Chapter 66-Enemies at First Sight
Before I could answer him, someone cleared their throat.
Elias stood near the foot of the bed with one hand pressed over his chest. His expression had softened in a way I had rarely seen, though he was clearly trying to hide it beneath exaggerated annoyance.
"Aww," he said, looking between Achille and me. "You two are painfully sweet." Elias sighed dramatically. "You are making an old man's heart swell."
"That would require you to have one." Achilles said while he rolled his eyes
"I do have one."
"You have spite."
"It is located in the same general area...anyways as I was saying I was nearly moved," he continued.
"Truly. Another few seconds and I might have cried."
His gaze shifted toward the bundle in Veronica's arms.
Then his entire face changed. The softness disappeared.
His eyes narrowed. His mouth flattened. He stared at the child with open suspicion.
"But atlas I cannot," he said. Elias slowly lifted one finger and pointed toward the baby "Because that child is broken."
The entire room changed.
It happened so quickly that I barely understood the words before fear tore through me.
"What?" I tried to sit up. It was instinct.
Nothing more. A terrified, thoughtless movement made by a mother who had heard the word broken used in the same room as her child.
My elbows pressed into the mattress. My body lifted perhaps an inch.
Pain ripped through me so violently that my breath disappeared.
Every muscle below my ribs seemed to seize at once.
My stomach cramped. My back burned. A deep, terrible soreness dragged through my hips and between my legs, reminding me with merciless precision that my body had been stretched, torn, pressed, and exhausted beyond anything it had ever endured before.
I made a strangled sound and immediately collapsed back against the pillows. Achille caught me before I could fall awkwardly.
"Do not move."
His voice changed completely. There was no softness left in it. No humor. No trace of the man who had been speaking to me only seconds before. One hand pressed gently but firmly against my shoulder, keeping me against the bed while his gaze snapped toward Elias.
"What the hell is wrong with her?"
Elias blinked. Achille was already moving before he answered. He released my hand reluctantly, stood, and crossed the room in three long strides. Veronica barely had time to adjust her hold before he reached for the baby.
She gave him over immediately.
Achille lifted the bundle with such extraordinary care that the contrast between his expression and his hands almost frightened me more. His hands held our daughter as though she were made of breath and glass. He pulled the blanket back slightly and examined her.
I watched helplessly as He checked her face first, his eye moving across every tiny feature.
He looked at her nose, her mouth, the rise and fall of her chest.
His fingers hovered near her neck without touching, as though counting each breath.
He inspected the shape of her head, then carefully freed one small hand from the blanket.
Her fingers remained curled.
His breathing had become too shallow.
"What the hell is wrong with her?" he repeated.No one answered immediately because no one seemed to understand what Elias meant.
The baby did not cry.
That was the only difference I could see.
Her sister had been announcing her rage at the world almost continuously since her arrival, but this child remained quiet in Achille's arms.
Not limp.
Not weak.
Quiet.
Her eyes opened slightly, unfocused and dark, her tiny face arranged into an expression that looked far too serious for someone who had been alive for less than half an hour.
Veronica folded her arms. "She is perfectly healthy."
Achilles did not look away from the child. "Are you certain?"
"Yes."
His gaze moved to the nearest physician. The woman straightened immediately. "Her breathing is strong, Your Majesty. Her heartbeat is normal. Her color is healthy. She is alert. There is nothing medically wrong with her."
Achilles looked back down.
He touched the baby's cheek with the side of one finger. She moved her head slightly toward the warmth. His shoulders eased only a fraction. Then he looked at Elias. Slowly.
"What," he asked, "are you talking about?"
Elias appeared surprised that the explanation was necessary. "Her personality, of course." Silence settled across the room. The strange, disbelieving sort that arrived when everyone heard the same words but required several seconds to accept that a grown man had actually spoken them.
Achilles stared at him.
"Her what?"
"Her personality." Elias said it calmly.
Far too calmly. Not with the urgency of a man who had discovered something medically wrong.
Not with the hesitation of someone uncertain whether he should speak.
He said it the way one might comment on the weather, the quality of wine, or the unfortunate color of a nobleman's coat. Matter-of-fact. Certain. Almost bored.
For a moment, no one reacted.
Perhaps because no one understood him.
Perhaps because every person in the room had already endured enough confusion for one day and collectively refused to accept another problem until it had been explained properly.
The smaller twin remained with the physician, announcing every grievance she possessed to the room with impressive determination. Her sister rested in Achille's arms far more quieter.
Achille looked down at her. Then slowly looked toward Elias.
Veronica simply lowered her eyelids and inhaled through her nose with the tired patience of a woman who had spent decades learning that immediate reactions only encouraged him.
I knew that expression.
She was counting.
Not aloud.
Probably because the number she needed to reach before responding safely would have embarrassed everyone.
My fear had not yet left me completely. It lingered beneath everything else, even joy, because fear did not disappear simply because the worst seemed over.
My daughters were alive. I could hear one crying.
I could see the other breathing against her father's chest.
Physicians moved around the room without urgency.
Veronica looked annoyed rather than concerned.
Still, Elias had said personality as if it answered a question no one else understood. My fingers tightened slightly against the blanket.
"What about her personality?" I asked.
M My voice sounded weak.
Not frightened exactly.
Close enough that Achille heard it.
His entire posture changed.
One moment, he had been staring at our daughter with an expression so gentle it barely resembled him.
The next, his shoulders stiffened. His eye sharpened.
His hold did not tighten, but his body shifted protectively around the small bundle as though Elias's words alone had become a threat requiring distance.
Elias lifted one hand.
Then pointed toward the baby.
"That child is wrong."
The room stopped breathing.
Every fear returned at once.
My body tried to move before it remembered what had happened to it. I pushed one hand against the mattress, intending to sit straighter, and pain pulled sharply through muscles that had already given everything they possessed. A physician immediately reached toward me.
"Your Majesty, do not..."
"What do you mean, wrong?" I demanded.
The physician stopped speaking. Achille lowered his gaze toward the baby again. His expression became frighteningly blank.
"What did you notice?"
Veronica opened her eyes.
Slowly.
She looked at Elias.
Then at the baby.
Then back at him.
"Choose your next words carefully," she said.
Elias looked around the room as though everyone had become unreasonable without consulting him.
"Not physically."
Silence remained.
It simply changed shape.
Fear loosened enough to allow confusion in beside it.
Achille's head lifted.
"Not physically."
Elias nodded.
"Physically, she appears functional."
Achille stared at him.
The stare lasted long enough that one of the younger maids quietly moved farther from Elias, apparently deciding distance might improve her survival if the emperor crossed the room.
"Functional," Achille repeated.
His voice remained low.
Too low.
Elias did not notice the danger. Or noticed and found it interesting.
"All the necessary pieces seem to be there."
Veronica's eyes closed again. This time, one of her hands rose and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Achille's jaw tightened so visibly that even the muscle near his scar shifted. "She is not a carriage."
"I did not say she was."
"You are describing my daughter as though someone assembled her."
"Someone did."
"I swear to God Elias ."
Elias frowned. "That is generally how birth works."
"I swear to every god unfortunate enough to be listening," Achille said, each word measured with terrifying calm, "I am going to kill you."
Elias folded his arms.
"It is not my fault one of your daughters is unusual."
"You cannot say something like that about a newborn."
"I did not say anything about her health."
"You said she was wrong."
"Yes."
"What does that mean?"
"Her personality."
The room became quiet again.
Not frightened this time.
Blank.
Utterly blank.
I looked at Veronica.
Veronica looked at me.
The physician holding the smaller twin lowered her gaze toward the baby in her arms as though perhaps newborn personalities were something medical training had neglected to address.
Achille stared at Elias for several long seconds.
Then he asked, very slowly, "What personality?"
"The one she has."
"She has been alive for less than half an hour."
"Thirty-two minutes."
"That does not improve your argument."
"It gives me more time to observe."
Veronica lowered her hand from her face.
"What," she asked with the strained patience of someone speaking to a deeply confused child, "could you possibly have observed in thirty-two minutes?"
Elias pointed again.
"That."
Every person in the room looked toward the baby.
She rested in Achille's arms without crying.