Cassandra's memories flooded her mind: of the spontaneous carriage trips with her parents, of picking fabrics and dresses with her mother, of her mother defending her when she was mocked and bullied by others for being stupid. And now that mother was...
Cassie's fists clenched tight around the mussed-up sheets around her until her knuckles turned white.
"Breathe, m'lady. Breathe," one of the midwives urged.
She tried, taking a few deep gulps of air that did nothing to alleviate the feeling of suffocation. But she still did, anyway. She followed every instruction anyone gave her because she could no longer think for herself. Thinking was hard. Thinking brought even more waves of emotions than she could withstand.
"Push!"
She was so tired. So drained of every last bit of energy and sanity she had in her. But again she followed the direction, biting down on the piece of wood wedged between her teeth and screamed around it as she pushed to the extent her body allowed.
Soon after she entered labour, the beasts took off at the first light of dawn. Hours of excruciating contractions later, here she was, enduring the body-splitting pain that every mother went through in a world without epidural or laughing gas.
But the agony in her heart was more painful still. Something no amount of modern medicine could have cured.
"Push!"
And she did. Or at least, she tried to, because she refused to let another life die on her watch. Unlike her, her child—Dane's child—deserved to live and love and be loved.
For hours and hours, her labour was accompanied by a sense of deep-seated regret and self-loathing. She even welcomed the physical torment, because she deserved it and ten times more.
"Again!"
Cassie's eyes fluttered shut, her voice barely audible as she rasped through parched lips, "I... can't..."
A gentle hand pushed away the sweat-drenched strands of hair plastered to her forehead, and for a moment she imagined it was Dane, who'd ridden back just in time to accompany her through the most challenging ordeal of her life.
"You can do it. You're strong." The voice was firm but most definitely not Dane's, and she opened her eyes to find Madam Piper next to her, her expression hard but her gaze soft.
And Cassie burst into tears, suddenly remembering how her mother once caused a scene in the palace, arguing and fighting with Madam Piper. That had seemed like such a disaster at the time. Oh, how little she knew then of the real meaning of disaster. Shaking her head, she murmured, "I can't... I can't."
"Is this what your mother would've liked to see? Her daughter, being weak?" As always, the Madam was sharp with her commentary, delivering a jab right to the heart. And it was exactly what she needed.
It was easy to lose track of time when one was drowning in a sea of physical and mental pain the likes of which they'd never experienced. Cassie didn't know how long she'd been pushing, but it felt like forever. And forever, during delivery... wasn't good.
"Push, m'lady!" the midwife urged again, with more worry in her voice than ever before.
Cassie closed her eyes, recalling the courage and love her mother showed in her last moments. With the borrowed strength from her memory of the iconic Viscountess of Melina, she clamped her teeth down on the wood, dug her heels into the bed, and pushed.
"The head! I can see the head!"
Fatigue. Pain. Grief. They weighed down every muscle of the body that no longer felt like her own. She wasn't sure she even had the strength to open her eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Bride to the Cursed: a Snow White retelling
Fantasy[COMPLETED] When a king makes an order, he expects it to be followed. When King Dane divorced his wife, he expected her to get out of his sight and stay out of his sight. Not reappear three months later in his bed, spouting nonsense about being a 'l...
