Page 73 of The Wicked Prince

John looked at Robin and the beast of a man who John couldn’t tell if the man hated him or barely registered his existence. At least the other two actively hated him. “What’s going on?”

“Robin tells me she’s taught ye the basics,” the man grunted, gesturing to the staff on the ground. “Now that ye have a babe on the way, ye need to be better. Frankly, ye should have been better before ye even so much as deigned to look at Robin. I don’t care if ye’re a prince and have an army of guards. Every man needs to be able to protect himself and his family.”

“Was this your idea?” John asked, turning to Robin who was grinning at him.

“Well, since I’m pregnant and forbidden from doing my own intensive training, I need something to entertain me.” Robin placed a hand on her stomach and gave him a wry grin. She leaned in and said, “I know things between you and my men are still tense. But this was actually Little Jon’s idea. I think it’s an olive branch, a way to get to know you better.”

“Oh, the things I do for you,” John muttered as he picked up the staff on the ground, but Robin’s beaming smile was enough of a reason.

That night she rolled her eyes at him and told him he was being dramatic even as she nursed his injuries from his disastrous first lesson with Little Jon. A bruise the size of an apple was most certainly a big deal.

But little by little, John got better at it—mostly when Robin wasn’t there watching so he wasn’t tempted to look at her instead—and Will and Alan would come and watch. And eventually joined in. After watching Little Jon soundly beat them the way he beat John, John felt a little better about the whole thing. Will and Alan started antagonizing him a little less after that. And when John managed to actually beat Will in a spar, Little Jon looked at him with something John suspected might even be respect.

Everything seemed to be going John’s way.

Until about six months into Robin’s pregnancy.

John received a letter. From Richard. About the war.

That night, he’d waved Robin off and told her to enjoy a meal with her men so he could do some painting, and he went back to their room and read the letter that had been weighing on his mind all day.

It was precisely what he’d feared.

When the door opened, Robin walked in, one hand on her baby bump and a huge smile on her face. But then she froze when she saw him and said, “Oh no. What is it? What’s happened?”

John pushed himself off the sofa, shaking his head. “It’s—Nothing that can’t wait. What is it? What were you rushing in here for?”

Robin ducked around him and over to the sofa. She took a seat on the sofa and grabbed the letter. John ran a hand through his hair as she read it. She turned around and held it up. “Isn’t this good news?”

“For Astren, yes,” John said as he came over and sat on the arm of the sofa. “But for me? For us? I don’t know.”

Robin set the letter down and she reached for his hand. “Whatever happens next for us? We’ll be together. Your brother can’t deny that his victory in the desert was because of our work over these last two years. He won’t cut you out of everything completely. He’s been away for a long time. He’s going to need you.”

John shook his head. “He’ll be lucky I managed to convince him to let me keep you around.”

“Well, we’ll have to let him do some running of the kingdom since by the time he gets back we’ll have our hands full with our son,” Robin said, pulling on his hand and shifting over, making room for him on the sofa with her.

John slid down to sit beside her, saying, “I suppose it would be nice to have fewer responsibilities so we can spend our time focusing on our daughter.”

He didn’t know why Robin was convinced they were having a son. They were obviously having a girl who was going to be just as much a thorn in his side as her mother was.

“Richard knows how valuable you are to him even if the people still use your name as a swear—did I ever apologize for that? I’m pretty sure I was the one who started it—” Robin took one look at his expression and flung her hand up. “Forget I said that. Regardless, you’d better have a good name for me by now because I’ve got nothing.”

John rolled his eyes and shifted, wrapping an arm around Robin as he stretched one leg down the sofa and dangled the other off the side. He pulled her into his chest as they both leaned back. As Robin sank into him, resting her head in the crook of his neck, he said, “How about Lark?”

Robin laughed, “You want to go with a bird name?”

“Why not?”

“First of all, we need a boy’s name. Second of all, even if we have a girl we’re not naming her Lark.” Robin’s head shifted and then she grabbed John’s hand and pulled it up onto her stomach. “Feel this! Lark is too sweet for whatever our baby is doing to my insides right now!”

As soon as Robin pressed John’s hand against her stomach, all his breath left him. He could feel against his hand the tiniest tapping. Their baby was kicking.

John then caught sight of the portrait hanging in their room now that Robin no longer used hers anymore. He said, “What about Roberta?”

“Why do you hate our baby?” Robin groaned, tightening her grip on his hand. “We’re not naming her that. Besides, we’re having a boy, so we need a boy’s name.”

“I happen to think it’s a lovely name!” John huffed. “Fine. How about Robert for a boy and Elizabeth for a girl?”

---