Free The Mapmaker's War by Ronlyn Domingue

bellowed through an awkward birth, its calf a breech. And there you were screaming on a bed covered with straw in unreasonable summer heat. No better than a beast.
    Dawn became noon became night.
    Then there was the girl. When you heard the midwife declare her to be, an unexpected apology rushed to the back of your tongue. I'm sorry, Wyl. You swallowed the sounds. The sudden anger of your first thought upon hearing of your first daughter's birth stuck in your throat.
    An apprentice took the girl, but the pain returned. You both screamed in unison as her brother was born. A prince, a prince, the midwife's herald.
    The vessels closed. The two membranes were expelled. The midwife and apprentice peered over the gore. They brought the twins swaddled tight in linen, eyes open. You regarded their smallness. You felt a twinge of pity. So helpless, you thought. So the obligation begins.
    With relief, you thought then you were not a monster. Your instinct wasn't to abandon them. Not at the moment. Not when they mewled like kittens and your breasts weighed heavy in their waiting function.
    You were given the option of a wet nurse. She would attend the necessity of their nourishment. You might also preserve your shape. Too late, you thought, when you saw your belly and wondered how it would ever tighten again. Wyl, even before the twins arrived, had no complaints about how your chest had changed.
    Wyl did appear to love the children. Even the girl. He would go into the room you shared with a nursemaid and the twins. The place lingered with the smells of vinegar and rosemary. He unswaddled them in turn. The nursemaid was aghast. He held their hands and feet in his palms. He talked to them, about what, you do not know, because he whispered.
    Already there are secrets among you, you said.
    He smiled, no malice, no hint of conspiracy. Strangely, he didn't hold them, not for any longer than it took to remove them from their crib to your bed. Always gentle, always, but he did not hold them. You didn't think to ask why. Babies, after all, as you witnessed, were women's work.
    You soon grew bored of the castle and courtyard. Once your strength returned, you would leave the twins in the nursemaid's care and go into the forest to be alone. You stole moments away from what you had brought upon yourself. You were restless, exhausted, but resigned to their care. The beastly mother returned to her children when her teats began to leak. You would walk in just as their crying became wails.
    What a good mother you are. You know when they need you, said the nursemaid.
    The Queen saw them on the day of their birth and rarely again in your presence.
    Your mother couldn't seem to keep herself away and visited almost daily.
    Oh, they will settle you nicely, Aoife. Enough of the men's business and the company of common people. Do as you are meant to now.
    You did as you were meant to do, as your mother might well have perceived it. Bared your breasts for the twins, at times for Wyl. He desired you but you lacked it for him. The intensity never returned. You assumed the disinterest was because the twins required constant use of your body. Perhaps you'd made a mistake not taking a wet nurse. However tired you were, your mind could still think. You had no carnal thoughts at all. With enough effort, Wyl could stir sensation without actual pleasure.

    YOU BEGAN TO DAYDREAM MORE OFTEN OF THE SETTLEMENT AND HOW peaceful you felt there. You knew nothing of how they lived or how the people related to each other, but you sensed it. You thought of the young man who had led you in and out of the forest and settlement. You'd never met someone like him. He gave you immediate comfort. You weren't afraid of him after he encouraged you to breathe on the way there. He treated you with kindness. You felt it. It perplexed you how you and the cook and Burl the oarsman could all have similar reactions, almost as if you'd been under a spell. You'd learn it was no enchantment.
    The