A man walks down a long stone corridor. Every ten feet there is a torch lit on either side of it, and when he reaches the end of the hall, the man turns around and walks 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 (...)