My Bratty Wife
Chapter 257 - Two Hundred And Fifty Seven

Chapter 257: Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty Seven

(Seven months later ...)

Seven months. A season of healing, of quiet rebuilding, not just for the Duke and his Duchess, but for the entire kingdom. The initial fear cast by Lord Byron’s deeds had receded, replaced by a renewed sense of peace and security. True to his word, the King had appointed Ryan and Thorne to take charge of restoring order to the kingdom. With good planning and efficiency, they had systematically dismantled the bandit clans, put an end to the rampant poaching in the royal forests, and stamped out the smuggling rings that had flourished in the chaos. The kingdom was safe again, its people prosperous, its future bright, all in seven months.

In the grand throne room of the Royal Palace, King Albert sat upon his throne, a benevolent smile on his face as he addressed the assembled court. "For his unwavering courage, his keen intellect, and his selfless service to the crown in rooting out the darkness that plagued our lands," the King declared, his voice resonating through the hall, "it is my distinct pleasure to elevate Commander Thaddeus Thorne to the rank of General of His Majesty’s Royal Army."

Thorne, looking sharp and resolute in his immaculate uniform, stepped forward, knelt before the King, and accepted the honor with a humble bow and a quiet word of thanks. The court erupted in polite, appreciative applause.

"And now," the King continued, turning to his Prime Minister with a ceremonial scroll, "for the Duke of Carleton, whose leadership was instrumental in this great success, a formal commendation and a new ..." He paused, his gaze sweeping the court, looking for Ryan. "Where is the Duke?"

The Prime Minister leaned in, whispering into the King’s ear. "An urgent message reached him not an hour ago, Your Majesty. He offered his sincerest apologies but had to return to Carleton at once. It seems there was... important family news that could not wait." The King’s expression softened with understanding, and he gave a slight, knowing nod.

Meanwhile, at Carleton, a different kind of unrest prevailed. The usual stately quiet of the castle had been replaced by a state of controlled, panicked activity. Maids hurried through the grand corridors, their faces a mixture of concentration and concern, carrying steaming bowls of hot water towards the master bedchamber. Others emerged carrying bowls of water now stained a grim, bloody red.

From behind the closed doors of the chambers, a woman’s scream, raw and powerful, could be heard, echoing down the hall.

Outside that door, Ryan paced back and forth like a caged lion, his fine clothes rumpled, his hair disheveled, his face pale with anxiety. He was no longer the composed Duke he’s known to be ; he was simply a husband, terrified and utterly helpless. Every time he heard Suzy’s cries, a primal, protective urge compelled him to break open the door and rush to her side, to slay whatever beast was causing her such pain.

Her scream erupted again, sharper this time, followed by the faint, encouraging voice of Dr. Abernathy from within: "That’s it, Your Grace! Push! One more, now!"

That was it. Ryan couldn’t bear it another second. He lunged for the door, his hand reaching for the ornate brass knob. "Cassandra!"

He was intercepted before his fingers could touch it. Davis and Noah, who had been standing a respectful but firm watch, moved as one, each grabbing one of his arms, their combined strength holding him back.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Ryan shouted, struggling against their surprisingly strong grip. "Let me go!"

"Your Grace, forgive us," Davis said, his voice calm but unyielding, "but you are not supposed to be in there. The doctor and the women have it in hand."

"She’s my wife!" Ryan shot back, his voice ragged with desperation. "I have every right to be in there with her! She’s in pain! She needs me!"

As if to punctuate his words, another scream tore from the room, but this time it was laced with his name, a desperate, heart-wrenching cry. "Ryan!!! Oh my Good Lord, Ryan!"

That sound nearly broke him. He sagged against the restraining arms of his men, his own strength failing him. The minutes that followed were an eternity of agonizing suspense. More maids came and went, their faces grim, their movements swift.

And then, suddenly, a new sound cut through the tension. A thin, wavering, but powerful cry. A baby’s cry. It echoed through the palace, a sound of new life, of a battle won.

Ryan’s heart, which had been squeezed tight with fear, was instantly filled with a joy so overwhelming it stole his breath. Tears welled in his eyes, but these were not tears of sorrow or fear. They were tears of pure, unadulterated relief and happiness.

A few minutes later, the chamber door opened. Mrs. Madelyn emerged, her usually stern face wreathed in a tired but absolutely radiant smile.

"Your Grace," she started, her voice filled with a happy reverence. "It’s a beautiful, healthy girl."

Ryan’s joy was now complete, a brilliant sun chasing away the last shadows of his anxiety. "A girl," he whispered, the word a prayer. He then looked at Mrs. Madelyn, his joy momentarily tempered by a renewed concern. "And Cassandra? My wife? Is she alright?"

"Her Grace is exhausted, but she is well," Mrs. Madelyn replied, her smile softening. "She and the baby are waiting for your presence, Your Grace. They are waiting for you."

Ryan didn’t need to be told twice. He strode into the room, his heart pounding for an entirely new reason now. The room was warm and smelled of soap and fresh linen. Suzy lay propped against a mountain of pillows, her face pale and glistening with sweat, her hair a damp, scattered halo around her head. She looked utterly exhausted, but her eyes, when they met his, were shining with a triumphant, loving light.

"My love," he breathed, sitting on the edge of the bed. He gently tried to arrange a few stray strands of her hair, his fingers trembling slightly. He brought out his own handkerchief and tenderly wiped the sweat from her brow, from her temples.

She smiled, a weak but beautiful smile. "It’s a girl, Ryan," she said, her voice a low, tired whisper.

He smiled back, his own face a reflection of her joy. "Yes, my love," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "A girl. My very own princess." He leaned down and kissed her, a soft, reverent kiss filled with awe and gratitude. "How are you feeling? Truly?"

"I’m fine, Ryan," she assured him softly. "Just... very, very tired."

Dr. Abernathy, who had been quietly checking the newborn, now approached, a small, tightly swaddled bundle in his arms. "Would you care to meet your daughter, Your Grace?"

Ryan rose and accepted the precious bundle with hands that felt clumsy and oversized. He looked down, and his heart melted. She was so tiny, so perfect, with a little tuft of dark hair, freckles and a small, pink, scrunched-up face. As he held her, her crying softened, and one of her impossibly small hands flailed out, her tiny fingers instinctively curling around his large index finger, her grip surprisingly strong.

"Leah," Suzy whispered from the bed.

Ryan looked over at her, a question in his eyes. She nodded, her gaze full of love. It was the name he never thought he would hear again, a name that belonged to his mother.

"Yes," Ryan replied, his voice choked with emotion. "Leah. I love it, it’s perfect." He looked back down at the tiny baby in his arms, a love so fierce and protective surging through him that it was almost overwhelming. He gently kissed her forehead, his lips brushing against her soft, downy skin.

"My precious Leah," he whispered, a sacred vow to this new life, this new beginning. "Welcome to the world."

— — — THE END — — —