The cradle slammed like a judgment. Riley's hand hit the lid so hard the wood thudded and the midwife flinched. The newborn shrieked, a small furious animal, and the sound cut the hush of Prince Sebastian's private chamber. Candles guttered. Sweat made the linen cling to Riley's skin. Pain kept arriving in clean, terrible waves. "Open it," Sebastian said, voice raw and too controlled. He stood too straight for a man who had watched a woman through labor for the first time. His fingers trembled on the edge of the table. He had not known what to do. He still did not. The midwife obeyed. She tipped the cradle, revealed the tiny, red face, and the noise doubled, triple-loud against the chamber walls. "She's—" The midwife's breath came out fast. "Healthy. Strong lungs." Riley stared. The child looked like a small, furious bird. Eyes closed. Mouth working. The world narrowed to that fragile noise and the hot, immediate space inside Riley's ribs where something inside her had been unstitched and reformed. "I don't—" Riley began, but the words fought with the aftershock of pain. She swallowed. "Take her." Sebastian's jaw worked. "Riley—" "Take her." She slapped his hand when he reached, a sound harder than the cradle. The prince, who had been taught to command armies and courtiers, stood uncertain at a woman's rebuke. Everyone in the room froze like statues. The nursemaid clutched her apron. The midwife's lined