Heir, Part 7 (Patreon)

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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, Ian 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. Ian's uncle enlists a unique warlock who utilizes both science and magic in  his procedures, and Ian soon finds himself more fertile than he’d  hoped or wanted. Contains: Male: pregnancy, breast expansion, butt expansion, weight gain.

Previous Chapter 

-

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

It was his wedding day.

Ian stood still during his final fitting. As was custom, he was adorned in a ceremonial military uniform. Patiently, he waited as the tailor put in the final stitches. It fit well, despite how unnaturally it had been woven to accommodate his jutting midsection. The uniform was meant to symbolize strength, power, authority, and might. Ian did not suit the role. He looked far from a powerful ruler going out to battle. In fact, his 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 tailor finished up the final stitch then rose from his knees and looked Ian over. “Splendid,” he said in clear relief.

Ian wished to get off his feet.

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

“Now just to close you in,” said the tailor, reaching out to adjust Ian’s collar, and as he began to button the uniform, Ian felt a sudden surge of dizziness, his head aching and his belly stirring. It felt the way it had the last time Karina had touched him.

Ian swayed slightly as the tailor finished up. Ian’s bout of malaise then improved, but did not by any means go away. His fingers fidgeted with the front of the uniform, pestering the buttons, tempted to open the thing back up. Though the uniform fit his body comfortably, it felt stifling, his magic lashing against it.

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

Ian looked up at Derrin, the contact cool and calming in a way Ian could not explain. Ian relaxed, his heart beat steadying as he managed a nod. He did not know what was going on with him, 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. Ian was a Prince; Derrin, his advisor. Ian was an engaged man, and royalty, at that.

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

“You look very handsome, Prince Ian,” Allegra said.

“I thank you, my Queen.”

She walked around him, scrutinizing him more. “Of course, my daughter 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 woman. I’m sure the effect would be the same on a man.”

Ian 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 Karina, was hellish as it was. Ian, 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!”

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

Derrin responded for him, “The Prince has no greater desire than to welcome his children into the world. But he still has a while yet.”

“At his size!”

“Indeed.”

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

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

“I think you might need a brassiere,” she added thoughtfully.

Ian reddened worse. This time he pulled away without remorse. He crossed his arms at his chest, but this just made him wince.

The maid behind him finished up the braid. “Of course, m’Queen. Would the prince favor some seductive lingerie for the wedding night?”

Ian choked.

“That would be a bit queer, wouldn’t it?” said Derrin calmly, resting his hand on Ian’s back is Ian struggled to breathe. “Perhaps something plain. And discrete.”

“Of course,” said the Queen. “He’s not a woman. His body is preparing to feed the babes; don’t pervert things. Get him something comfortable, and yes, discrete. We will not make a mockery of this pregnancy. His job is most precious,” she scolded the maid.

The maid bowed. “Yes, my Queen. Apologies, m’Queen.” Then she hurried off to, apparently, find Ian a bra.

Ian’s legs felt weak beneath him. Fortunately, Derrin could determine his needs without Ian having to speak.

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

“Yes, of course,” responded Allegra. She took one of Ian’s hands into of hers, and said, “you look very handsome. Good luck, Prince Ian. When we meet again, we will be family.”

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

Ian dragged himself towards the chair while taking long, even breaths. He eased himself down, resting his hands on his belly. Gods. He rubbed the swell.

“How are you feeling?” Derrin inquired.

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

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

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

“I just feel…really warm. Really full,” Ian leaned back in his seat, wondering if he was rambling. He wasn’t making much sense, even to himself. Maybe it was the magic.

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

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

Ian winced as he slid his hands up to his chest where his nipples were aching. The door opened, and Queen’s maid returned with a couple of bra options in hand. Ian could not believe how far he had fallen. He had breasts, one’s big enough to necessitate the support of a brassiere. But he tried not to anguish over such things. He would need a clear head if he was to get through this.

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

Ian wasn’t, but he nodded anyway.

-

The wedding ceremony was a grand affair, the throne room cluttered with attendees, going back farther than Ian 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 Prince, magically pregnant? Well, now they knew.

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

Ian himself felt sick from unease, but Derrin had trained him well, so Ian betrayed no emotions other than those of calm assuredness. He was the man, the husband, the Prince, and soon to be the King. He was a soldier and protector, even if his body had taken a brief hiatus from these traditional roles.

The priest nodded to them. Ian held Karina’s gaze firmly. “Don’t cry,” he said, reaching out and taking her hands so the nuptials could start.

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was Derrin. He swooped in suddenly, wrapping some cloth about Ian’s shoulders. Karina stood frozen, aghast, as Derrin ushered Ian away from her, the priest, and the sea of astonished attendees. Ian could hardly keep his balance. He 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 his trusted advisor. But the babies ceased their mad writhing, his stomach settling as he struggled to breathe.

-

“What is the meaning of this!?” Karina demanded, face dewy and makeup blotched.

Ian was slumped in a chair in a private room off the hall, a blanket draped over him. He looked down, unable to meet Karina’s eyes.

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

“Is that even possible?” Karina demanded, her voice frigid.

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

Karina pushed past Derrin so she was directly facing Ian. “Then why, Ian? Why would they do such a thing?”

Ian was still breathless, his skin flushed and sweaty. He felt rather stunned by what had just transpired, hands clutching his belly, which was huge now. It felt different against him, pushing on his lap. He looked well beyond being at term with one child. He himself could hardly comprehend why his 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,” he managed, voice barely a whisper.

A choked gasp came out of Karina’s mouth. She staggered back as though he had struck her. “You don’t mean that,” she accused, and when Ian did not respond, her eyes filled with tears again. “How could you?” she demanded. “There are men more powerful than you, men who would die for the chance of my hand. They would die. I’m the Plethera Princess, 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 Prince Ian’s magic on the continent, Princess.”

“That’s enough,” Ian said. He held Karina’s gaze with his own. “I’m…I am sorry, Princess.” His hand absently cupped his belly. “They…they have spoken.”

Karina spun on her heel and stormed off.