Heir, Part 4 - 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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An enterprise that should have taken a few days was taking weeks. 

But Ivy’s work was proving a rather complex strain on her magic. Each land managed to overwhelm her as it never had in the past. She could feel the power of her ancestors coursing through her body whenever she sank to her knees and pressed her hands against the dry earth, encouraging fecundity. Each blessing took her up to an hour. 

Afterwards, she was drained. Her magic was overzealous, and not entirely under her control. As she was helped to her feet following the latest blessing, she could already see greens sprouting up from the ground, leaves blossoming on bare trees, and flowers popping up at her feet. 

“Your magic is most fertile this year,” Derrin remarked. 

Face warm, Ivy ignored him. The commoners tried to swarm her as she was led back towards the carriage, but her guards kept them at bay, maintaining a clear path as Ivy got to the door and climbed inside. 

She slumped back, keen to rest, but was instead urged to eat. 

“You need to keep your energy up,” Derrin advised. 

Ivy could not deny that she was hungry. This was the fifth stop on their tour, and also the fifth time the citizens had come offering gifts of fine cloths, jewelry, and food. A lot of it. Which made sense, as food was the easiest gift to procure for the common man or woman. Food had the added benefit of also serving as a gift to the rumored — now obvious — offspring. Ivy was bombarded with platters, parcels, boxes, and bags, all crammed with local delicacies. At the second stop, Ivy had attempted to wave the gifts off, but the guards still accepted everything, loading it all into the carriage. 

And every time Ivy entered the carriage, she was assailed with the delicious aromas. Three months ago, it might have disgusted her. But now it made her belly ache and grumble, and she ate each treat she pulled out of the pile, not really thinking, just indulging her ravenous appetite. 

“Many mouths to feed,” Derrin noted as he closed the curtains. 

Ivy was not sure why Derrin constantly reminded her. It wasn’t like she didn’t know it. 

“You’ll need plenty of food to support their developing magics.” 

Ivy’s body seemed to agree. She felt like passing out but was still eating. She bit into a doughy pastry and chewed lethargically. 

Perhaps that was true. Ivy suspected that her increased hunger corresponded with her increasing magical expenditure. She couldn’t stop eating; forcing down food even as she grew impossibly tight and her belly started to throb. It was like she was possessed by some intrinsic need, hands moving mechanically. The desperation took priority over everything else. Soon even Derrin was talking her down.

“Easy,” her uncle said softly. Derrin was suddenly seated beside her with a hand on her back. Ivy tensed for a moment, but then relaxed, and groaned out. Her body felt hot, and she realized that she was sweating significantly. “I know you want to nurture them…but take it slow,” Derrin went on. 

That wasn’t it at all. Ivy had just…she had just lost herself for a moment. She slumped back and moaned, arching her throat to stare up at the ceiling. “I need…rest,” she managed, mortified. 

“You’ve earned it,” Derrin assured. 

And as Ivy’s eyelids sank, she felt a curious sensation. A broad hand resting gently against her over-packed belly. It wasn’t a bad thing. 

She fell asleep. 

- 

Ivy was used to men courting her, as they indulged fantasies of being King. She was used to young women looking up to her in envy, wanting to be as witty, stylish, and pretty as Ivy was. 

But there was none of that at Ivy’s stop in Anbrotha. Men who had courted and girls who had envied now looked decidedly stunned. Ivy could see many of the youths she used to frequent pubs with in her prior travels. She remembered how they would dine, drink, and dance together. They would feast, and play, and treat life like it was one ceaseless party. Because that was how life had been for her.

But now she was becoming…a mother. What an unfortunate concept. Her face was stubborn, and she did not meet one of their eyes. She felt decidedly awkward there, huffing and puffing, wanting to hide the bulge that Derrin was bent on displaying. Ivy was certain she’d had a growth spurt the night before because her clothes were even tighter than previously. There was just so much to accommodate, so many children. A great size was to be expected, and it was all the more humiliating. Yet her guards stood proud, and so did her uncle. 

Ivy was growing, but there was no seamstress on hand to adjust her clothing. This trip was taking too long, with all the breaks she needed to either eat or nap. Thankfully, this was the last stop. Ivy rested her hand on her sore back, not knowing what to say to the crowd that looked at her, and so expectantly, her pregnancy more evident than ever before. Perhaps it was time to formally acknowledge it. 

A peasant man pushed his way forward. “A farce!” he screamed, as two guards stepped in front of Ivy. 

The man was quickly dragged away, struggling, but now mutterings were starting up in the crowd, looks of amazement turning to dubious frowns. Ivy felt herself blushing worse. Gods, she wished it was only a farce. 

“Ignore him,” Derrin whispered beside her. 

She didn’t think she could have spoken had she tried. Her heart was pounding, her belly tight to bursting from her increasing inability to control herself around any amount of food. 

“Clear the way!” a guard shouted, then Ivy, with her men, began their procession towards the country’s largest farm. 

She was interrupted again. A woman in the front tugged at her sleeve. Another joined, hands making contact with her clothing, and her belly. It caused Ivy to freeze up. 

“Please, hold the babe,” one woman entreated, as she presented a small bundle clutched in her arms. It wasn’t unusual. People thought it fortunate for their child to have any contact with the royal family. 

“Hold mine,” another pleaded. A baby began to wail and Ivy’s heart clenched. More fingers reached out to glide across her clothing, but she wrenched herself away, doggedly ignoring them as she continued forward. 

“Appealing for your sympathies,” Derrin noted. “One mother to another.” 

“Don’t,” Ivy hissed back bitterly. “I am not some emotional wench.” 

“Babes are something you’ll have to get used to,” Derrin responded smoothly. “Soon you’ll have a swarm of your own.” 

She winced. 

It was the last stop of their tour. Ivy was scheduled to meet with the owners of the farm, who were also one of the country’s oldest families. The conference was customary, and supposedly could not be avoided. The rationale was entirely political. The people looked up to the elder families, and it was crucial to maintain good relations. Or so Derrin insisted. 

When they arrived at the old and expansive farmhouse, the guards cleared the way for Derrin to knock on the door. The woman who answered stared at Ivy for a full moment. “C-come in, come in,” she stammered eventually. 

Two of the guards accompanied Ivy and Derrin inside, while the rest stationed themselves about the property. She felt as though they were smothering her lately. It was obvious that Derrin had sent for extra men at some point during this venture. And they kept closer to Ivy than ever before. It was like the more she grew, the more protective they became.

The Corven family consisted of an elderly couple, their daughter-in-law, and the young woman’s baby. The infant whimpered as they habitually talked over it. 

“Please, have a seat,” the elderly man insisted, pulling out a rough old kitchen chair that wasn’t nearly worthy of royalty.

Ivy gratefully sat down. It felt odd to be below their height and to have everyone looking down at her, but her exhaustion had far exceeded her efforts at dignity. Derrin looked vaguely disapproving.

There was a bit more peering. For a while, no part of the family seemed to know what to say of the princess. They were staring enough that Ivy was getting agitated.

“Where is your son, Themis?” Derrin broke the silence, addressing the elderly man. 

“Off working the mines,” the man, Themis, responded. “Only comes home once a fortnight. We need the coin. Not much harvest this year. Everything wilted after — after your parents died, rest their souls.” Themis gave a small bow to Ivy. “You all know our crops run on magic.” 

The baby had started bawling, the mother bobbing him in her arms, to no effect. The wails seemed to be getting louder, and Ivy’s head was throbbing. 

“I’m sorry, he’s hungry,” she said, looking mortified for not being able to quiet him. For not being able to feed him, even. 

“Their deaths hit all of us hard,” Themis said, giving Ivy a solemn look. 

“It seems you are not the only one in mourning, princess,” said Derrin, to Ivy. “Even the lands —” 

“The people are starving,” said Themis. 

Ivy’s chest was aching, nipples burning. She felt terribly hot, her flesh practically pulsating. She puffed out a breath as she felt herself starting to leak. Right there in her robes. 

The conversation awkwardly froze there, everyone staring at her, and all was silent except for the babe’s continued wails. Ivy was mortified. She felt trapped in her own body, with no reprieve from her fertile state. Even Derrin looked embarrassed, and seemed like he might attempt to segue again, as Ivy’s breathing grew thinner. 

Yet Ivy still knew what was right and what was honorable. She knew that her parents would have never allowed the decline that had occurred over the past several months, as the land withered and the people went without sustenance. She had been selfish. “Give him to me,” she said. 

For a moment, everyone looked confused. But Ivy nodded to the woman, and after a startled moment, the woman reacted accordingly. She leaned down and eased her child into Ivy’s arms. 

Ivy unbuttoned her top, revealing pump flesh and cleavage,. She unbuttoned just enough to give the child access to her nipple. Then the child latched on and nursed. 

She truly felt odd to be sitting here, nursing another woman’s babe, as it rested against the ones packed in her belly. She stared off, her hand absently rubbing along the infant’s back as it drank keenly.

“Th-this is an honor,” the woman finally found words. “You are a compassionate and humble princess. Thank you.” She dropped to her knees, tears pouring down her cheeks. 

With effort, Ivy stood. “It’s time to finish here,” she said, as she walked towards the door, the others instinctively stepping out of her way. She kept the baby, for the time being, as she walked outside and looked upon the expansive farmlands. They seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. She walked onto them, and it was one of those rare instances where no one followed, where no guards flanked her, and Derrin wasn’t muttering in her ear. These distractions would only corrupt the purity of her magic. So sometimes she savored it; the solitude of her power. Ivy got to her knees on the dirt, the infant fidgeting against her, but continuing to drink, so terribly hungry. This was her fault. Clutching the baby with one arm, Ivy allowed the fingers of her free hand to sink into the soil. This was the most sacred place of harvest of the entire country, and to think, that it had been neglected so profoundly. 

Ivy allowed her magic to seep into the soil, encouraging fertility, but it came easily now. Her belly lurched as her magic pulsed, and spread in waves around her. Grasses sprouted and rose till it tickled her ankles, steadily crawling to her thighs, and higher. This land seemed so keen for her touch, practically drawing the magic out of her. And then something extraordinary happened. All at once, it shot back into her, causing her to gasp and arch, as her eyes brightened and her belly tightened. 

The baby whined as he detached, and Ivy did all she could to keep her arms around him. She was growing. “Mmmghh…nrghhhh…” She could feel her belly pushing outwards, diamonds of flesh bulging between her buttons, until a few of them snapped right off. Her belly button popped outwards and her nipples squirted milk, sweat pouring down her flesh and tears running down her cheeks. The baby looked up at her, seemingly in amazement. Then Ivy hunched down, gasping for breath, clutching her mass. She could no longer support herself. She sunk to her side on the soft grass, barely managing to secure the baby before the world went dark. 

“Princess.” 

Ivy didn’t know how long she had lain there, but Derrin was above her, staring down at her with a look that was somewhere between astonished and concerned. The grass was high, going up to Derrin’s hips. And Ivy was buried in it. 

Someone lifted the babe from her arms. Derrin crouched down, placing his hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “Can you get up?” 

Ivy wasn’t sure but she nodded anyway. When Derrin helped her to her feet, she was assaulted with waves of dizziness. She leaned heavily on her uncle’s side. 

“You grew,” Derrin noted in awe. 

Ivy could only groan. 

Her trembling hand clutched her belly as she was helped back towards her carriage, her stride feeling awkward. She was still panting like a dog, still overheated and faint. Soon she could hear the mutterings of the crowd, their gasps and whispers. She knew that much of her flesh was exposed, and so too, was her growth spurt. Perhaps now they knew it wasn’t a farce. Ivy couldn’t much care at that moment. 

“The magic…attacked me,” Ivy managed, once she was slumped back in the carriage, her feeble hands rubbing desperate circles on her tight, heaving belly. She could feel Derrin staring. 

“You know your magic cannot do harm,” Derrin responded quietly. 

Ivy just felt too tight all over. She felt like her magic, milk, and children all wanted to burst forth simultaneously. Another button snapped. She whimpered and started to undo the rest of them, freeing her breasts. They were at least C-cups, but overly round and too engorged for her to stand. She squeezed one of her nipples, producing a squirt of milk as she groaned. Derrin gawked for a moment then quickly averted his eyes, his own face reddening. 

There was a knock on the carriage door. 

Derrin awkwardly cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, before taking his leave. 

Ivy just focused on breathing. She felt so uncomfortable, but so, so tired. Her vision began to blur again, then she heard the door open once more.

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