Chapter 235: The Royal Heirs #56: Theodore
I pulled the sterile blue scrubs over my boxers, fingers fumbling slightly with the drawstring as another of Emma's pained gasps reached my ears. The sound twisted something in my chest, that instinctive need to protect her warring with the knowledge that this pain was necessary, productive—bringing our daughters into the world. With a deep breath, I grabbed my phone from the counter, typing a quick message to Christian: "Emma in labour. Twins coming. Let Elijah know." I didn't wait for a response, already moving back to where my mate needed me, even if she could no longer feel my presence through our severed bond.
Aeson stirred restlessly within me, his golden energy pulsing with a mixture of anticipation and lingering grief. Pups coming, he insisted, his thoughts sharp with excitement. Mate needs us.
Five weeks had passed since the trials, five weeks of learning to navigate the strange emptiness where our mate bond had been. In those weeks, Emma and I had developed new ways to communicate—touches that lingered, expressions studied with careful attention, words chosen deliberately where once emotions had flowed freely between us. It wasn't the same, could never be the same, but we'd discovered that love persisted even when magic failed. Perhaps especially then.
Emma's face was flushed with exertion, tendrils of dark hair clinging to her damp forehead as I returned to her bedside. She reached for my hand without looking, her fingers finding mine with the certainty of long familiarity. Her other hand gripped the bed rail so tightly her knuckles had gone white, the bones visible beneath her skin.
"Here," I murmured, accepting a damp cloth Amelia passed me. I dabbed it gently across Emma's forehead, wiping away the perspiration that beaded there. "You're doing amazing, Emma. Our baby girls will be here soon."
She nodded, her green eyes finding mine with an intensity that almost—almost—made up for the absence of her thoughts in my mind. Then her face contorted, another contraction building. Her hand clamped down on mine with unexpected strength, her breath coming in controlled pants as she rode out the wave of pain.
"That's it," I encouraged, ignoring the pressure on my fingers. "Breathe through it, just like we practiced."
"Easy for you to say," she gasped when the contraction eased, though a smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. "You try pushing two wolves out of your—"
Her words cut off as another contraction followed rapidly on the heels of the last. Amelia, who had been monitoring from the foot of the bed, looked up with professional excitement.
"They're coming faster now," she observed, her hands steady as she checked Emma's progress. "You're fully dilated, Your Majesty. The first twin is in position." She met Emma's eyes with calm confidence. "Alright, mama, one big push for me on the next contraction."
Emma's grip on my hand tightened impossibly as the next wave built. She bore down with a cry that tore at something primal inside me, her body arching with effort. I heard a distinct crack from somewhere near my hand, but the sensation registered as nothing more than distant information—irrelevant compared to the miracle unfolding before me.
"That's it, push!" Amelia encouraged, her attention focused entirely on the space between Emma's legs. "The head is crowning—one more push, Your Majesty!"
Emma collapsed back against the pillows, drawing a deep breath before bearing down again with a primal scream that seemed to come from somewhere beyond conscious thought. And then—
The room filled with a new sound: the indignant, powerful cry of our first daughter entering the world. The sound struck me like a physical force, stopping my breath, suspending time itself as Amelia quickly bundled the tiny, squirming form, wiping fluid from her face with practiced motions.
"Here she is," Amelia announced, laying our daughter on Emma's chest. "The first princess has arrived."
Emma sobbed—not in pain now, but in a joy so pure it seemed to illuminate her from within. Her arms cradled our daughter with instinctive protectiveness, fingers tracing the perfect miniature features with reverence. I leaned forward, pressing my lips first to Emma's forehead, tasting salt and sweetness, then bending to place the gentlest of kisses on our daughter's impossibly soft head.
"She's perfect," I whispered, my vision blurring with tears I didn't bother to hide. "Perfect."
The next twenty minutes passed in a strange blur of time—simultaneously eternal and instantaneous. Emma labored with renewed strength, now that she'd seen our first daughter, determined to complete our family. Amelia alternated between checking the first twin and coaching Emma through the delivery of the second.
"Here comes her sister," Amelia announced as Emma pushed once more. "Almost there—one more push!"
Emma's face contorted with effort, a sound somewhere between a growl and a scream tearing from her throat as she gave a final, powerful push. The room filled again with the miraculous sound of new life as our second daughter announced her arrival with indignant wails that rivalled her sister's.
Amelia moved with efficient grace, cleaning and bundling our second daughter before handing her to me. The weight of her in my arms—so light, yet somehow containing the entire universe—stole my breath. I stood transfixed, staring down at the tiny face, the button nose, the delicate ears that might one day point slightly like mine in Lycan form.
"Bring her here," Emma urged, her voice hoarse but filled with yearning.
I carefully transferred our second daughter to Emma's arms, watching as she gazed with wonder at the two small bundles now nestled against her chest. Amelia continued her work, checking Emma's condition with professional thoroughness, but I barely registered her presence. My entire world had narrowed to these three beings—my mate and our daughters, miraculously whole and healthy despite everything fate had thrown against us.
"They're both perfectly healthy," Amelia announced, pulling off her gloves with a snap that finally drew my attention. "And so are you, Your Majesty. Congratulations to you both."
She slipped away, giving us a moment of privacy—the first moment alone with our complete family. I sat carefully on the edge of the bed, one arm around Emma's shoulders, the other hand gently touching each daughter's cheek in turn.
"They need names," Emma said softly, looking up at me with eyes that shone with exhaustion and joy.
I nodded, studying their tiny faces. "I still like Astra for this one," I suggested, touching our firstborn's cheek with a gentle finger. "It means 'of the stars.'"
"Astra," Emma repeated, trying the name on her tongue. "Yes, that fits her." She glanced down at our second daughter. "And Meira for her. It means 'light' or 'one who illuminates.'"
"Astra and Meira," I said, the names settling into my heart as if they had always been there, waiting to be discovered. "Our daughters."
The words felt sacred in my mouth—a prayer, a promise, a triumph over all who had tried to prevent this moment. Without our bond, I couldn't share the depth of my emotions with Emma directly, but as her eyes met mine, I knew she felt the same wonder, the same fierce love that threatened to overwhelm me completely.