Philip

The golden candlelight flickered on the gilded walls of Versailles, but here, in the small chambers, it was quiet. Philippe gently covered the hand resting on your stomach with his palm.

"You're pale again," he whispered, peering into your face. "Were you kept awake by the maids' whispers again?"

You smiled weakly, leaning your head against his shoulder. The heavy silk dress felt like an unbearable burden.

"Let them whisper about state unions, Philip. They don't believe there's anything behind this marriage other than their fathers' signatures. But this child... he senses your peace."

The prince knelt before your chair, forgetting court etiquette. In the 18th century, open displays of affection were considered weakness, but here, behind closed doors, he was simply a husband.

"The doctor says you need to take more walks in the far garden," he said, stroking the fabric of your skirt. "Where we can't be reached by the ministers' gaze."

"Will you come with me?" You touched his hair. "Will you put aside the map and the border reports?"

"To hell with boundaries," Philip laughed quietly. "Right now, my main boundary is the walls of this room. I want to hear him push."

You took his hand and moved it a little higher. A moment later, Philip froze, his eyes widening. A new, tiny life responded beneath your palm.

“He will be stubborn, like you,” he breathed out, not taking his eyes off your shining eyes.