My skin feels as though it is being pierced by a thousand frigid needles. I hungrily gasp for air. My tightened lungs expand despite the pain. My eyes flutter around as I try to focus on the blurry objects. I hear a voice. I try to catch onto it, searching through the blurry shapes around me.
My eyes droop closed, and exhaustion tries to pull me back into the creeping darkness. It tries to swallow my vision whole again, but a deep agonizing pang sharpens my senses. I lurch forward, disoriented and confused. My lower back feels as though it is being stabbed by a thousand knives. I cry out.
The shapes in front of me regain their detail. Abigail's face comes into focus. She is clutching my hand at my side.
"Breathe," She says, soothingly.
A cool cloth is pressed onto my forehead.
"What is h-happening," I whimper in between grunts of frustration and shattered breaths. Another hand trails across my hairline, brushing back my dampened hair behind my ear. Sweat trickles down my face, the salty taste makes its way to my tongue.
A weathered face shoots Abigail a hardened look. The older woman straightens from her stooped position at my feet to reach for supplies being hastily brought to her. I try to ignore the blood soaking her grey gown. My blood.
"You're in labor, Bathsheba. The baby is coming."
I shake my head, clenching my teeth to bite back the wave of pain coursing through my body.
"It's too soon," I plead. "This can't happen now!"
I want so badly for this not to be happening. My body fights against my will and overcomes it.
"It's happening, your majesty. Whether you want it to or not," The elderly woman asserts as she clamps two firm hands on my knees.
I respond with an ear-piercing shriek at the medicine woman. The prickling spikes of terror coursing through my body intensifies by the minute. I bear down, using all my strength. The women around me murmur to themselves at my determination.
"Keep going. It's almost here," The medicine woman encourages me. I give one last scream before I collapse onto my back.
Abigail whispers into my ear, "You did well, Bathsheeba! You should be proud!"
I don't hear a cry. I try to sit up, but Abigail's hands gently restrain me. I am too weak to fight her hold. I hear the medicine woman firmly slapping my newborn over and over again. I hold my breath, willing my child to cry as much as I did.
A series of wails fills my ears. Tears sting my eyes as relief floods over me.
"Let me in," I hear a familiar voice barking at the door.
My attention shifts to the entrance of the room. The King enters, his robes disheveled and fiery curls untamed.
Two female attendants rush to him, trying to block him from approaching any closer.
"Let me see her," He spews impatiently. One of the attendants pleads with him that I need my rest.
The medicine woman finishes bundling up my baby. I open my arms while watching her walk towards me with the tiny bundle in her hands.
"What is it?"
"A boy," She answers.
I immediately envelop him in my arms, knowing that if my womb can no longer safely guard him, my arms are his second greatest defense.
My eyes look over him. Tiny tuffs of hair sprout from the top of his head. I touch my forehead to his. Tears slide off my nose and land on his head. He's so tiny. His scrawny arms flail and scratch at his face.
"I've got you," I whisper to him.
"My little prince."
YOU ARE READING
The Gaze of a King
Historical Fiction|FEATURED IN HISTORICAL FICTION| Her whole life she had been called beautiful. Glances and envious eyes were always cast her way. But never had Bathsheba expected to catch the eye of her King. And never in her wildest imaginings did she anticipate t...
