I have cleared our calendars, so now there's nothing to do but concentrate on you."

"Yeah, so you'd better make it fun," Roger quips. "When Cora was in labor, there were drinks—you've got to live up to this, Ella."

Cora laughs and smacks her mate. He pretends to be in agony, taking Jesse with him and making the baby laugh, muttering something about an abusive wife and mother.

I laugh, then turn to Sinclair. "How's it going out there? Everything okay?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," he murmurs.

"I know," I say quietly. "Doesn't mean I don't want to know. It's my nation, too."

Sinclair smiles sadly and presses his forehead to mine. He shares information through our bond, showing me the Atalaxians are losing leverage. Everything is going according to plan, but fighting has increased.

"I'm sorry, Dominic," I murmur, touching his cheek. "I know it's not easy to send people to war."

"Nothing for us to worry about today," he sighs, kissing my palm. "Today is about you and the baby."

I nod, agreeing. It's been harder than I thought to separate our personal lives from the war, but we've been good about celebrating happy moments.

"I can't believe you haven't named the baby yet," Roger says. "Didn't you have Rafe's name from the start?"

"We did," I say, running my hand over my stomach. "But he was easy—he told us what he liked."

"With this one, we have names picked out," Sinclair says. "But she hasn't indicated any favorites."

"So we're waiting to see what she looks like," I say.

"I think that's sweet," Cora says. "Very old-school."

"I know," I say, smiling. "It's cool that she's so different."

"Next one," Roger says, putting Jesse on his stomach for tummy time, "we're picking the name out of a hat."

Cora shakes her head, making me laugh. The laughter ends with another contraction. I exhale, pressing my eyes shut. It's intense, though not yet painful.

"Time to get the stopwatch ready, daddy," Cora says to Sinclair. "I think these are close enough together to start timing them."

"I'm on it," Sinclair says, kissing my cheek and leaving the bed. "And in between, we can use the stopwatch on the boys—see which one is really faster—"

"Oh my god," I mutter, breathing through the pain.

Cora laughs. "We're not racing the babies while we wait for Ella to go into delivery!" she shouts after Sinclair as he grabs his stopwatch.

"Oh, baby," Roger says, patting Cora's knee. "Yes yes we are."