A man walked down a long stone corridor. Every ten feet there was a torch lit on either side of it, and when he reached the end of the hall, the man turned around and walked back in the other direction. At first he’d tried counting the number of times he’d paced from one side of the hall to the other, but every time he heard a cry or a groan from the room, he lost count. Instead he focused on just putting one foot in front of the other.

There was another cry from the room, and he stopped walking for a moment feeling his heart speed up at the sound of her in pain. He exhaled and started pacing again, trying to lose himself to the sound of his boots hitting the stones beneath him, in the warmth of the torches he passed, but it was as hopeless as all of his other attempts.

He heard another cry and stopped in his tracks again, clutching his chest as his heart tried to beat out of it. He exhaled again and leaned down, steadying himself by placing a hand on the chair he was meant to be sitting in. He was a king. He’d fought wars, hung attempted usurpers, and kept his people under control with an iron fist yet he was laid low by the sound of his wife’s cries every single time.

His own father had been soft in that way. Totally beholden to his queen, his brothers, and his friends. He’d given away land and titles like candy, and left him in a precarious place once he took the throne. It had taken blood and sweat to claw all of that power back to the throne. The last step was an heir. A boy would be best, but he could make do with a girl. There had been a warrior queen a few generations back that he could model her after. Still, a boy was clearer, though with how many stillborn they’d already buried, he would take whatever was granted him.

He heard his wife cry out again, and his mind was washed clean with his worry of her. The back of the chair he was clutching shattered as his grip tightened. He brushed the splinters from his hands as he started pacing again. All those thoughts of needing to be strong and do better than his father, but just like him he was beside himself with worry for his wife. He would give the whole damned kingdom away to make sure that she would be alright, his crown to ease her suffering. He managed a gravelly chuckle at that thought. No one would be more against that than her. While his mother had been a sweet if spoiled woman, he’d married a woman that was strong. A woman that stoked the fires of his ambition, that brought him to life and placed a sword in his hand herself whenever he went to war.

The King was all the way down the hall when there was another cry, this one greater than any of the others and tinged with relief at the end. He ran to the door, covering the distance in less than a second and stood, straining his ears at the door, hoping that her cry would be joined by another. He waited for a few moments, and was rewarded by a small cough followed by a powerful cry. His heart leapt, and after a few moments the crying stopped.

The midwife, a stout woman that had acted as his queen’s caretaker through most of her life, opened the door with a smile on her face as she wiped her hands and arms clean with a towel.

“Are you ready to meet your son, my lord?” she asked.

“I am,” he said with a warm smile.

She nodded and pushed the door open. “I’ll go get the diviner to heal her and check on the princeling.”

The King resisted pushing past her and instead made his way as dignified as he could to his wife’s bedside. She looked wan and tired, but when their eyes met hers were full of fierce pride. He was next to her in an instant taking a moment to kiss her forehead as he looked at the small form pressed against her chest. He ran a hand across the surprisingly thick head of black hair, a match for his own, and smiled as his chest swelled with pride.

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“I have given you a son, my love. My lord.”

“The greatest gift anyone has ever granted me,” he said, smiling at her.

“It’ll be far easier to keep your nephew and the others in their place now.”

He laughed. “Your mind never rests does it?”

She shook her head. “Trust me, it was far better to focus on that problem than the pain I’d been dealing with. Besides, we know our enemies never stop plotting. We have no time to rest either.”

There was a knock on the door, and the diviner let himself in.

“I am sorry to interrupt my lords, I am here to heal her majesty and ensure that the child is of this world.”

The king nodded. “Of course. Please see to my Queen’s health first.”

The man bowed. “Yes my lord.” He walked over to the bed and held out his hand for the Queen. She grasped it strongly and gold energy began to emanate from him onto her, restoring some of the color to her cheeks and giving her strength back. He himself paled a bit from the effort. He wasn't a young man anymore, and even this amount of healing had become enough to drain him.

“My lady, you’re hurting my hand,” said the healer with a wince.

She loosened her grip. “I’m sorry, Julius.”

He rubbed his hand and nodded. “It’s no trouble, your majesty.” He gestured to the babe in her arms. “May I?”

She nodded, and handed it to him. The baby whined a bit, but otherwise stayed quiet as the diviner looked at him, focusing on his titles and deeds.

The King and Queen were unconcerned about the chance of their child being a taker. They had lost so many of their children that they could not imagine the cruelty of a world that would take another of their blood in such a way. That changed when the diviner’s gentle smile began to dip, his brows furrowing.

“What is it?” asked the Queen.

The Diviner looked at her with sadness in his eyes. “I’m afraid… a taker has killed your child.”

They stood there silent for several moments, none of them saying anything as the weight of what the Diviner had said settled down on them.

“It is our responsibility to take him into the woods and let this world decide if he should walk free upon it or not.”

“No,” said the Queen.

The King looked at her, surprised at the terrible certainty in her voice. He realized that she wasn’t looking at the diviner, she was looking at him.

“I am sorry my queen, but the laws are clear. None are spared from them. I have taken many takers into the woods for barons and counts many times. Your child is already dead.”

“No. My son is alive and in your arms. He will inherit this kingdom and continue the work of his father. There is no other option.”

The king turned from her to look at the diviner, his own expression now sharing the dread certainty that she had. He started to take several steps toward Julius.

“Sir?” he said, backing up a step involuntarily. “What are you doing?”

“Hand me the babe,” said the king, holding out his arms. “Just let me hold him once.”

The diviner hesitated, but held out the babe and the king scooped him up, staring into eyes that matched those of his wife, swearing he could see something swimming beneath them.

The king looked at the diviner. “You were a good man,” he said, before slamming the side of his hand into his neck with a strike that held the total of his terrible strength. The diviner’s neck snapped and his body hit the far wall, crumpling into a pile.

He brought the babe back to his love and handed it to her.

“This will not be a tragedy. This will be a victory.”

He gently pushed her hair from his face, understanding her. “He will be stronger than other princes. Perhaps have the wisdom of age to help guide him and our kingdom.”

She nodded. “And if he doesn’t, it’ll be far easier to break a man wearing our child's skin than it would be to discipline a soul actually forged by our love.”

The King looked at his hand, still feeling the impact with the diviner’s neck. He grasped hers, feeling the strength of her hand in his. “He will be a prince among princes, and someday a king among kings.” He looked at the dead diviner in the corner. “All we need to do is make sure that all the loose ends are tied up.”

The door opened, and the midwife walked inside.