Trace wanted to leap at the sound. The king clapped a hand to his mouth, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as the entire room listened, enraptured, to the tiny voice.
Too soon, it fell quiet.
Anxiety rose in the room until the doctor emerged, holding a wrapped bundle that seemed impossibly small.
"Your Majesty," He bowed slightly, carefully holding the blanket. "I must bear the news. Please listen before you react."
"Spit it out, man," The king seemed frozen. He stared at the blanket as if willing it to move.
"You have a son," The doctor opened the coverlet to reveal a tiny, wrinkled, pink face. "He is very small, and very weak. I will do my very best to ensure his survival, but you should understand the chances are not in his favor. I brought him out to see you, but I must take him back to his mother to attempt suckling and to let her share her warmth with him."
"The Queen?" King Harold's eyes flickered towards the bedroom.
