A Demon's Saint - Book 2

“Push, my lady!” The midwife’s urgent cry pierced the air, coaxing the Queen onward. “Please—you must push! The child is almost here!”

The Queen, pale and drenched in sweat, clung to the edge of the birthing bed like it was the only thing anchoring her to the world. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her flushed cheeks streaked with tears.

“The pain!” she sobbed, voice raw and breaking. “Oh, god, make it stop! Please! The Pain!”

Blinding agony consumed her, white-hot and unrelenting, until she couldn’t tell where her body ended and the pain began. Her cry rose into the air, hurled toward the heavens, the midwife, anyone who might listen.

“You’re almost there, my lady—he’s crowning!” the midwife urged, gripping the Queen’s trembling hand. “One last push. You can do this!”

With a scream torn from the deepest part of her soul, the Queen bore down. The world seemed to splinter—then suddenly, gloriously, the pain broke. A newborn’s wail filled the chamber.

The Queen collapsed back, shaking with sobs as numbness flooded her body—a mercy after the torment. And then, warmth: the weight of her child pressed gently into her arms. She looked down, awestruck.

The King stepped forward, cutting the cord with trembling hands.

“It’s a boy!” the midwife exclaimed.

And in that small, sacred moment, not a single eye in the room was dry.

“My beautiful boy,” the Queen whispered, watching through tear-glazed eyes as the midwife gently wiped him clean. In the warm flicker of candlelight, she caught sight of the baby’s thick, ink-black hair—and a soft laugh bubbled up through her tears.

“He has your hair,” she murmured, beaming up at the King. She stroked her son’s downy head with trembling fingers and pressed a kiss to his crown. “Welcome to the world, little one.”

The King was already at her side, his hand resting on her shoulder as he gazed down at the tiny miracle now cradled in her arms. His heart swelled. He cupped the baby’s cheek, tenderly brushing his thumb over the newborn’s soft skin.

He was a father. And he would give everything to protect these two souls, mother and child—his whole world wrapped in this room.

The King and Queen exchanged a look that said everything: love, wonder, disbelief. For a moment, time stood still as they cooed over the baby, their joy soft and golden.

But beneath the warmth, a shiver stirred in the Queen’s gut. A strange, twisting unease she couldn’t explain—like something deep inside her was recoiling. It wasn’t the pain or exhaustion.

No, this came from the same sacred place that had brought her child into the world. Still, she pushed the feeling aside, telling herself it was only nerves. She would not let fear steal this moment.

The midwife returned with a clean cloth, her tone brisk but gentle. “M’ lady, let’s get you cleaned up now.”

She lifted the sheet at the Queen’s legs—and froze. The color drained from her face, leaving her as pale as the linen in her hands.

“Oh god…” she said. “You’re bleeding, m’lady. Badly. I’m trying to stop it, but—” Her voice faltered.

The Queen’s smile faded. The King’s brow furrowed as he moved closer. Their eyes met again, but this time, joy had fled, replaced by growing fear.

“Make it stop!” the King commanded.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the midwife stammered, her hands already working. She packed gauze and rags between the Queen’s legs, then called for her assistant to bring more. But the white cloths soaked through within seconds, turning a deep, bleeding red.

The Queen trembled in the bed, her breaths shallow and uneven. The world around her tilted and blurred, and all she wanted was to close her eyes and let it stop spinning. Still, with what strength she had left, she called out, voice barely a whisper.

“Please… come here, Liliana.”

A small figure peeked from behind the curtain. The seven-year-old girl’s white nun’s habit was wrinkled and stained at the hem, her veil askew. Soft blonde curls spilled free, a delicate halo around her frightened face. Liliana stepped forward hesitantly, her steps barely making a sound on the stone floor.

The Queen reached out, her hand cold but gentle, and took the girl’s in hers. “Liliana… I know you haven’t been here long as a priestess-in-training. But over the past two years, I’ve come to love you like my own daughter.” Her voice trembled with exhaustion and emotion. “I have one last request before I go.”

The King clutched her shoulder. “Don’t talk like that, my Queen.”

But the Queen didn’t seem to hear him. Her gaze was fixed on Liliana, her voice urgent.

“Please, Liliana… I know it’s a lot to ask, but—” She handed the baby into the girl’s unsteady arms, a sob breaking from her chest.

“Please… take care of my little Damien. Protect him. Make sure he has a good life. One filled with happiness… and love. Will you do that for me, dear?”

Liliana looked down at the tiny infant in her arms, unsure of how to hold him, but cradled him as best she could, pressing him close to her chest.

She nodded. “Yes,” she said softly.

But the Queen couldn’t say another word. Her body suddenly arched, wracked by violent convulsions. Her eyes rolled back, and her limbs jerked uncontrollably as if possessed.

“My love! No!” the King cried, panic cracking through his voice.

The midwife rushed forward, pushing Liliana back. “Step aside!” she barked, her hands already moving to the Queen.

Liliana stumbled away, clutching the baby to her chest as she retreated behind the curtain. By the time she reached her corner, the Queen had gone still.

Silent. Motionless.

From her hiding place, the girl stared through the veil of fabric, her small body rigid with shock. And the noise of the room faded away into a haunting silence.

Even the cries and shouts became distant in her ears. All she could hear was the wind rustling the leaves beyond the palace walls.

She clung tightly to the baby, her arms trembling. Her lip quivered as she bit down to keep from crying, her wide eyes locked on the lifeless woman lying on the blood-soaked bed.

Servants and guards burst into the room, shouting orders and desperate prayers, working relentlessly to revive the queen. Cold water was poured over the Queen’s face. Someone tried to prop her upright, but her limp and unresponsive body sagged in their arms.

The priest arrived, robes fluttering around his feet, and knelt beside the bed. He whispered fervent prayers, his voice thick with sorrow, invoking a miracle to return life to her chest. But when he stood again, his expression was grave, shoulders slumped with the weight of failure.

He turned to the room, his voice heavy and final. “She is dead.”

That was the only word Liliana heard.

Dead.

And with it, the silence shattered. The room erupted. Howling grief, choked sobs, panicked cries. The wail of sorrow tore through the air like a storm.

But none were louder than the King’s.

He threw himself onto the Queen’s body, his cries raw and guttural. “No! No—come back to me! Please!” He clung to her, refusing to move, refusing to let go.

Liliana held the sleeping baby close to her chest, sobbing as hard as everyone else in the room. She cried for the loss of the woman who had been so kind to her.

She cried for the baby, who would now grow up without the one person who would have loved him more than anything in the world.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, her chest heaving with each breath until the motion stirred the infant awake. The baby furrowed his brow, displeased by the sudden jostling, and began to cry.

Liliana swallowed her own sobs and began to gently rock him, imitating what she’d seen a mother do in the market just a few days before. She held him tightly and hushed him through her tears, doing her best to soothe him.

When the shaking stopped, the baby drifted back into a light sleep, his tiny fists unclenching. And just like that, Liliana learned her first lesson as a mother: the baby’s needs always came first, if only so that it would stay quiet.

Eventually, the midwife seemed to come back to herself. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on Liliana, nearly hidden behind the curtain, still clutching the infant like he might disappear.

The midwife wiped away her own tears with one hand, and with the other, gently took the girl’s arm.

Liliana didn’t resist. She was grateful for the touch, the guidance, the simple comfort of not being alone. The nurse led her and the baby quietly from the birthing chamber, through the winding, gold-trimmed halls of the palace, and into an opulent nursery filled with soft light and polished wood.

Liliana glanced around, her heart thudding. All she wanted was to find a place to set the baby down and run away from everything.

But the midwife knelt in front of her, laying a gentle hand on the girl’s head. Her voice was soft. “It’s all right, child. You don’t have to hold him so tight.”

Sniffling, Liliana loosened her grip just a little.

The midwife nodded and gave her a kind smile. “If you want, I’ll take care of the baby while you go get some rest.”

Liliana’s arms ached, and for a moment, the offer sounded like the sweetest relief. She stretched out her arms, ready to hand over the baby. But as the midwife reached to take him, something in Liliana snapped. She jerked the child back toward her chest, eyes squeezed shut.

“No,” Liliana said. “The Queen asked me to take care of him. I will not let him go.”

The midwife paused, then gave a soft, understanding nod. “Very well, dear. Why don’t you sit over there in that chair? I’ll go find the wet nurse for the future king.” She gently guided Liliana to a plush chaise at the edge of the nursery, patting her shoulder before slipping quietly from the room.

Liliana settled into the chair, the baby resting in her arms, his tiny body warm against hers. She looked down at his face. It was all round cheeks, dark lashes, and that ink-black hair.

He was the most beautiful and helpless thing she had ever seen. Could he really grow up to be king one day? It seemed impossible. He was just a baby. In her eyes, he would always be this small, this soft, this breakable.

The nursery was hushed. The chair was deep and soft beneath her. Outside, the sky darkened as night fell, and Liliana’s own eyes began to flutter closed.

But just as she was about to drift off, the baby stirred. He squirmed in her arms, his eyes blinking open, and a few whiny noises escaped his mouth that very soon turned into loud, persistent cries.

Liliana sat up straight, bouncing him gently, then stood and rocked him in her arms. She tried walking, humming, even whispering soft words she wasn’t sure he could understand. Nothing worked. The crying only grew louder, more frantic.

Panic crept up her throat, tightening like a knot. She didn’t know what he needed. She didn’t know what she was doing. And suddenly, the weight of everything; the Queen’s death, the promise she’d made, the baby’s sobs, it all crashed over her.

She held him tighter, tears stinging her eyes again. “Please don’t cry,” she whispered. “I’m trying. I’m trying…”

The door creaked open, and the midwife returned, this time with another woman in tow. Both women cooed at the crying infant and the small girl desperately trying to soothe him.

Liliana, overwhelmed and exhausted, didn’t hesitate this time. She stretched out her arms, more than ready to let the grownups take over.

“It’s all right, he’s just hungry,” the new woman said gently. She removed her blouse and pressed the baby against her breast with practiced ease.

Liliana watched in awe as the baby latched on, first unsure and then began to feed, his cries quickly fading into contented sucking. The two women moved with calm certainty, their hands skilled, their voices soft and reassuring.

While the baby fed, they tried to explain to Liliana how to care for him; how to swaddle him, how to tell when he was hungry or uncomfortable, but it was clear the little girl was barely awake. Her eyelids drooped, her head nodded, and the women exchanged a knowing smile.

“Go find your bed, little one. We’ll take care of the baby tonight,” said the wet nurse.

“But I have to take care of the baby,” Liliana mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“We’re here to help you,” the midwife said, tucking a strand of hair behind Liliana’s ear. “He’s asleep now. At least go rest on the chair over there.”

Liliana nodded weakly, stumbling back to the plush chaise. She curled up on it without another word and fell asleep the moment her head touched the cushion.