Ronan's Risky Gambit

My heart hammered against my ribs as I clutched the small blue box in my trembling hands. Perineal massage oil. Four simple words that sent my mind spiraling into a dark pit of terror.

"Hazel, breathe," Silas said, his voice gentle as he pried the box from my white-knuckled grip. "It's just a preventative measure. Many women give birth without any tearing at all."

"But many women do tear," I countered, my voice climbing higher. "Otherwise they wouldn't make this—this—" I waved frantically at the box now in his hands.

Kaelen appeared in the doorway, drawn by my rising panic. With swift, purposeful strides, he crossed the room and knelt in front of me, his blue eyes finding mine.

"What happened?" he asked, even as his hand came to rest on my knee, a steady anchor.

Ronan's face was flushed with guilt. "I found the massage oil in the box and—"

"And now she's panicking about childbirth," Silas finished, setting the offensive box aside.