The jerk is a Prince

The wails of a newborn echoed through the dimly lit chambers of the Queen's quarters.

In the council chamber, the king sat, his hands folded as he said a silent prayer. His cabinet sat, but there was total silence as they all waited for the announcement of a newborn heir.

Inside the Queen's chamber, Queen Margaret lay drenched in sweat, her golden curls plastered to her forehead as she gasped for air.

She had tears striking down her cheeks. The labor had been brutal, nearly taking her life, but she had endured. She had to. The future of the kingdom rested on her shoulders.

"I want my baby," she cried amidst pants.

Then came the midwife, an aging woman. With trembling hands, she swaddled the infant in a linen cloth.

Her lips parted as if to speak, but fear held her back. Her gaze met with the Queen's, and there was a silent communication between them.

Margaret's eyes flickered open. "Say it!" She growled.

The midwife came forward, her lips quivering as she swallowed hard. "Y...your Majesty... It is a girl." She said, and the room fell into a suffocating silence.

All smiles on the Queen's face disappeared, replaced by shock and doubt.

The Queen's heart pounded violently as the words echoed in her ears. "A girl?" She asked in a quiet voice, and the midwife nodded quietly as tears formed in her eyes.

"No. This cannot be." The Queen mumbled as tears gathered in her eyes.

The entire kingdom was waiting for the birth of a prince, an heir who would succeed King Hezekai.

A daughter meant chaos, a daughter meant trouble.

Margaret's fingers tightened around the silk sheets on the bed as the weight of despair crashed over her.

The King was dying, clinging to the hope that his heir would bring stability to a kingdom falling into chaos.

If the truth goes out, he would order the child's death.

Margaret forced herself to sit up, her body trembling with exhaustion. "Fetch Harold Nelson," she commanded through gritted teeth.

The midwife paused with a furrowed brow. "Your Majesty, the king..."

"Now!" Margaret screamed, and the midwife trembled.

Scared of the Queen's rage, she bowed. "Yes, my Queen."

She hurried away, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Margaret's gaze dropped to the child in her arms.