Heir, Part 5 (Patreon)

Story Directory: $5 Patrons
Story Directory: $10 Patrons
Story Directory: $20 Patrons

Story Schedule

Summary: Ian is the last in line to the throne, and the only way to pass down  his family’s magic is by carrying an heir himself. Though the idea is  unpleasant to him, and in fact, unheard of, Connor enlists several witch  doctors and warlocks, who manage to get him in a state of pregnancy,  but he constantly miscarries. As he goes on without an heir, domestic  unrest grows, and the country is on the brink of a civil war. Connor’s  uncle enlists a unique warlock who utilizes both science and magic in  his procedures, and Connor soon finds himself more fertile than he’d  hoped or wanted. Contains: Male: pregnancy, breast expansion, butt expansion, weight gain.

Previous Chapter 

-

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

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

“We have been sent for. From Plethera.”

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

“King Reese requests an audience.”

“Gods,” Ian breathed. He was in no condition — not in this state. Even if he wasn’t mortifyingly swollen and round, he was exhausted. His efforts towards discretion were turning disastrous.

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

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

Ian’s breathing was thin, his chest heaving. He was still flushed and sweaty, still feeling like he could pass out right there.

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

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

Ian’s feelings of shame seemed to worsen with each encounter, until he forbade Derrin from calling for anyone else. When the tailors measured him, he tried not to recoil. He didn’t know if it was out of protectiveness for the babies or plain shame over his body. But he thought it was the latter. More humiliating, were the measurements of his chest, breasts round and womanly by then. He couldn’t stand the scrutiny, but finally, they were finishing up.

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

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

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

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

Well they were in for a surprise.

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

“Heir and ruler of the Gelt monarchy, his Royal highness, Prince Ian,” Derrin announced.

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

The mutterings died down to utter silence. The people here, their skin a bit bronzer, frames a bit sturdier, looked absolutely nonplussed.

Ian swallowed against the feeling of sand in his throat. “It is an honor,” he said as confidently as he could. His eyes moved past the crowd and up to the palace ahead of him, which was even larger and more sumptuous than his own. Up the grand white staircase, in the threshold at the landing, stood the King and Queen to welcome him, as well as the beloved princess Karina. All of their faces were pale, eyes wide.

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

-

“Is it true what they’re saying? That you’re…you’re with child somehow?” inquired Queen Allegra with a frigid edge to her voice.

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

Ian was not accustomed to the present size of his belly. His stride was noticeably awkward. Sitting down was an uncertain navigation, hand pressed low on his belly as the other gripped the edge of the table and he eased his backside down on the seat. His chair was farther away from the table than Ian was used to it being, leaving him to reach farther to eat his meal. His trousers simultaneously felt as though they were too tight yet might fall down. Everything about his body was strange, bloated, or uncomfortable now.

“As I’m sure you know, my family’s magic can only pass from m…mother to child,” Ian said as smoothly as he could. “Under the advisement of Derrin here, we were able to hire quite the talented warlock. And now I’m, ah — 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 daughter to her husband, then back to Ian. “The measures you have taken…well, just astounding.”

“It is temporary,” Ian said, forcing a smile though he wasn’t sure it convinced. “And I couldn’t be…happier, for this…precious gift.”

“Temporary?” The king spoke. “You will go down in history as — as this male mother. It’s unnatural. You are fat with child, looking like some woman when you should be taking the role of a leader.”

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

Ian was mortified. He knew that he shouldn’t allow himself to be talked down to in such a way, yet any amount of confidence and he might have had at the start of the day was shriveled to dust. He was their guest, he reasoned. No point in worsening the tension. Witty as Ian thought himself to be, he had no response but to look down at his empty plate.

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

“I think what he is doing is quite noble,” Karina said, appraising Ian. “He does not do this in his leisure, father. With this child, he carries his people, and the future of his country. It is a sacrifice. You are selfless man, Prince Ian.”

Ian swallowed. “Thank you, Princess,” he said quietly.

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

Ian had wanted a discrete pregnancy, yet the opposite had occurred. Every moment, he found himself in the spotlight, with no way to avoid it, when he would have preferred to be locked up in his quarters for the duration of his condition. He was just grateful that an official betrothal had never actually come to fruition. “I’d no idea,” Ian lied. A marriage between himself and Karina had been the obvious political course, and he had no doubt that it would have already transpired were it not for the untimely distraction of his parents’ deaths. “Yes, that would have been quite suitable. There isn’t a fairer lady than the princess.”

It was true that Karina was quite beautiful, with long wavy tresses of hair hanging to her waist, a perfect petite frame, and large blue eyes that were depthless. She was beautiful in a classical way, and Ian would have married her in a second had he not found himself with more drawn by lads these days. So he had put it off, then forgotten about it.

Karina lips spread into a smile 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, Ian choked. But somehow he disguised as a throat clear, his 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 Prince’s condition is quite…complicated, Princess. You see, he will be unquestionably — preoccupied, for the foreseeable future. He will hardly have the time to attend to his own kingdom, let alone be the doting husband a lady like you deserves. Also, uhm, you see, there is more than one. Baby, that is. There are five.”

Ian felt as though his face had caught fire. Suddenly he wished that Derrin had not spoken after all.

“What?” said Karina blankly.

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

At that moment, Ian wanted to strangle his uncle. But he could do little more than nod, wishing he could disintegrate right there. “Yes, it’s true. Rare though it is, I am with…multiples.”

Karina’s jaw was hanging, as was Allegra’s. The king was sputtering, looking simultaneously disgusted, offended, and appalled.

“How is that even possible?” The king finally puffed out. “‘the hell did you do to yourself boy —?”

“No matter,” Karina cut in. She looked a bit uneasy now, and breathless, but there was a clear determination in her eyes. “I am quite fond of children. I know they can be a lot of work, but I embrace the challenge. Don’t you think I would make an excellent mother, Ian?” It was all spoken quite quickly, after which Karina drew in a breath of air.

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

“Indeed…you would, Princess,” he managed. “However –”

“That settles it then,” said Karina, looking quite pleased with herself. “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 our 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.

Ian gave his uncle a desperate look.

Derrin finished off his wineglass then lowered it a bit roughly to the table. “A wise and generous proposal, Princess Karina, though I suspect your father would choose someone more suited for you. Young Ian 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 Karina desires…”

The princess released a squeal and got to her feet. “Oh, thank you father. I will get started on the arrangements straightaway,” she said, before hurrying off.

Ian felt dizzy. His heart was racing, and his belly, heaving, as he tried to breathe evenly. He gave another look at his uncle, but Derrin was summoning a servant for more wine, and looking just as helpless as Ian was.