The arrival of the queen's first and last heir came on the dawn of the day of May's first morning, right as the rays of the sun first began to rise above the mountains that made up his future kingdom's northern border.
To his long-exhausted mother, his arrival was more than just a relief- it was an omen, a blessing gifted straight from the gods. For in her time of rule, her land had been not peaceful, but wracked with war and mistrust for almost as long as she had known it; and so it had been since the time of her father, and his father's father, whose wealth and greed had toppled others from their thrones and set the kingdoms around them against him. She had been born into war, and she had fought for peace and prosperity since she was but a child, her rule gifted to her early by an assassin's blade lodged deep in her father's throat. Politics, mistrust, and hatred had been her rotten playground; it had only been one year since she had been freed from its grasp, and it was on the dawn of the anniversary of the treaty she had wrought when her first son had been born to her.
And so it was that when she heard the harsh, desperate sound of a baby's wail- her pup clearing his lungs for the first time, announcing the kindling light of his life to the world- the growl that tore from her ragged throat was not one of pain, but of triumph. It had been a long, painful pregnancy, and an even more long and painful birth, and it had been one that she had emerged triumphant from. To her pain-riddled, weary mind, it had been another battle, one that had been more personal and more agonizing to her than any of the others she had fought in her life, including times where she had ridden out on the forefront of her army to fight among the people she called her own. And it was with a surge of fierce triumph that she realized that finally, her battle was over; she had fought, and she had won, and she now had someone to finally call her own, a family that had been denied to her for far, far too long.
The prayer-songs her midwives sang to thank the gods for a successful birth fell silent. Only the baby still wailed, outraged at his harsh arrival to the world, and the tired alpha on the bed opened her eyes for the first time in hours, gazing hazily but intently at the squalling infant, her pain-shrouded eyes lighting up with newfound vigor as she listened to her child scream.
Her growl faded, tapering down to a warm, rumbling croon, though her pheromones still spread sharp through the air, bitter with lingering pain, harsh with the instinctual overprotectiveness of an alpha. Bloodstained sheets shifted around her bare legs as she strained to rise, to calm her pup as her instincts demanded; only then did the watchers in the room move again, scolding her quietly as they laid her back to rest, soothing her with whispering promises of her child's well being. The head of the midwives (a matronly old omega with clear grey eyes and smile lines carved into her face, set apart from the youthful others) was the only one to calm her successfully, however; she had been there for her queen's birth, and she had been there to soothe her as her lonely pregnancy took a toll on her mind and body. And it was this omega who finally laid her pup into her arms, and it was this omega who watched with quiet satisfaction as the bedraggled queen on the bed slowly curled her arms around her baby, fierce, wondrous joy slowly lighting up her face as she watched him settle on her chest, the crooning of his dam soothing him to sleep.
"Your pup is quite alright. He's got strong lungs and he's not afraid to use them, as you might have heard, and he's a healthy weight. He's as fit as a fiddle, and he's just as strong as his mother is, if the fight he put up was any indication," the midwife said quietly, not wanting to disturb the moment. The new mother's shoulders were trembling, ever so slightly, as she began to register the weight of what she had brought into the world. "You've gone and given us a right fine heir, you have; all your worries have been for naught."
"He…" the queen murmured, stroking a hand lightly over her pup's fine golden hair. "So my mate was right; we have a son. Of course, I've never doubted him- it is an omega's god-given instinct to know these things- but it feels so strange to see it, as if he is here with me from beyond the grave." She seemed to check herself then, her hand stilling as she composed herself. "Forgive me from speaking of the dead in a place of new life. It is rude to remind our passed ones of the things that they have lost."
"Even if that is so, I doubt that your mate would have minded, my queen." The midwife placed her hand on her shoulder without a moment of hesitation, a steadying comfort to the grief that seeped into the queen's scent like poison. "He may be gone, but even if he were to be drawn here by you speaking of him, the life he would have seen would have been that of his newborn son. It would have brought him great joy to see you with him; that I promise you."
The queen drew in a breath, steadying herself, and her eyes gleamed with a fierce light, one wholly apart from her sadness. She was no longer a grieving alpha rocking her pup, but a queen once more, and the watchers in the room felt the return of her power like a blow to the chest, commanding them to submit, to listen.
"Maybe so," she said, and her voice was strong, clear, compelling all to listen. "But I stand by what I said before; I will not speak of the dead, not when there is a new life in the room, and said life is one that belongs to my son! Ring the bells, alert the council; a new era has dawned, and that new era had a prince to rule it, to guild it as we so deserve. Tell the people that today is a day of rest, a holiday; their new heir has arrived!"
And so the midwives laughed, joyful for their freedom, their voices clamouring together as they left the room to spread the word. Only the old midwife stayed by the queen's bedside, her hand still resting on her shoulder, watching with quiet, maternal affection as the alpha crooned softly to her nursing pup.
"And what of you, Queen Krul?" she asked, voice still soft. "Surely your prince must have a name, and surely you still have duties that you must attend to. The lords of the other kingdoms have yet to stop baring their teeth- Jiierda has been especially impatient as of late, sending their messengers back and forth with abandon. Forgive me for asking, for you deserve to rest after what you have gone through, but I cannot help but to worry about the work that you have yet to do."
"No," the queen murmured, not lifting her gaze from her pup. "Do not apologize for reminding me of my duties, no matter how unwanted they may be. The council must be gnashing their teeth at my absence." She drew in a breath, then looked up at the door with a fierce frown on her face, staring into the shadows. "Alert the council; tell them that I am coming, and that the heir has been born. Ask them about the progress of the revival of the rites between Jiierda and our kingdom- tell them to alert the black palace that the first step of our plan has been put into place."
"Yes, my queen," came a soft voice- the voice, the matron realised, of one of the omega assassins that had been trained for the war, his skills now unnecessary for anything other than running messages and intimidation. There came the sound of soft footsteps, running away from the room; then, a few minutes later, they came back again, their beat slightly different from those of the ones that just left. A small, slender woman with a round face and bright eyes peeked into the room, her head instinctively tilting to the side as soon as she caught the queen's eyes.
"The council has been notified, your majesty," she said, her voice different from the one that spoke in the shadows. "They say that the messengers of Jiierda has come with an update; the last of the Amane line has managed to keep her pup. She will birth it later in the year, near fall, provided that she does not try to get rid of it, but they doubt she would, as they have spies watching her every move."
Krul grimaced, matching the disdainful look on her messenger's face. Their kingdom had been in bond with Jiierda for many years before the Great War, but there were still many customs in their culture that they found distasteful- such as the crown's rigid control over whom they thought was even the slightest bit important to their ambitions. There were reasons why Jiierda was called the kingdom of demons- cold and refined though the people of Krul's kingdom were, they were not above naming others as they saw fit, and Jiierda's twisted ways certainly called for a proper insult.
"Tell the council that their message has been received," she ordered the messenger, and the woman nodded, turning to go. But something held her back; perhaps it was the soft, sorrowful joy in the eyes of the queen that she saw as Krul looked down at her newborn son, or perhaps it was the quiet noise the matron made as she turned to leave, the old woman's cloudy grey eyes levying a stern glare to the queen.
"And your son?" She asked quietly, in a voice that was clearly not meant to be heard by anyone other than the queen- but the messenger was young, young in the way she was not, and as sharp-eared as any omega that had come before her. And she was struck by the curiosity that so plagued the youth, and so she lingered in the shadows, waiting with bated breath for what the queen would say in response. The matron glanced knowingly at her, but made no move to dismiss her, instead choosing to focus again on the queen. "What about his name? The people of Sanguinem would surely want to know the name of their heir, and I'm sure the dark throne of Jiierda would be equally intrigued by what you decide to name him. He will rule a new era in our time- they may have fallen away from our customs, but war has not distanced us so much that they would not take note of the power in the title you give him."
Krul drew a shaky breath. Perhaps she felt the power in her action, or perhaps she was still burdened with bittersweet sorrow, mourning a mate who would never see his pup. Perhaps she was steadying herself, coming to terms with giving up war and returning to the past, chasing the last remains of a golden age, one that would not be ruled by her, but by the progeny that lay sleeping in her arms, chubby hands fisted into the fabric of her shirt as he suckled.
"...Mikaela," she murmured, so soft that the two other women in the room had to strain their ears to hear. "He will be named Mikaela. Gift of god, light of hope is what I name you, my son, and that is what you shall be to us, to the people that will come into your rule when my crown passes from me to you. You are our hope, our light, and it is with this name that you will be known across the kingdoms, and it is with this name that you will be passed into the history books, remembered through the eons as the beacon you truly are."
The worried crease between the matron's eyes smoothed, and the messenger in the shadows whispered a prayer, awe shining in her eyes. Hope bloomed in the room, carried on the soft golden rays of the summer sun as it finally broke over the mountaintops, and the last of a long winter's ice melted in the hearts of the masses as the council sent lords and ladies out to sing praise of the new-born heir, come on the morning of the first full year of peace.
For an exhausted queen laying on the bedsheets stained with the blood of her labors, the celebration was a quiet, distant thing, her heart too heavy with the memory of the lost to allow herself to cavort like those under her wing did. For though she was young, she was sharp-minded and far-watching, and she had been raised in halls rife with news of violence and meetings full of cold smiles and stone-faced generals pronouncing deaths like a number. She had met the snakes reigning on the black throne of the kingdom that their history was so intertwined with, had seen the cold madness in their eyes and the venom in their smiles. She knew that though the war was over, there was still strife yet to come, and that the desperate plan they tried to enact, to bring back the traditions of the long-dead, was sure to come with hardships. But though it was a victory won from a long, hard battle, it was still a victory. And so she closed her eyes, and inhaled the sweet, pure scent of her newborn son, and allowed the tears hid behind her cold mask to fall, assured that the watchful eyes in the room would not judge her for her weakness.
Later, she would come to learn that her misgivings were true. Later, she would come to learn that the alpha with the twisted smile and the pup he brought with eyes that blazed with fire would be just as much trouble as she thought they were, and that the change she sensed on the horizon was true. But for now, she was safe. For now, she could rest, and she could allow months of fear and false bravery to collapse and bleed out of her with her tears, and she could mourn the loss of an old era even as she looked into the brave new light of the future, as fierce and as bright as a dawning sun.
Later, she would worry. But for now, she was free, and for now she was allowed to cradle the son she never thought she would live to have, and she was free to weep for what had been given to her, free to promise him the life that she never thought she would have.
Life was suffering, and she had braved it and fought back against it without mercy. But for now, she was triumphant, and a story of pain and worry was no longer a story that she had to tell.
She had battled long and hard for a life that would be worthy of her future. She could only hope, that with enough time and dutiful tutoring, that her son would be able to say the same.
Somewhere, deep within the shadows, a man with demon eyes and a traitorous heart smiled, and slipped off to his quarters, satisfied that his plans for the future heir would soon trump all of what the queen held dear.