A Court of New Beginnings

Chapter 1

Rhysand. I whimpered down the bond. Anxiety began to take hold as I looked down to where my mate lay beside me, his breaths even as he slept soundly. My jaw clenched as another wave of pain rippled down my abdomen. The room was dark, only the light from the galaxy of stars outside our open window shone through.

"Rhysand," I rasped, aloud this time, gripping the sheets in one hand and his shoulder with the other. I cried out again and he awoke with a start, his eyes met mine, laced with concern.

"Madja," I said, my lips trembling. I cradled my large stomach, feeling utterly miserable sitting in the bodily fluids that now soaked the mattress beneath me. His violet eyes widened, finally piecing together what was causing me so much distress.

Labour. I was in labour.

"The baby." He said, gripping my arms and helping me upright in bed. I wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement that passed his lips, but I nodded anyway and let my head fall back to the headboard with a quiet thump.

Hang on, he said down the bond, caressing my mind with support and reassurance. His hand squeezed mine gently before he winnowed away.

Mere minutes past before Rhys returned with Madja—thank the Cauldron—and few other fae I assumed were her assistants, right behind him. Another contraction pulsed through me, causing a strangled cry to leave my lungs. He was by my side in an instant.

What do you need, mate, he asked tenderly, brushing the strands of sweat-drenched hair from my forehead.

Not sitting in my own body fluids might be nice, I replied, hating myself for the piss-poor attempt at humour.

Rhys only winced, obviously mad that he didn't consider giving me fresh sheets himself. With a snap of his fingers I was not only sitting on clean sheets but a bowl of water and a washcloth sat atop the bedside table. Rhys dipped the cloth in the water, wringing it out gently before placing it on my brow. I let out a sigh as the cold cloth soothed my burning forehead.

Better? He queried tenderly.

"Much." I managed to croak out. But my head snapped forward again as another contraction came.

When the words, "You're ready to push," finally came out of Madja's mouth, I gripped my mate's hand tightly, looking for any semblance of stability. This is it. This is finally it and I'm not sure I'm ready. In the next few minutes, I'm going to be a mother and the thought of it makes my head spin.

Breathe, Rhys soothed, rubbing circles on my back, still allowing me to grip his hand with so much conviction that it probably hurt. But my mate—Cauldron bless him—didn't spout a single complaint.

The seconds turn into nanoseconds as Madja began spouting instructions to me, and orders to her assistants.

"You're doing wonderful, M'lady," she said curtly and reassuringly, "every time a contraction comes around I need you to push as hard as you can, ok?"

I managed to nod—barely.

"Feyre." Rhys's other hand (the one I didn't currently have locked in a death grip) reached over the side of the bed for me. I gripped his shoulder and pulled myself forward, as another contraction came around and I pushed. "Breathe." My mate repeated. I breathed heavily. "Again." I inhaled again. The agony blossomed once more, and a steady flow of tears began to cascade down my cheeks.

"I'm right here," He assured me. Somehow—somehow I managed a strained smile. But my smile faded just as quickly as it came, twisting and flipping upside down as a mangled, demonic groan escaped my dry throat. Rhys's hand, it seemed, was being twisted worse than my voice, though.