Heir, Part 7 - 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.

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Ivy felt better than she had in ages. Cool, relaxed, and strangely full of…something. Happiness? It was odd and overwhelming, but she supposed it suited the strange occasion.

It was her wedding day.

Ivy stood still during her final fitting. She was adorned in a stunning pink gown. Patiently, she waited as the seamstress put in the final stitches. It fit well, despite how unnaturally it had been woven to accommodate her jutting midsection. The dress was meant to symbolize strength, power, authority, and magic. Ivy did not suit the role. She looked far from a powerful ruler. In fact, her pregnancy made that image absurd.

They would call it…progressive. The Plethera monarchy had already made many concessions on tradition for this coupling, so why not another?

The seamstress finished up the final stitch then rose from her knees and looked Ivy over. “Splendid,” she said in clear relief.

Ivy wished to get off her feet.

Of course she did not act on this desire; she simply endured the discomfort in her back and hips. Nothing could seem to put a damper on her good humor. She wasn’t, by any means, thrilled about her coming nuptials. But last night…last night had certainly lifted her spirits in a way she would never have anticipated.

“Now just to close you in,” said the seamstress, reaching out to adjust Ivy’s collar, and as she began to button the dress, Ivy felt a sudden surge of dizziness, her head aching and her belly stirring. It felt the way it had the last time Emeric had touched her.

Ivy swayed slightly as the seamstress finished up. Her bout of malaise then improved, but did not by any means go away. Her fingers fidgeted with the front of the dress, pestering the buttons, tempted to open the thing back up. Though the dress fit her body comfortably, it felt stifling, her magic lashing against it.

“You alright?” A hand rested against her shoulder.

Ivy looked up at Derrin, the contact cool and calming in a way Ivy could not explain. She relaxed, her heart beating steady as she managed a nod. She did not know what was going on with her, but everything was okay at that moment.

They had not spoken about the night before. There wasn’t anything to be said. Though exceptional, their coupling had been highly illicit. Ivy was a Princess; Derrin, her advisor. Ivy was an engaged woman, and royalty, at that.

The chamber door swung open, preceding Queen Allegra’s stride into the chamber, a handmade following. As Derrin and the seamstress bowed to greet her, Ivy nodded as low as she could manage. Allegra stood before Ivy and gave her an appraising look. She nodded to the seamstress, who bowed again, then briskly left. Allegra gave a vague hand gesture, which prompted the handmade to go behind Ivy and get to work on her hair. Ivy winced as the strands were tugged and combed back. The maid started work on a braid, and Ivy was reminded of how long it had grown recently, and how quickly. It was like every part of her body was proliferating; fertile and healthy.

“You look very lovely, Princess,” Allegra said.

“Thank you, my Queen.”

She walked around Ivy, scrutinizing her more. “Of course, my son apprised you of the medicinal herbs we grow in our gardens. Do you know of phrisil root? It is most famous for its ability to induce labor in pregnant women.”

Ivy froze.

“It’s a shame we must proceed with the festivities when you’re so heavy with child. I’ve no doubts of your discomfort. Carrying one—my dear Emeric—was hellish as it was. Ivy, would it not be delightful if you were able to bear the babes by tomorrow’s reception? You deserve to properly enjoy yourself. Why, the difference it would make just in the wedding portrait!”

Ivy pressed her lips, forcing herself not to speak. Any response was sure to be a rude one. Was the woman really suggesting she pushed out her babies in time for portraits at tomorrow’s banquet?

Derrin responded for her, “The Princess has no greater desire than to welcome her children into the world. But she still has a while yet.”

“At her size!”

“Indeed.”

The Queen’s smile turned. “I see…” Her eyes trailed over Ivy again. “Your skin glows.” She reached out, holding Ivy’s cheek. “Soft and warm. You look the perfect mother. Plump and healthy.”

Ivy felt her face heat up more, though perhaps this just solidified Allegra’s impression of her. She wanted to avert her eyes; to turn away. But she couldn’t for risk of rudeness. She was forced to stay put under the scrutiny.

The maid behind Ivy finished up her braid.

Ivy’s legs felt weak beneath her. Fortunately, Derrin could determine her needs without Ivy having to speak.

“It would be wise for the Princess to rest. The ceremony is within the hour, and we want her well prepared for the joys to come,” Derrin said.

“Yes, of course,” responded Allegra. She took one of Ivy’s hands into hers and said, “You look very beautiful. Good luck, Princess Ivy. When we meet again, we will be family.”

Finally, she left Ivy and Derrin alone there in Ivy’s chambers.

Ivy dragged herself towards the chair while taking long, even breaths. She eased herself down, resting her hands on her belly. Gods. She rubbed the swell.

“How are you feeling?” Derrin inquired.

That was the odd part. Ivy didn’t feel awful. Ever since the night before, she had felt a very subtle, very strange tension inside of her. It had been unnoticeable at first but was becoming increasingly evident with every hour. And it wasn’t a bad sensation. With it came an increasing warmth building alongside that contented feeling. Ivy could only characterize it as maternal. And this worried her quite a bit.

“I think they’re happy,” she said breathlessly.

Derrin’s eyebrows shot up. “The babies?” he said, a half-smile spreading over his face.

“I just feel…really warm. Really full,” Ivy leaned back in her seat, wondering if she was rambling. She wasn’t making much sense, even to herself. Maybe it was the magic.

“As long as you are well,” Derrin said quietly.

Ivy was. At least now, at this moment, with Derrin.

She winced as she slid her hands up to her chest where her nipples were aching. The door opened, and the Queen’s maid returned with a couple of new brassiere options in hand. Apparently Ivy was not the only one who had noticed the growth. But she tried not to concern herself with such things. She would need a clear head if she was to get through this.

“Are you ready, my Princess?” Derrin kneeled down before her so they could meet each other’s eyes. His expression was solemn, his eyes searching.

Ivy wasn’t, but she nodded anyway.

-

The wedding ceremony was a grand affair, the throne room cluttered with attendees, going back farther than eyes could see. Lords and ladies from all the lands had traveled not only to bear witness to the union of two powerful royals but also to humor the sordid rumors trickling into their populace. The Gelt Princess had arrived pregnant? Well, now they knew.

Ivy’s procession down the aisle seemed to go on for ages, and she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she reached the end. Her dress was layers of whites and pinks, her hands clutching a matching bouquet as she arrived at the altar to join Emeric. An attendant took her bouquet, then pulled back her veil, revealing that Emeric’s face was solemn. Ivy wasn’t sure if she detected joy or doubt. She didn’t know him well enough to tell. She forced a smile, her visage full of emotion she could not hope to decipher.

Ivy felt sick from unease, but Derrin had trained her well, so she betrayed no emotion. She was a woman, the wife, the Princess, and soon to be Queen. She had to carry herself accordingly.

The high priest nodded to them. Emeric held Ivy’s gaze firmly. He reached out and took her hands so the nuptials could start.

But the moment Emeric’s skin met hers, something odd happened with Ivy’s magic. It did a strange lurching thing, and it wasn’t nearly comfortable. It felt more like rebuttal.

Ivy unconsciously gripped his hands tighter, her eyes going wide, the gray of her irises flashing silver as a jolt ran through her.

The heated pressure in her belly exploded with pulsing force, her cargo thrashing as the tension hit her in waves. She could feel herself growing, her belly advancing as her face reddened and she groaned. Her arms shot down to clutch her abdomen in protest. Her dress tightened, buttons straining until they burst right apart, her naked belly popping forward as she grunted and arched, nearly falling over had it not been for the servants who hurried over to support her.

Ivy was panting like a dog. Her breasts began to puff out of her bra, patches of dampness forming on the chest of the dress where milk was gushing free. She struggled to breathe, to feebly try to cover her body, her belly still pulsing with heat, but no longer visibly growing.

Ivy could hardly hear the commotion, vocalizations of shock and amazement muffled by her heart pounding in her ears.

And then there was Derrin. He swooped in suddenly, wrapping some fabric about Ivy’s shoulders. Emeric stood frozen, aghast, as Derrin ushered Ivy away from Emeric, the priest, and the sea of astonished attendees. Ivy could hardly keep her balance. She tightly gripped onto Derrin’s arm.

The panic shrank, a bit. Inexplicably. Somehow. Maybe it was the escape. Maybe it was being in the presence of her trusted advisor. But the babies ceased their mad writhing, her stomach settling as she struggled to breathe.

-

“What is the meaning of this?” Emeric demanded, his face flushed from anger.

Ivy was slumped in a chair in a private room off the hall, a blanket draped over her. She looked down, unable to meet Emeric’s eyes.

“It is the magic, my Prince,” Derrin supplied, moving to stand between them. “The Princess’s control has been…precarious, lately. With the pregnancy. Her children have largely taken the reins.”

“Is that even possible?” said Emeric.

“I assure you, it is the truth. The Princess had a similar episode at the border just before our journey here.”

Emeric pushed past Derrin so he was directly facing Ivy. “Then why, Ivy? Why would they do such a thing?”

Ivy was still breathless, her skin flushed and sweaty. She felt rather stunned by what had just transpired, hands clutching her belly, which was huge now. It felt different against her, pushing on her lap. She looked well beyond being at term with one child. She herself could hardly comprehend why her spawn would trigger such an episode.

But there was one thing that had become painfully evident. “They don’t want me to be with you,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper.

A gasp came from one of the attendants. Emeric’s body went stiff. He stepped back as though Ivy had struck him. “You don’t mean that,” he accused, and when Ivy did not respond, his brows furrowed. “How could you?” he said. “There are princesses more powerful than you, princesses who would die for the chance of my hand. You are just some woman. I’m the Plethera Prince, and you are—just look at you!”

There was a tense silence. Derrin looked positively livid, though he maintained tight control. “Perhaps these potential suitors are rich in gold, but you will not find a rival for Princess Ivy’s magic on the continent, Prince Emeric.”

“That’s enough,” Ivy said. She held Emeric’s gaze with her own. “I’m…I am sorry, my Prince.” Her hand absently cupped her belly. “They…they have spoken.”

Emeric turned on his heel and stormed off.

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