He Sacrificed Our Child For His Brother’s Heir
I pressed my back against the cold stone of the birthing altar. The labor surges came quicker now, sharp and unrelenting, one crashing right on the heels of the last. My husband, Henry of House Sinclair, laced his fingers through mine. “Breathe through it, Victoria. Soon we’ll hold our baby.” Pain wracked my frame, leaving me trembling, but I managed a thin, tight smile. A handmaiden stepped in then, carrying a clay cup of pale, glowing potion. I’d assumed it was the pain-easing elixir I’d begge
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