Chapter 165: Tales of a King (5)

Misha did not immediately understand when the final memories begun until the corridor changed.

Russel stood outside the queen’s chamber, still dressed in the formal coat he had worn to council that morning. A healer spoke to him in a low, measured voice, assuring him that the labor was progressing as expected and that there was no cause for alarm.

Servants moved at an ordinary pace behind her, carrying fresh linens and warm water, while the guards beside the door maintained the careful indifference of men accustomed to waiting outside rooms they were forbidden to enter.

Then the memory lurched forward.

The same corridor had become a storm of hurried footsteps and strained faces. Servants rushed past with bowls of steaming water, bundles of herbs, and piles of folded linen that seemed to return moments later stained red. No one spoke above a murmur, but their silence carried more fear than shouting would have.

Russel remained beside the door. He had removed his gloves and crushed them in one hand, twisting the leather until the seams strained. His expression was composed, but Misha could see the tension in his jaw and the restless movement of his thumb against the wedding band on his finger.

Another healer emerged from the chamber carrying blood-soaked cloth. She tried to turn away before the king noticed, but Russel caught her arm immediately.

"What has happened?"

The woman froze. Her eyes dropped to his hand, then rose reluctantly to his face. "The child is coming safely, Your Majesty."

Russel’s grip tightened. He leaned closer, and the last trace of royal patience disappeared from his voice. "That was not my question."

The healer swallowed once more. "Her Majesty is bleeding."

Something in Russel’s face changed. It was not yet panic, but the first crack had appeared in his composure. "How badly?"

The woman hesitated for half a second too long, and that was enough.

Russel released her and reached for the chamber door. Another attendant stepped into his path, raising both hands as though she meant to stop him without actually touching him.

"Majesty, you cannot enter while–"

He opened the doors.

No one tried to stop him again.

The room smelled of blood, too much of it. The queen lay against white sheets that were no longer white beneath her. Her silver hair had come loose from the braids usually arranged so carefully around her head, strands sticking against her damp face while two other healers worked hurriedly near the foot of the bed.

A newborn cried somewhere nearby, but nobody in the room looked relieved.

Russel stopped just inside the doorway.

For one terrible moment, he looked like a man who had entered the wrong room. His gaze moved over the blood, the discarded cloths, and the healer pressing both hands against his wife’s abdomen. He seemed unable to fit those pieces into the world he knew.

Then the queen turned her head.

Her face had gone pale beneath the sweat, but recognition softened her eyes when she saw him. Russel’s expression broke the moment their eyes met.

He crossed the room without acknowledging anyone else and lowered himself beside her bed. He took her hand between both of his, holding it so tightly as if he feared she might disappear the instant he loosened his grip.

The queen’s lips curved faintly. Even now, with blood spreading beneath her and death already waiting close enough to touch, she found enough strength to tease him. "You look terrible..."

Russel’s mouth trembled before he forced it into something resembling a smile. "You have looked better yourself."

A breath escaped her that might have become laughter if pain had not caught it first. Her face tightened, and her fingers spasmed inside his hands.

Russel immediately turned toward the healers. "Stop the bleeding!"

One of them pressed another folded cloth into place. Blood soaked through it almost at once. "We are trying, Your Majesty..."

"Then try harder!"

The words cracked across the chamber. Every attendant flinched, and the newborn began crying louder. Russel had commanded armies with less desperation than he put into those three words.

The queen tightened her fingers weakly around his hand. "My king..."

He turned back at once. Fear had fully entered his face now, stripping away the mask he had worn before his court, his enemies, and even his family. He lowered himself until their hands rested against his forehead.

"My husband," she whispered. "Do not frighten them..."

"They should be frightened." His voice came too quickly. "They are failing you."

"They are doing all they can..."

"It is not enough!"

The queen closed her eyes briefly, gathering what little strength remained. When she opened them again, she watched him with a tenderness that made the scene harder to bear.

Russel shook his head. "You cannot leave."

Her gaze softened further.

"No." He pressed her fingers against his brow as if sheer force could keep life inside them. "Y-You cannot..."

Misha had never heard his voice crack before. Judging by the stunned silence around the bed, no one else in the room had either.

The king had buried soldiers, had stood over friends killed because they followed him into Nareth, he had read the names of thousands lost in wars, he had watched provinces burn and cities starve, and he had remained standing through it all. Now, tears filled his eyes.

The queen watched the first one slide down his cheek. Her expression changed, and pain entered it that had nothing to do with childbirth. She tried to raise her free hand, but it barely left the sheets before her strength failed.

Russel caught it immediately. He guided her other hand to his cheek and leaned into the touch with his eyes closed. "Please..."

Her eyes glistened.

His shoulders shook once. "Please do not leave me..."

There was no king in his voice anymore. No authority, pride, or no dignity between the words. There was only a man begging his wife not to die.

"I know I have asked too much of you..." Each sentence came unevenly, dragged through breaths he could barely control. "I know I have failed you more times than I deserve forgiveness for, but please... not this."

The queen moved her thumb against his cheek, wiping away a tear only for another to replace it. Then she smiled.

Misha had seen that smile countless times in the memories before. It had carried restrained amusement whenever Russel annoyed a minister, quiet affection when he made himself ridiculous, and patience when he returned from another woman’s chambers and still expected her to tolerate his presence at breakfast.

Now there was only tenderness left in it.

"You gave me a difficult life."

A broken laugh escaped him, but there was no humor in it. "I know..."

"A very difficult husband..."

"...I know that too."

"Too many women..."

Russel closed his eyes for a moment. Shame passed over his face, but he did not turn away from it. When he looked at her again, he met her gaze without defense. "I know."

Her smile strengthened just enough to make it hurt. "And entirely too much paperwork."

He laughed again, but the sound collapsed into a sob before it finished. He bowed over her hand and pressed his mouth to her knuckles, unable to hide how badly he was shaking.

The queen watched him for several breaths. "But I don’t regret it... If I had the choice, I would still choose this life... to be your queen."

Russel lifted his head. Whatever remained of his composure collapsed under the weight of her words.

"Then choose it again." He clung more tightly to her hands. "C-Choose me again, and stay."

"If wanting were enough..."

"Do not say that."

"Russel."

His breathing broke. "P-Please..."

She had called him by name rather than title, and the single word frightened him more than all the blood in the room. He leaned closer as if he could hold her to life by refusing to allow any distance between them.

The queen drew a shallow breath. "Our little girl..."

"She needs you." He seized the words immediately as though they offered a bargain death might accept. "She needs her mother."

"She has you..."

Her palm weakened against his cheek. Russel caught her hand before it could fall and returned it desperately to his face.

"We will raise her together," he said. "You will teach her all things I shall inevitably get wrong. You will make certain she does not become as stubborn as her brothers."

A fragile laugh left the queen.

Russel heard it and rushed onward, encouraged by that tiny proof of life. "You will argue with me when I spoil her. You will complain that I have made her impossible, and I will tell you she inherited it from you."

The queen’s lips trembled. "From me?"

"Certainly. I am known for my calm nature."

Despite everything, amusement flickered in her eyes. "You have started wars over insults."

"Only serious insults."

Her breath caught between a laugh and a wince.

Russel’s fleeting smile vanished as quickly as it had come, and he searched her face with growing fear. The humor had brought them only a moment, and they both knew it.

"You will be there," he insisted.

The queen stared into his eyes, then she whispered, "I’ve always... wanted a daughter of my own..."

"We have her now."

"Take care of her..."

Russel shook his head. "Together."

Her fingers twitched weakly against his cheek. "Take care of all of them..."

"Together..."

"Your children..."

"Our children," Russel corrected. "You cared for them, and protected them. They all are yours as surely as they are mine."

The queen’s expression softened. "Our children, then..."

"You may tell them that yourself."

"And the kingdom..."

"Stop."

"It will need you."

"Stop speaking as though you are leaving."

Her gaze held his with the same patient steadiness she had given him through decades of marriage. "You must listen..."

"No."

"Russel..."

"I said no!" His voice rose, not in anger but panic. "I have listened to every healer, general, councilor, and priest who ever told me what necessity demanded. I will not listen to this!"

The queen swallowed with visible effort. "Take care of them... and yourself..."

"I said stop!"

His voice shattered completely. The newborn wailed across the chamber, and one of the healers bowed her head. None of them were working as frantically now.

Misha noticed them, but Russel did not.

He looked only at his wife.

The queen’s hand moved faintly against his cheek. "My king... I’m tired..."

Terror widened his eyes. "Then rest. Rest for a little while, and I will remain here."

"...You know that isn’t what I mean."

"No." He shook his head so hard his hair fell across his face. "No, I don’t. I refuse to understand you."

Russel leaned forward until their foreheads touched. He was crying openly now, too frightened to care who saw. His breath trembled against her skin.

"Stay with me..." His voice had fallen to a whisper. "Please... my love."

Her eyes closed for a moment. When they opened again, they had lost some of their focus. Still, they found him.

"I was yours..." she whispered, too faint that only those standing close were able to hear it.

"You are mine."

"A-and... you were always mine too..." Her lips curved in a tired smile. "You... you made me happy."

Russel’s face twisted. "Not enough."

"It... it was enough for me..."

"It was not enough for me." He kissed her palm, then her wrist. "I need more time. Please... give me a chance to make this right. Let me give you something better than I’ve already done... Let me make it up to you..."

The queen gave him no answer and instead, she looked past him toward the attendant who was carrying their daughter. The newborn’s cries had softened into small, confused sounds.

"Bring her to me..." the queen whispered.

Russel turned sharply. "You must not strain yourself."

"Please..."

He could deny her nothing now.

The child was wrapped in pale cloth, her tiny face red from crying. Russel supported his wife’s arm while the nurse settled the baby against her chest.

The queen touched one finger to the child’s cheek, and the baby quieted as if she recognized her. The infant held the finger, unaware that the hand around hers had begun to cool.

"Thank you..."

The nurse carefully lifted the child away when the queen gave her a meaningful look.

Then, her eyes found his again. Her lips moved, but this time, Misha could not hear the words, only Russel did.

His brows drew together as his mouth trembled and his breath caught painfully in his throat. "N-No... please..."

Her eyes remained upon him for a second longer, then the light behind them faded.

Russel pressed his forehead to hers as if listening for something too faint for anyone else to hear.

"No... No! No!"

Misha turned her face away after wiping her own tears. She suddenly felt like she was witnessing something she had never been meant to see.

It was the one moment in Russel’s life when the man completely collapsed beneath the king.

Across the chamber, their newborn daughter cried for a mother she would never know, and Russel remained beside the woman he had learned to love too late.