Heir, Part 5 - Female Version

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Summary: Ivy is the last in line to the throne, and the only way to pass down her family’s magic is by producing an heir. Though she suffers from infertility, Ivy enlists several witch doctors and warlocks, but is still unable to sustain a pregnancy. As she goes on without an heir, domestic unrest grows, and the country is brought to the brink of a civil war. Ivy’s uncle enlists a unique warlock who utilizes both science and magic in his procedures, and Ivy soon finds herself more fertile than she had hoped or wanted. Contains: Female: pregnancy, breast expansion, and more.

This story is a work of fiction. As specified throughout the story, all characters featured in this work are 18 years of age or older.

Previous Chapter

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Ivy was certain that she looked at term with child. She didn’t know how things had progressed so rapidly, but it had to do with the magic. That was the best explanation she was going to get for the time being.

When Derrin returned, his expression was carefully neutral. Ivy knew this meant bad news. With clammy fingers, she feebly pulled her tunic against herself, making a belated attempt at modesty.

“We have been sent for. From Plethera.” 

“What?” Ivy rasped. Plethera was a neighboring country and their closest ally. They must have heard that Ivy was traveling near their borders. 

“King Reese requests an audience.” 

“Gods,” Ivy breathed. She was in no condition — not in this state. Even if she wasn’t so swollen and round, she was exhausted. Her efforts towards discretion were turning disastrous. 

Yet she couldn’t refuse. For the past year, Plethera had been supplying Ivy’s people with copious amounts of aid in both food and coin. If she turned down the invitation, it would be seen as insult. 

“What shall I write him?” Derrin asked calmly, though by his look, he already knew the answer. 

Ivy’s breathing was thin, her chest heaving. She was still flushed and sweaty, still feeling like she could pass out right there. 

“Tell him…we’re on our way,” Ivy managed. 

Derrin called for several local seamstress, having them summoned rapidly to the carriage to address Ivy’s rather evident wardrobe issues. Each time one ducked inside, they would freeze up and do a double take, before gawking at the Princess. It was rather rude in Ivy’s opinion. But then, each seamstress would catch herself belatedly, then resume a professional manner, even if they couldn’t quite hide their continued astonishment. 

Ivy’s feelings of shame seemed to worsen with each encounter, until she forbade Derrin from calling for anyone else. When the seamstresses measured her, she tried not to cringe. She didn’t know if it was out of protectiveness for the babies or awkwardness over her body.

Everything was stitched by hand, with haste and craft honed from lifetimes of meticulous labor. Soon Ivy donned a flowy dress that wasn’t as authoritative as she would have favored, but she was too short on time to complain. Unlike the clothing Derrin had ordered for Ivy at the palace, this dress didn’t feel too tight or too confining, yet it wasn’t as though it concealed anything either. Ivy was too large now and she could hide nothing. 

The ride to Plethera was just over an hour. Ivy remained slumped in her spot, dizzy from fatigue. She felt nauseous from the constant rocking and jostling of her belly, yet she found herself eating whenever she had the strength to lift a morsel to her lips. Then she would doze. She was barely cognizant of her surroundings at times. It wasn’t just fatigue, but the anxiety as well. Having to show herself off to a neighboring kingdom when she hadn’t officially divulged her condition to her own people. She didn’t know how she was going to get through this and she deeply wished that she could have a drink, or several. 

When her hands weren’t grasping for foods, they were laid against her belly, as she continued to marvel at how round she had become, how full and plump, and in such a short span of time. She had truly transformed. 

Finally, they arrived. The curtains remained shut, but Ivy could hear the excited chatter of a crowd outside waiting to greet her. The people of Plethera had always loved Ivy. Many expected her to one day marry their prince.

They were in for a surprise. 

Ivy was sweating. But this time, Derrin did not have to talk her out of the carriage. She nodded to her uncle, and he moved smoothly out the door with grace and elegance that Ivy used to exude tenfold.

“Heir and ruler of the Gelt monarchy, her Royal highness, Princess Ivy,” Derrin announced. 

Ivy shifted, hesitated, but then continued to move. Holding her belly with one hand, she ducked through the carriage door, taking hold of the frame for support of balance that she had not needed even days earlier.

The mutterings died down. The people here, their skin a bit bronzer, frames a bit sturdier, looked astonished. 

Ivy swallowed against the feeling of sand in her throat. “It is an honor.” Her eyes moved past the crowd and up to the palace ahead of her, which was even larger and more sumptuous than her own. Up the grand white staircase, in the threshold at the landing, stood the King and Queen to welcome her, as well as the adored prince Emeric. All of their faces were pale, eyes wide. 

The Queen stumbled somewhat and a servant fanned her. Emeric himself looked unwell. Meanwhile, the King’s expression steadily transitioned from one of shock to that of disgust. 

-

“You’re with child?” inquired Queen Allegra with a frigid edge to her voice. “Whilst unmarried?”

Ivy had been invited to join the royal family for dinner. It was a decent enough meal of elk and potatoes, but somehow it did not quell Ivy’s hunger. She was just glad that the table was quite expansive, so it was unlikely that anyone could hear her stomach grumble. “Yes,” she managed. Everyone gazed inquisitively at her. 

Ivy was not accustomed to the present size of her belly. Her stride was noticeably awkward. Sitting down was an uncertain navigation, one hand pressed low on her stomach as the other gripped the edge of the table and she eased her backside down on the seat. Her chair was farther away from the table than Ivy was used to it being, leaving her to reach farther to eat her meal. Everything about her body was truly uncomfortable now. 

“As I’m sure you know, my family’s magic can only pass from mother to child,” Ivy said as smoothly as she could. “Under the advisement of Derrin here, we were able to hire quite the talented warlock. And now I’m finally expecting. This will ensure the stability of my country and the continuation of our monarchy. The magic is quite critical to every part of our culture.” 

“Magic can do incredible things,” said the Queen uneasily, her mouth twisted as her gaze darted from her son to her husband, then back to Ivy. “The measures you have taken…well, just astounding.”

“Indeed,” Ivy said, forcing a smile, though she wasn’t sure it convinced. “And I couldn’t be…happier, for this…precious gift.” 

“You will go down in history as a whore,” spat the King. “And to employ a warlock—how unnatural. Just what is going on in Gelt these days?” 

“Darling,” the Queen cut in, her voice tremulous. “The Princess is doing what she must.” 

Ivy was mortified. She knew that she should not have allowed herself to be talked down to in such a way, yet any amount of confidence that she might have had at the start of the day was shriveled to dust. She was their guest, she reasoned. No point in worsening the tension. Witty as Ivy thought herself to be, she had no response but to look down at her empty plate. 

Derrin wore a grim look. He cleared his throat like he might speak, but then the prince beat him to it. 

“I think what she is doing is noble,” Emeric said, appraising Ivy. “She does not do this in her leisure, father. With this child, she carries her people, and the future of her country. It is a sacrifice. You are a selfless woman, Princess Ivy.” 

Ivy swallowed. “Thank you,” she said quietly. 

“You two have always been so fond of one another,” the Queen sniffed. “I had expected a betrothal. An alliance between beloved neighbors.” 

Ivy had wanted a discrete pregnancy, yet the opposite had occurred. She kept finding herself in the spotlight, with no way to avoid it, when she would have preferred to be locked up in her quarters. She was just grateful that an official betrothal had never actually come to fruition. “I’d no idea,” Ivy lied. A marriage between herself and Emeric had been the obvious political course, and she had no doubt that it would have already transpired were it not for the untimely distraction of her parents’ deaths. “Yes, that would have been quite suitable. There isn’t a more noble man than the prince.” 

It was true that Emeric was quite honorable and handsome, with light hair, an athletic build, and blue eyes that seemed depthless. Ivy might have even married him had she not caught the infection of recklessness. She favored the fun and freedom her singlehood allowed. 

Emeric smiled at the compliment. “I do not know why we should all act so forlorn. If it is what we had all wanted and intended, there is no reason we can’t proceed with a marriage.” 

The proposal was so unexpected, Ivy choked. But somehow she disguised it as a throat clear, her gaze shooting to Derrin who looked equally stunned. Even the king and queen had been rendered mute by their own bafflement. 

Finally, Derrin spoke. “The Princess’s condition is quite…complicated, Prince. You see, she will be unquestionably — preoccupied, for the foreseeable future. She will hardly have the time to attend to her own kingdom, let alone be the doting wife a man like you deserves. Also, uhm, you see, there is more than one. Baby, that is. There are five.” 

Ivy felt as though her face had caught fire. Suddenly she wished that Derrin had not spoken after all. 

“What?” said Emeric blankly. 

“There are five children. Fetuses. Young Ivy turned out to be…unexpectedly fertile. It was quite the happy surprise.” 

At that moment, Ivy wanted to strangle her uncle. But she could do little more than nod, wishing she could disintegrate right there. “Yes, it’s true. Rare though it is, I am with…many babies.” 

Emeric’s jaw was hanging, as was Allegra’s. The king was sputtering, looking offended. 

“How is that even possible?” The king finally puffed out. “‘the hell did that warlock do to you, girl!?” 

“No matter,” Emeric cut in. He looked a bit uneasy now, but there was a clear determination in his eyes. “I am quite fond of children. We will hire the best servants and nannies, and they will want for nothing. It would be no hardship, given our abundance of resources. Do you not agree, Princess?”

The king’s face fell. The Queen was blinking, still speechless. And Ivy felt cornered. 

“Indeed…my Prince,” she managed. “However –” 

“That settles it then,” said Emeric. “We will make haste with all the arrangements. The two of us shall be wed before the end of the week. We do not want these heirs to be born out of wedlock, after all. No one will ever question their legitimacy.”

But the magic was enough. It was a testament of their worthiness to rule. The entire ecosystem of Gelt ran on it. The monarchy had never been particularly dependent on legitimacy or marriages; the magic had always been more than sufficient. 

“And who knows…” added Emeric. “Perhaps, in the future, the two of us can produce even worthier heirs than those.”

Ivy gave her uncle a desperate look. 

Derrin finished off his wineglass then lowered it rather roughly to the table. “A wise and generous proposal, Prince Emeric, though I suspect your father would choose someone more suited for you. Young Ivy is quite…burdened.” 

Now everyone’s attention turned to the King. He was stiff and flushed, looking entirely infuriated with the procession of things. But he seemed to steel himself. He drew a deep breath. “If it is what Emeric desires…”

“It is, father,” said Emeric solemnly. 

Ivy felt dizzy. Her heart was racing, and her belly, heaving, as she tried to breathe evenly. She gave another look at her uncle, but Derrin was summoning a servant for more wine, and looking just as helpless as she was.

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