“Even if she has his heir, it’s not like we’d ever replace her!” one woman wailed. “So why do our babies have to die?! Oh god—it hurts! Someone help!”
I fought. I bit, kicked, clawed—tried to knock the syringe from their grip. But they overpowered me…
The contractions I’d held off came crashing in like a tidal wave. Blood poured down my thighs. I screamed until my throat ripped open.
That cry ripped through the room, and the mistresses broke even more—panicked, confused, their voices clashing over one another.
“Wait, they injected her, too? But she’s about to give birth!”
“If she’s not in labor yet, then who gave birth to the heir?”
“Who wants all of us dead?!”
I collapsed onto the floor, my body shaking, my vision spinning. Using my remaining strength, I gritted my teeth and pleaded to the guards at the door.
“Call a doctor! We’re going to die here!”
And just then, the doors swung open.
Shannah walked in, dressed in a flowing white gown, her arm looped sweetly through Sullivan’s. She looked radiant—rosy cheeks, glowing skin, not a hint of exhaustion. She didn’t look like she’d given birth. Not even close.