Chapter 127: The Day Qazaevelle Was Born

Qazaethel entered the room and saw Eiravelle screaming and in so much pain as she delivered the baby. The sight hit her like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs and replacing it with something sharp and terrible. Eiravelle was on the bed, her body wracked with contractions, her face pale and slick with sweat, and she was screaming—a raw, animal sound that tore at Qazaethel’s heart and made her want to burn the world down if it would make it stop.

The room was warm and dim, the curtains drawn against the winter cold, and the air was thick with the scent of blood and herbs and fear. Candles flickered on every surface, their flames casting dancing shadows across the walls, and the fire in the hearth had been stoked until it roared, filling the room with a heat that was meant to keep the baby warm but only seemed to make Eiravelle’s suffering worse.

Saye was wiping the sweat from Eiravelle’s forehead with a cool cloth, her hands are trembling, while Baley was wiping the sweat from the midwife’s brow, her face pale with worry. The midwife, a young omega woman with steady hands and a calm voice, was positioned at the foot of the bed, her instruments were laid out on a clean cloth beside her.

Ana and Jily stood on either side of Eiravelle, holding her hands, their fingers intertwined with hers, their faces pale but determined. They had been trained for this, had helped with births before, but none of those births had been the sovereign’s child. None of those births had been this important. None of those births had been for someone they loved.

The room smelled of blood and herbs and fear, and the air was thick with the scent of Eiravelle’s distress—a sharp, bitter smell that made Qazaethel’s alpha instincts roar to life. Every fiber of her being was screaming at her to protect, to fight, to do something, but there was nothing to fight. There was only the waiting, the watching, the helplessness of seeing her omega in pain and being unable to stop it.

Ana and Jily froze when Qazaethel approached, their eyes wide, their bodies rigid with surprise. They had not expected the sovereign to enter the birthing room. They had not expected her to defy the church and the traditions and the laws that had stood for centuries.

They had been raised with the stories, with the warnings, with the teachings that said alphas must never witness the sacred mystery of birth, that to do so would taint them with impurity, that the gods themselves had decreed that the birthing chamber was for omegas alone.

But Qazaethel did not care about any of that. She did not even glance at them. She simply gently let them stand aside, her hands moving them with a soft, insistent pressure, and then she was beside Eiravelle, lowering herself onto the bed, her body close to her omega’s.

She kissed Eiravelle’s forehead, her lips warm against the clammy skin, and she felt Eiravelle tremble beneath her touch. The omega’s skin was slick with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead, and her eyes were wild with pain and fear. But when she saw Qazaethel, something in her expression shifted—a flicker of relief, of hope, of love. Qazaethel was here. Qazaethel was with her. Nothing else mattered.

"It hurts~ it hurts so much~ please Qazaethel," Eiravelle weakly pleaded, and her voice was barely a whisper, broken and desperate. The words were torn from her throat, ragged and raw, and they cut through Qazaethel like a blade. She would have given anything—her crown, her kingdom, her own life—to take that pain away.

She would have traded places with Eiravelle in an instant if she could. But she could not. All she could do was hold on, and so she did. Qazaethel nodded, her jaw tight, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

"I’ll take the pain away, I promise. I’m here now," she whispered, and she kissed Eiravelle’s knuckles, one by one, her lips lingering on each finger as though she could kiss away the agony. Then she held the omega’s hand tight, her fingers interlacing with Eiravelle’s, and she closed her eyes.

She reached for the bond between them, the bond that had been forged not by a mark but by something deeper, something stronger—love, trust, the unbreakable connection of two souls that had chosen each other. And she pulled. She pulled the pain from Eiravelle’s body and into her own, taking it into herself, absorbing it, letting it wash over her in waves of fire and ice.

The pain was worse than she had expected. It was a living thing, a clawing, tearing agony that ripped through her body and left her gasping for air. It was the pain of muscles stretching and bones shifting, the pain of a body being pushed to its absolute limit, the pain of bringing new life into the world.

Qazaethel had fought in battles, had been wounded, had felt the bite of steel and the burn of magic. But this—this was different. This was worse. And yet she did not let go. She held on, her teeth gritted, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, and she took the pain into herself so that Eiravelle would not have to feel it.

A few moments passed, and Eiravelle slowly calmed down. Her screams faded to whimpers, her body relaxing against the bed, and she stopped screaming even though she was still pushing, still working to bring their child into the world.

Qazaethel whimpered and winced as the pain washed over her, a tidal wave of agony that crashed against her defenses and threatened to drown her. But she kept holding on. She kept absorbing Eiravelle’s pain without complaint, her face pale, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, and she did not let go.

"N-No, you’re hurting yourself~" Eiravelle worriedly whispered, her eyes wide with concern despite her own exhaustion. She could see what Qazaethel was doing. She could see the sweat on the sovereign’s brow, the pallor of her skin, the way her hands trembled. And she hated it.

She hated that Qazaethel was suffering for her, that she was taking on a burden that was not hers to bear. But Qazaethel shook her head and smiled, a weak, tremulous smile that held nothing but love.

"No... You’re not alone in this, my dear. You carried our child for so long, let me carry this one time pain, okay?" She said, and her voice was soft but firm. Eiravelle shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, but Qazaethel was insistent, and she winced in pain as another contraction ripped through her—through Eiravelle—through the bond that connected them.

"You’re so stubborn," Eiravelle whispered, and her voice was thick with tears, her eyes shining with love and frustration and gratitude all at once. Qazaethel laughed, a weak, breathless sound that was cut off by another wave of pain.

"I learned from the best," she said, and Eiravelle smiled despite herself, despite the exhaustion, despite everything.

She didn’t let go of Eiravelle’s hand. That was the only way she would be able to absorb the pain, the only way she could share the burden. And even though Eiravelle felt no pain now, she was worried because Qazaethel was sweating so much, her face pale, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

The Sovereign’s sweat was cold, and she was gasping for air, her body trembling with the effort of holding on. But she did not let go. She would not let go. Not now. Not ever.

"I see the child’s head!" The midwife excitedly declared, and her voice was bright with triumph. Eiravelle tightened her hold on Qazaethel, her fingers digging into the alpha’s hand, and she finally let Qazaethel anchor her, let her absorb the pain, let her carry the weight that had been crushing her.

She pushed, her body working with a determination that was primal and fierce, and Qazaethel pushed with her, her own body straining, her own breath coming in short, sharp gasps. They were together in this, as they were together in everything, and nothing—not the church, not the traditions, not the laws of gods or men—could tear them apart.

"One more push, my lady! One more!" the midwife urged, and Eiravelle gathered the last of her strength, drawing it from somewhere deep inside her, and she pushed with everything she had. Qazaethel pushed with her, her hand gripping Eiravelle’s so tightly that her knuckles went white, and together they brought their child into the world.

A few moments later, the child was out. The midwife was shocked, her eyes wide, her hands trembling as she held the baby in her arms. "She... She was beautiful..." she gasped in excitement, and her voice was full of wonder. The baby was small, so small, but her cries were loud and strong, filling the room with the sound of new life.

She had a tuft of dark hair, her mother’s golden eyes, and tiny fingers that curled and uncurled as she wailed her first protest at the cold, bright world she had entered. "Your majesty, it’s a female alpha," the midwife declared, and Qazaethel sighed in relief and smiled widely, her exhaustion forgotten in the wave of joy that washed over her.

"You hear that, Love? We have a female alpha~" Qazaethel excitedly whispered to Eiravelle, and she kissed her forehead, her lips lingering on the sweaty skin. Eiravelle smiled weakly, her eyes fluttering open, and she looked up at Qazaethel with a love so deep it made the alpha’s heart ache.

"But... You need to rest, too," Eiravelle weakly answered, and Qazaethel felt loved by hearing her omega worry about her. Even now, even after everything she had been through, Eiravelle was thinking of her. Eiravelle was always thinking of her.

"You’re the one who gave birth. Stop worrying about me," Qazaethel gently said, and Eiravelle smiled and kissed Qazaethel’s cheek, her lips soft and warm against the alpha’s skin.

"I will worry because I love you," she said, and Qazaethel’s heart swelled with emotion. She leaned down and kissed Eiravelle’s forehead again, her lips lingering, her breath warm against the omega’s skin.

The servants wrapped the baby in the cloth that Eiravelle had knitted weeks ago, the soft cream-colored blanket that she had worked on for hours, her fingers moving with love and hope and dreams of the future.

The midwife gently placed the baby in Eiravelle’s arms, and Eiravelle looked down at her daughter, at the tiny face and the tiny hands and the tiny tuft of dark hair, and she felt tears stream down her cheeks. She had never seen anything so beautiful. She had never felt anything so perfect. The baby’s eyes were open now, golden and bright, and they looked up at Eiravelle with a curiosity that made her heart clench.

"Hello, little one," Eiravelle whispered, her voice trembling. "I’m your mother. I’ve been waiting for you for so long." The baby blinked, her tiny brow furrowing as though she were trying to understand, and then she yawned, her little mouth opening wide, and Eiravelle laughed, the sound bright and tearful.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty, and Lady Eiravelle," the midwife said, and she looked at them with a smile that was full of warmth and wonder. Saye rushed outside to excitedly deliver the news, her voice bright with joy.

"It was a success! It’s a female alpha!" she said, and they could hear everyone’s cheering outside, the sound of celebration filling the corridors. But Saye closed the door behind her, keeping the room inside a sanctuary for Eiravelle and the baby.

"Qazaethel... What do you want to name her?" Eiravelle asked, and her voice was soft, hesitant, as though she were afraid to ask. Qazaethel smiled and shook her head, her eyes full of love.

"Why don’t you name her, my love?" she asked, and Eiravelle gasped in uncertainty, her eyes widening with surprise.

"But... Omegas cannot name their children... Alphas would decide," Eiravelle reminded Qazaethel, her voice trembling. She had been raised with the laws and traditions, had been taught that omegas were not allowed to name their children, that the alpha’s word was final, that her role was to carry and birth and nurture, not to decide.

She had been taught that her voice did not matter, that her opinions were worthless, that she was less than the alpha who had chosen her. Qazaethel shook her head and showed a reassuring smile, her hand coming up to cup Eiravelle’s cheek.

"I am changing the laws and traditions for you. So you won’t have to be afraid anymore," she said, and tears immediately streamed down Eiravelle’s cheeks as she heard Qazaethel’s words. She was still sensitive and vulnerable, her emotions raw and close to the surface, and hearing Qazaethel say those words really hit so many nerves within her.

She had spent her whole life being told what she could and could not do, being told that her voice did not matter, being told that she was less than. And now Qazaethel was telling her that she mattered, that her voice mattered, that she was enough.

"Don’t cry, Love," Qazaethel whispered, and the baby in Eiravelle’s arms stirred a bit but didn’t wake up. She was sleeping peacefully, her tiny chest rising and falling, her face relaxed and content.

"I just don’t know how I got so lucky~" Eiravelle said, and her voice was thick with tears, her eyes shining with love and gratitude. Qazaethel shook her head and kissed her forehead, her lips warm and gentle.

"I am the lucky one, hehe," she said, and both of them were tearing up now, their tears mingling as they held each other and their child.

"Haha, come on, Love. Don’t cry. Our baby was supposed to be the one crying, not us," Qazaethel laughed at it softly, and Eiravelle nodded with a smile, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. She looked down at the baby, at the tiny face that was a perfect blend of her and Qazaethel, and she felt her heart swell with a love so fierce it almost hurt.

She wanted to give her daughter a name that would mean something, a name that would carry the weight of everything she felt, a name that would be a blessing and a promise and a hope for the future.

"I... I want... To name her... Qazaevelle," Eiravelle mentioned, and then she frowned, her brow furrowing with doubt. "But... I know that I can’t... Because I can’t name the baby by your name," she said, and her voice was sad, resigned.

She had broken the rules, had suggested a name that combined Qazaethel’s name with her own, and she knew that it was not allowed. Omegas did not name their children, and they certainly did not name them after the alpha. It was not done. It was not proper. It was not right.

Qazaethel smiled and kissed the child’s forehead, her lips lingering on the tiny brow. "Then she is Qazaevelle. Don’t be scared, Love... All I care about is you and our child," she said, and her voice was soft but firm, brooking no argument. Eiravelle looked up at her, her eyes wide with wonder and disbelief.

"But what about your other children?! It would be unfair to them!" Eiravelle was worried, her mind racing with a thousand concerns. She did not want to cause trouble. She did not want to make things difficult for Qazaethel’s other children, for the heirs who had come before, for the ones who might feel slighted by a name that honored Eiravelle and Qazaethel together.

"I was the one who named them. But you were the one who named our Qazaevelle. It’s not unfair, it is what it is," Qazaethel said, and she leaned down to kiss Eiravelle’s lips. The kiss was soft and tender, a gentle reassurance that everything would be okay. As she gently withdrew, she carefully took the baby away from Eiravelle’s arms, cradling the tiny bundle against her chest.

"It’s time for you to rest. When you wake up, me and our baby will be here. And I was happy to know that our child is strong and healthy despite only lasting for seven and two weeks in your womb," Qazaethel said, and the baby stirred and whimpered in Qazaethel’s arms, her tiny face scrunching up before relaxing again.

As Eiravelle watched Qazaethel care for their child, it gave her a sense of safety and comfort that she had never known before. Qazaethel was gentle with the baby, her movements careful and sure, and she was humming softly, a melody that Eiravelle did not recognize but that seemed to soothe the child. The baby’s whimpers faded, replaced by soft, contented sounds, and Eiravelle felt her eyes growing heavy, her body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been pulling at her for hours.

She watched Qazaethel for as long as she could, watched the way the sovereign held their daughter, watched the way her face softened with love, and then she let her guard down and slipped away into a deep, dreamless sleep.