The Dare Collection September 2018. Stefanie London
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smudge has a pulse.
“Damien,” Juliet whispers. Her voice catches on the last syllable of my name. “Can you see it?”
I squint at first, not ready to believe my eyes. But it is no trick of the light or glitch on the screen.
I clear my throat and squeeze her hand, but I cannot find the right words. Nothing has ever hit me so hard, not since losing Victoria. But this is no loss. It is the greatest gift given to someone who has never deserved so much. I do not need a fucking paternity test to tell me what I already know. Because there, on the screen, is our baby’s beating heart.
Juliet
“Do you?” I ask Damien again. “Do you see our sweet little gummy bear?”
“Gummy bear?” He groans, but I can see the smile tugging at his lips. “That right there is the most gorgeous child that has ever existed on the face of this planet. Tell me, Doctor, have you ever seen a more perfect baby?”
Dr. Broussard chuckles. “It is indeed one fine-looking fetus, Highness. You’re measuring about nine weeks, which puts the date of conception—”
“Right after the Nightgardin Rally,” I say, coyly glancing to Damien.
Molten lava has nothing on the intensity of his answering gaze.
The little gummy bear on the screen flutters about as if reacting to my increased pulse rate. “It’s incredible that it can move so much and yet I can’t feel it.”
“Well, right now it’s not much bigger than a grape. It will take time before it makes its presence known, but don’t worry. Soon it will be waking you up from a sound sleep with a sturdy kick.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m really going to have a baby.”
“Yes.” Damien kisses me on the forehead. “We are.”
“Would you like some photographs?” Dr. Broussard asks.
“As many as you can give us,” Damien orders, his face still buried in my hair, breathing me in as if I am his only source of air.
“Wonderful. Let me finish taking a few more measurements and then you two can get to the Prenatal Genetic Center for the lab work.”
I stiffen at the term genetic, studying the doctor’s face, but she doesn’t seem overly concerned, just a busy professional who must see a hundred couples like us every week.
“You are sure everything you saw today was okay?” I ask, trying to force a smile. “Not to be a nervous first-time mother but...I’m a nervous first-time mother.”
She nods. “This is still early days for a pregnancy, but I can assure you that everything that I’ve seen so far is perfectly normal.”
“So why the blood work and genetic lab?” I ask.
“Ah, that’s for the paternity test. Standard procedure given the circumstances.”
“I see.” But I don’t. Damien says he believes me that the child is his, and yet here we are, walking to a lab as if we are a couple on one of those American reality shows trying to prove who my baby daddy is.
It’s dreadful.
“You don’t have to do this,” Damien says once we are alone in yet another hospital room. “I don’t care about royal law. If I say it’s my child, it’s my child.”
I shake my head. “If I don’t, you will always wonder,” I say flatly. “So will the kingdom. And your brothers.”
“Juliet—”
There is a knock on the door and yet another doctor breezes in. This one carries a tray covered by a blue surgical cloth.
“Good morning,” she says, holding the door open with her foot. “Right this way, Prince Damien. The waiting room is to the left.”
“Waiting room?” Damien snaps. “I’m waiting right here while you draw my wife’s blood.”
“Sorry, official hospital policy. Only the patient and the doctor can be in a room together during a paternity draw. Prevents tampering.”
My husband growls, a feral, animalistic warning from deep in his throat. “I’m not going one step.”
“Just listen to the doctor.” I sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”
“But I should be here, with you.”
I shrug. “And right now I would rather be alone. Just go drink some coffee and I’ll be out before you know it.” My head is swimming as I try to process the fact that I’m really doing this, that I’m going to have a baby. Being here in the hospital makes it all so real. Every once in a while it’s as if the insanity that is my current life bears down like a pile of bricks. It’s hard to stand strong and carry all the feelings.
“You’d do well to listen,” the doctor says with a tight smile. “Happy wife, happy life.”
He kisses my cheek, his lips lingering for a moment, and I can hear a note of unease in his shaky breath. “Fine,” he says. And when he straightens I see that same unease in his eyes. I’ve hurt him by dismissing him. But I just want all of this over with.
For a moment I want to call him, but my attention is drawn to the doctor. The woman is in her fifties with a silver bob and pair of blue glasses. She seems perfectly ordinary, so why are my senses on high alert?
“Onto the table,” she says, fiddling with her instrument case. “Please expose your belly. I’m assuming you want to get out of here and back to your comfortable palace, so—” She nods toward the exam table.
I do as she says even as I wonder why she wants to draw my blood from there and not my arm.
The doctor approaches me with a syringe not for drawing fluids but for injecting me. Before I have a chance to react, she jabs the needle into my skin, pressing the plunger and filling my veins with a yellow liquid. I take three sharp breaths. It burns. I want to ask why. I want to fight. But my vision blurs. I should scream. Or panic. But I can barely move.
Or breathe.
The doctor touches her ear. “The deed is done,” she mutters, not in a lilting Edenvale dialect but a thick Nightgardin accent, and before my world spins black I realize the horrible truth.
She is Black Watch.
What a naive fool I was to think I could ever be safe. My hands rise to my belly with the last of my strength.
The door bursts open, and two figures barge into the room, but I can barely make out their shapes. My vision grows darker with each labored breath. I can’t move.
“Here!” a male voice calls—familiar, yet I cannot place it. “Damn, they’ve given her the milk from the Evernight poppy. How the hell did they even come across it? Very few know of its potent qualities, which means if Nightgardin does, they’re a more powerful enemy than even I anticipated.” The man swears. “Get that antidote to her lips. There isn’t a second to lose.”
“On it.”
Damien?
One of the figures tips something against my frozen lips. A bitter taste floods my senses like I’ve taken a shot of dandelion root juice. What about the Gummy Bear? Will it be okay?
“That should counter the paralyzing aspects in a few minutes,” the other voice calls, and I swear it is X.
There is the sound of a scuffle, and I hear someone grunt.
“Fair warning, Princess, as I know you can hear me,” X continues, his features taking shape as my vision begins to clear. “The child will be fine. The Evernight poppy cannot harm it, neither can the antidote, which will soon allow you movement. However, I must let you know that the Evernight poppy comes with a host of rather exciting side effects.”
I