The baby didn't cry. She didn't even move.
Even as the doctors cut the umbilical cord and gently wiped the blood from her tiny body, she lay motionless, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Silent, but breathing.
Yet Claude's eyes never left Dalia.
He knelt beside her, wiping the cold sweat from her brow, his fingers trembling. Her wounds were healing faster than expected, and color had begun to return to her lips.
"You're doing great, Mother," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Please… stay awake for a while longer."
In the modern world, there was an old superstition—that if a mother fell asleep too soon after giving birth, she might never wake again.
A myth, nothing more.
But in Claude's heart, that fear gripped him like a vice. The thought of losing her now, after everything… he couldn't bear it.
A doctor stepped forward, cradling the quiet infant in a soft cloth. "Your Majesty, the baby is healthy. She's breathing… just asleep."
