He Sacrificed Our Child For His Brother’s Heir

I braced myself against the cold stone of the birthing altar as another wave of labor hit, harder and faster than the last. My husband, Henry of House Sinclair, held my hand, his voice steady as he urged, “Breathe through it, Victoria. Soon we’ll hold our baby.” The pain left me shaking, yet I still forced a faint smile. Then a handmaiden approached with a clay cup filled with a pale, glowing potion. I had believed it to be the pain-relieving elixir I had begged for.