Chapter 7 - Awaited Birth

Presently attired in crisp linen and a waistcoat of deep velvet, the fabric whispering against his skin with each movement, the Duke Ludwig took his place on an ornate bench outside his private chambers. Here, surrounded by the grandeur of ancestral portraits and the soft glow of candlelight reflecting off gilded frames, he waited.

Ludwig paced the length of the embellished corridor, each step a testimony to his mounting trepidation. The grandeur of the place, with its gilded mirrors and sumptuous paintings, felt oppressive under the weight of his concern. Hours had passed since he had arrived at the threshold of the birthing room, and still, there was no ceasing to the screams that pierced through the heavy mahogany door. Esther's cries, muffled by the damask wall coverings, echoed in his ears, each one a sharp reminder of life's precarious balance. 

His ears strained against the carved mahogany barrier, the anguished cries of his Duchess piercing him with each rising swell. Ludwig's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening—a battle-hardened warrior rendered powerless by the raw forces of life being wrought behind closed doors. Each scream was a lance to his heart, his love's pain a tangible weight upon his chest, leaving him gasping for air within the perfumed stillness of the corridor.

Time lost meaning as the Duke remained anchored to that bench, a sentinel of love and duty, his world narrowed to the space beyond the chamber and the precious life it cradled within. The delicate patter of rain against the windows whispered promises of renewal, even as the heavens wept in communion with his beloved's struggle.

In those hours, Christian Therna, the formidable Duke, was simply a man—a husband caught in the fragile threshold between joy and despair, awaiting the cry of new life that would herald the dawn of his family's future.

He paused, pressing his ear against the cool wood, longing for a sign, a change in pitch or rhythm that would herald the arrival of their child. Ludwig's hands, usually steady and sure from years managing their estate, trembled noticeably. He had been through tempests that threatened to tear down barns, negotiated trades that could make or break their year's income, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer helplessness that clawed at his insides now.

Within the chamber, the air crackled with intensity as Esther labored to bring forth new life into the world of elegance and refinement they inhabited. Silk drapes billowed gently at the open windows, as if trying to soothe the stifling atmosphere with whispers of the outside world – a stark contrast to the primal sounds that filled the room.

The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway marched on, indifferent to his anxiety. Ludwig smoothed his velvet waistcoat, an unconscious attempt to regain some semblance of control. He straightened his posture, trying to emulate the stately columns that lined their home, wishing he could borrow some of their stoic strength.

A particularly harrowing cry sliced through the silence, causing Ludwig to flinch. He wasn't religious but still whispered a silent prayer to whoever might be listening, entreating for Esther's wellbeing and that of their child. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the screaming ceased, leaving behind a void that was both terrifying and hopeful in its silence.

Ludwig held his breath.

A door creaked open, and the midwife's tired face appeared, her eyes soft with relief. Ludwig stepped forward, his heart thundering against his ribs like a trapped bird desperate for release. The midwife nodded, a simple tilt of her head that felt as grand as any royal decree.

"Come," she beckoned.

Ludwig hesitated at the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the room that now felt sacred—a temple to the miracle of life his Esther had wrought within its walls. With each measured step, he approached the bed where his wife lay, her once vibrant face now pale and drawn, yet crowned with an aura of triumph.

"Esther," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

She turned to him, and in that moment, he knew no portrait or sonnet could ever capture the depth of love and gratitude that shimmered in her tired eyes. His hand found hers, their fingers entwining, a silent vow renewed.

"Look," Esther murmured, her voice a lullaby, as she directed his attention to the bundle cradled in the doctor's arms.

Ludwig gazed upon his child for the first time, a fragile being who seemed impossibly small and yet filled the room with an immense presence. A new cry pierced the air, not of pain but of life announcing itself, demanding to be heard and cherished.

"Welcome to the world," Ludwig breathed, his words a tender caress.

Outside, the setting sun cast a warm glow through the window, bathing the room in golden light. The elegance and refinement of their surroundings, so carefully curated, paled in comparison to the natural masterpiece that lay in Esther's arms. And Ludwig, struck by the profound beauty of this new beginning, felt his heart expand beyond the confines of fashion or decorum. 

In that moment, there was nothing but love—pure, unadorned, and transcendent.