Chapter 163 Nothing will ever matter more
DARIAN
Five months later
The scream shatters me.
It rips through the birthing chamber like the sound of something breaking—something living, something I can’t survive without. Iris’s fingers claw at the sheets, her knuckles white, her face twisted in agony as another contraction seizes her.
“Iris,” I choke out, trying to touch her, to ground her, to do something, anything
“DON’T—” she gasps, eyes squeezed shut, voice cracking under the weight of the pain, “don’t talk…I…can’t…Darian…”
Her breath cuts off. She arches off the bed.
The healer at her bedside looks up, face pale. “The contraction is too strong, hold her steady, Your Majesty!”
I’m already there. My hands cradle her shoulders, trying to support her without restraining her, but she’s shaking so hard I can feel the tremors in my bones.
“Breathe, Iris,” I whisper, even though she told me not to talk. “Just breathe.”
She screams again, raw, primal.
My wolf claws at my insides, howling, desperate, ready to tear apart the world to end her pain. But there’s nothing I can fight. Nothing I can kill. Nothing I can threaten.
This is our son coming into the world.
And it’s tearing her apart.
The healer checks her again, and her breath stutters. “The child is large, far larger than predicted. And the position, Goddess…”
My blood turns to ice.
“What?” I snap. “What’s wrong?”
She swallows, eyes flicking to Iris’s trembling body. “He’s turned. Breach. And the womb is under strain. We must proceed carefully or…”
“Or what?” My voice drops into a deadly growl.
The healer flinches. “Or the queen may not survive the birth.”
My world stops.
Everything inside me goes cold. Quiet.
The kind of quiet right before something breaks.
I turn my head slowly toward Iris. Sweat pools at her temples, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged gasps. Her eyes flicker open, barely, and they meet mine.
There’s pain, there's fear, but there’s also something steady, something brave.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, though her voice trembles violently. “I can do this.”
Another contraction slams through her body and she cries out, her hand flying to grip mine. Her nails dig into my skin, sharp enough to draw blood, but I don’t even flinch.
“Stay with me,” she sobs, pushing her forehead against my shoulder. “Please, Darian…don’t let go.”
“I’m here,” I breathe into her hair. “I’m here. I’m not moving. Not even for a second.”
The healer shouts, “She needs to push, NOW!”
“I can’t!” Iris gasps, shaking violently. “It hurts, I can’t…”
“You can,” I say, cupping her face, forcing her to see me, to anchor herself in me. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. You can.”
Her tears spill hot onto my fingers.
The next contraction hits and she screams—a sound so raw it rips something open inside me. The healers move quickly. Commands fly across the room. Towels and water and glowing runes. The scent of blood hits my nose.
Too much blood.
Far, far too much.
“He’s coming,” one healer says.
“Another push, Your Majesty.”
“Her pulse is dropping!”
“The womb…Goddess…hold pressure—”
“Push!”
The room is chaos. Magic crackles. Healers’ hands tremble. The midwife’s voice wavers as she shouts the next instruction. Iris sobs into my chest, her whole body shaking as she bears down with everything she has.
“Iris, look at me,” I beg, brushing her soaked hair back. “Look at me. Breathe. Breathe, my love…”
She tries. Goddess, she tries.
The pain crashes over her again and she screams. No sound in the world has ever hurt me more.
Then I see it, one healer’s expression twists in panic.
“There’s tearing…bad tearing!”
My heart stops.
Another voice speaks. “She’s losing too much blood!”
My wolf roars inside me, feral and helpless.
“Then FIX IT!” I snarl, my voice shaking the walls. “Save her!”
“We’re trying, Your Majesty…”
Iris sags back against the pillows, breath hitching, eyes fluttering closed.
“NO! no, no—” I cup her face, tapping her cheek.
“Iris, stay awake. Iris. LOOK at me.”
Her eyelids tremble.
“Darian…” she whispers weakly.
“I’m here,” I say again, my voice breaking for the first time in years. “Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare.”
Her head lolls for a second, and terror claws into me so violently I almost lose my breath.
“PUSH!” the healer screams.
Iris forces her eyes open. And she does. With the last of her strength, she pushes.
She screams.
She sobs.
She shakes.
The world holds its breath.
Then, the sharp, piercing cry of a newborn fills the chamber.
Everything stops.
The healers scramble, the midwife lifts the child, wrapped in trembling hands, blood and new life shining on his skin.
“It’s a boy,” she breathes. “A strong, healthy boy.”
My knees nearly give out.
But Iris, she goes limp.
“IRIS!”
I catch her before her body sinks too low, lifting her, holding her against me.
“She’s fainted,” one healer says. “Blood loss. But she’s alive. We must heal the tearing now, quickly, quickly…bring salves…pressure…”
Voices blur together.
All I hear is her heartbeat. Weak.
But there.
Still there.
I press my forehead to hers, my body shaking uncontrollably. “Iris… please… stay with me.”
Minutes, or hours, or lifetimes pass.
Finally, a healer steps back, sweat on her brow. “Her bleeding has slowed. The magic is holding.”
I exhale shakily, everything inside me collapsing.
A soft cry rises behind us.
The midwife approaches slowly, gently placing the small, wriggling bundle into Iris’s arms. Iris stirs, her eyelids fluttering. She looks exhausted, ashen, but alive.
Her gaze falls on the baby.
And her breath catches.
“Oh…” she whispers, tears instantly filling her eyes. “Darian… look at him…”
I look.
And the world just falls away.
He’s perfect.
Dark hair. Tiny fists clenched.
Our son.
Iris cradles him weakly, her fingers trembling as she strokes his cheek.
“He’s beautiful,” she whispers, voice trembling. “He’s… ours.”
I can’t speak. My throat is too tight. My chest too full. I lean down, brushing my lips against her temple.
“You did it,” I whisper. “You fought, Iris. You brought him here.”
She looks up at me, tears streaming softly. A beat passes.
“What should we name him?” I ask gently, brushing a tear from her cheek.
She looks down at our son for a long moment, her fingers softly tracing the line of his tiny nose.
Then she whispers, voice trembling with emotion:
“Kelvin.”
My breath catches.
Heat floods my chest. Grief and love and something indescribable twist together inside me, so powerful I have to close my eyes.
Kelvin.
My brother, the one who gave up his life so we could be here. Gone but never forgotten.
A wound that never fully healed.
I open my eyes and look at Iris.
She chose it for me. For us
To honor the past and celebrate the future.
“Thank you,” I breathe, voice cracking. “Goddess, Iris… thank you.”
I press my lips to hers. A kiss full of love, relief, and the thousand things I can’t articulate.
She whispers against my mouth, “I love you, Darian.”
“I love you,” I whisper back, my forehead resting against hers. “More than anything. More than life.”
Our son lets out a small cry, soft and demanding.
Kelvin.
Our Kelvin.
And in that moment, with Iris in my arms and our son between us, I know nothing in this world will ever matter more than them.
THE END