Daughter of Rhayma

Small cries could be heard coming from the small room in the back of the castle. Only two people knew of the birth of the heir to the kingdom, the king; Arnold and the royal midwife, the only person the queen trusted with the birthing of her little baby. Arnold's heart raced. The worry could not be hidden from his face no matter how hard he tried to hide it from his subjects. He would be a fool to think that his wife would survive without him there to hold her hand. It did not matter that she had been very adamant on him not showing himself when she looked her worst. Analise was a woman that valued her beauty. It might have been the reason why he had chosen her to be his queen but there was so much more to it than that. He loved her for her bravery and compassion and that was the reason why he would never forgive himself if she died. He had been warned before of his wife's inability to bear children. Why he had given in to her silly demands? He could not understand. "Arnold," she cried out and raised her body to see him clearly. "my heart, you should not see me like this." He scoffed under his breath, holding in the frustration he had for himself. This should not be the reason why he does not get to see his first born child. "You look beautiful my queen," he smiled at her, moving closer so he could hold her hand. He could not help but think of removing the child himself, just to keep his wife from feeling the unbearable pain. "It hurts Arnold," she whimpered as the midwife encouraged the queen to push out the baby. "I wish to die." He shook his head. "Do not say things like that Analise, who will I live for if it is not you?" "Our baby Arnold. I need you to raise this child for the both of us." "I can not possibly raise a child by myself. Do this for me my love," he encouraged. "Hold on for just a little bit longer." And she did. No matter how many times she wanted to give up and leave the world for something less painful, she held on and gave it her all until she heard a gentle cry. Raising the little girl to her mother's face, the midwife held her tongue between her teeth to stop from voicing out the abnormality of the child. Unlike her mother and father's dark hair, the child's hair was a metallic. This might have been the results of the portions the queen had been taking when she was desperate to conceive but still, it had worked just fine for the other women. "Arnold," the queen cried with joy. "She is so beautiful." "My daughter," the king whispered onto her warm skin. "Do you remember the name you wanted to give her?" she asked. "Adira, a name fit for a queen." "Adira." They both knew that the child would face judgment for her abnormalities. That was not something to focus on now that they had been given the one thing they longed to have; a child.