I grit my teeth, give the most powerful push I can imagine, and expel my infant. The child cries.
“You have a prince, Your Majesty.”
I’ve never heard sweeter words.
The ladies clean me, put me in bed, and put my swaddled son to my breast. He’s beautiful.
“He is shriveled and ugly,” my husband says to keep the fairies from taking him. “Too weak to be a warrior. I will call him Egfrid, the sword’s edge.”
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