I haven’t slept in at least thirty hours. No one in my family has.

From the moment we heard last night that Elle had gone into labor, we’ve all been gathered here in a private sitting room at the hospital, waiting for news. All of us except Leo, who’s at his fiancée’s bedside in the maternity ward. The rest of us—my parents, Andrew and Victoria, Nicholas and Sophia—have been trying to keep ourselves busy during the long night. Even my father looks restless, and my mother has spent most of the night with her hand on top of his, gently stroking the back of his palm.

It’s been a hard few weeks. I’ve been a mess since my marriage to Justine was annulled, but I’ve been trying to put my energy into other things—long hours in the gymnasium, work in the Senate, philanthropic efforts in the city. Nothing seems to distract me for long, though. It doesn’t help that our tensions with Rosvalia are still at the front of everyone’s mind—even though the annulment may have disrupted King Maximilian’s immediate plans, it’s clear he’s just biding his time, waiting for the chance to enact his plot. All my father’s efforts at diplomacy have done little, and we don’t have the intelligence resources to launch a secret investigation. Maybe I should have stayed married and just gotten a little better at spying when I returned to Rosvalia.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. No, it’s better this way. I saw in one of the tabloids that Justine did decide to return to America and attend Yale, so at least she’s following her dreams. It makes me feel a little better about the decision that had to be made.

The decision still keeps me up at night, though. And my mother has made a couple of comments that suggest she’s noticed my loss of appetite and lack of sleep. Father and Andrew might have supported the end of my marriage, but I’ve gotten the distinct impression that my mother doesn’t, though she’s never said as much to me outright.

I begin pacing the length of the room. Everyone else has tried to make themselves comfortable—Andrew has his arm around Victoria on one of the sofas, Nicholas is flipping absently through a book, and Sophia has curled herself up in an armchair—but I’m too restless to sit in one place. I’m always restless these days.

Finally, when the first grayish light of dawn is filtering in through the window, someone comes to find us.

“Congratulations,” she says after bowing. “It’s a healthy baby boy.”

And with those words, the tension in the room breaks. Sounds of happiness and joy scare the restlessness away, and both of my parents are suddenly on their feet—even my father looks pleased and relieved by this news.

“Can we see him?” Sophia asks the question on all of our minds.

“The mother is resting at the moment,” the woman responds. “But soon.” She bows again before leaving.

We don’t have to wait very long, but it’s requested that we don’t all rush back at once. My parents go first, then Andrew and Victoria, then finally Nicholas and Sophia. I volunteer to go last—but I don’t admit to everyone that it’s because after the initial rush of joy at the news, something heavy seems to have settled on my stomach, and I’m suddenly not sure I want to see the baby at all.

And I know exactly why, though it hurts to admit it. I’m upset because I find myself thinking of the children I’ll never have. Not even six weeks ago, I was falling deeply in love with my wife, imagining the little heirs we might make—but all of that is gone now, like a dream snatched away.

When it’s finally my turn to see the baby, I make my way back to the room. Elle is reclining on the bed with a small bundle in her arms, while Leo is hovering nearby as if he’s afraid to let the two out of his sight.

For a moment, I just stand at the door, watching them. Neither of them has noticed me yet—they only have eyes for the baby and each other. Though they’re both obviously as exhausted as the rest of us—probably even more so—I’ve never seen either of them look so content. So at peace. The love in the room is so thick it’s almost palpable, and the energy between them pushes back at me like a punch to the gut.

Once I thought I might have this. But I signed it all away.

Steeling myself, I take a step into the room. Leo and Elle notice me now, looking up at me with bright smiles. The little bundle in Elle’s arms stirs.

Slowly, I make my way to the side of the bed. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Thank you,” Elle says, the bright look of happy exhaustion never leaving her face. “He’s going to look just like Leo. I can already tell.”

I lean forward, looking down into the bundle in her arms. The baby is so small he almost looks like a doll, but he has a thin sweep of blond hair plastered to his tiny head. Elle’s right—even now, I can already see Leo in him. When I look up at my older brother, he’s grinning widely.

“Does he have a name yet?” I ask.

“Not yet,” Leo says. “Though Father has already put in a request for Edmund.” He makes a face. “Not exactly our first choice, even if he’ll probably be king someday.” Because of Andrew and Victoria’s inability to have children, Leo and Elle’s first child is now third in line for the throne after Leopold himself. This birth is a huge event, not just for our family but also for the entire country of Montovia. I suspect we’ll find quite the crowd gathered outside the hospital when we leave.

The baby stirs again, and his face scrunches up. He lets out a thin little wail, and Elle gently rocks him in her arms, making cooing noises to calm him. She hasn’t even been a mother for an hour and she’s already a natural.

Another pang hits me. For a moment, I have a vision of Justine lying in that bed, holding our child, rocking and gentling him. Once again I’m shaken to the core by an intense sense of loss. This sort of happiness was within my grasp, and it was torn away.

No—you let them take it away, I remind myself. You signed those annulment papers yourself.

But another voice in my head is quick to argue. You did it for Montovia. And for Justine. She got to pursue her dream and to escape her family once and for all. It’s better this way.

Then why doesn’t it feel better?

“Would you like to hold him?” Elle asks when her son is calm again.

“Of course.” I put on a grin, hoping I’m succeeding in hiding the turmoil going on inside me. This is a happy day, an event to celebrate, and I won’t bring down the mood by thinking about what could have been. What will never be.

I take the child in my arms, still marveling at how small he is. He’s settled back into sleep, but his mouth opens and closes a couple of times. Maybe he’s dreaming.

He’s a handsome little fellow, I think, staring down at him. When I glance up at Leo and Elle again, they’re both staring at him. They look as if they’ve never seen anything so beautiful in their entire lives.

I want something this beautiful. Why did I ever let anyone convince me, even for a moment, that what Justine and I had was wrong? I loved her—I still love her—and I still want this. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting this.

And just like that, the decision is made. I don’t let myself stop and think—I don’t want to talk myself out of it. Leaning forward, I return my nephew to Elle’s arms.

“Sorry to run,” I tell them. “But I have something important to do.”

And I’m not going to let anyone stop me.