Page 99 of The Slave in A Princess Disguise

Unease formed a knot in him.

Madam Livia stood at the edge of the garden, her eyes scanning the slaves under the pale glow of the moon as they worked diligently around her. "Elsie, start watering over there."

"Yes, madam." The young girl hefted her watering can to the designated area.

Under the moonlight, a dozen figures moved like shadows, tending to the garden's needs.

A woman, hunched over flowering vines, expertly pruning each branch with quiet, rhythmic snips. A young boy carefully nurtured a row of delicate herbs. Further down the path, a group of figures worked together, harvesting ripe vegetables, their baskets gradually filling.

Madam Livia oversaw them, vigilant for any sign of soldiers. They were not supposed to be out here this late, but Livia had to ensure nothing drew attention to Emeriel's absence.

That girl would be the death of her yet. It had been six days, and although Livia knew it wasn't her fault, six days was a long time for a slave to disappear.

Whispers and questions were already circulating amongst the others. Their secrecy’s fabric was thin. Excuses could only cover so much.

"Risa, be careful," Livia cautioned as the girl struggled with a heavy bucket of water, her small frame straining under the weight.

When had her life become this? Covering for slaves instead of maintaining her usual stern and unforgiving demeanor?

But then, she remembered Emeriel’s wide, agonized eyes as merciless heat cramps wracked her body.

How was the girl faring now? How was she recovering?

Livia tried to push aside her worry, but sometimes, like now, it was impossible.Poor child.

Was Emeriel truly the female the grand king had left the fortress to aid during her heat?

When Livia had first heard the rumor, her relief had been crippling. She had been so terrified of how Emeriel's first heat would manifest without the sanctuary of the beast's forbidden chambers.

Fate truly worked in mysterious ways. Yet somehow, even amidst the cruelty of their world, things had a way of working out. Fate truly worked in mysterious ways.

"Careful with those sacks," she whispered to the two men in the distance, their shoulders burdened with heavy bags of compost.

"Everyone, hurry now."

They needed to finish quickly.

Emeriel snapped awake as a biting pain ripped through her lower abdomen. It felt as though a cannibal was ruthlessly devouring her insides.

"Oww..." a helpless moan escaped her lips as she drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

The pain grew, like vitriol being poured into her organs.

Emeriel let out a high-pitched scream, her thin nightrobe riding up her thighs as she squeezed her knees so tightly that her fingers dug into her skin, drawing blood.

The door burst open, and Lord Herod rushed in, his hair sleep-tousled and nightshirt rumpled. "Are you alright, young one?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but a fresh dose of agony bombarded her, cutting off her words. A pained wail was all she could manage.

"Come here." He lifted her gently into his arms.

Emeriel braced for the pain of his touch, but relief came when only mild discomfort accompanied it. "Worry not, it won't be as bad as the first day."

He sat on the chair beside the bed, cradling her in his lap like a child. A sensation like something beingsqueezedwithin her made her cry out again, barely aware of his soothing hand stroking her back.

"This one feels different," Emeriel sobbed.

"Yes, it's the final discharge from your womb as it closes and ascends.” Sadness flashed through Lord Herod's expression. “It feels this way because you did not conceive."

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