Kompera
patreon
Heir, Part 6 - Female Version
🕑 Added 2025-02-18 02:54:23 +0000 UTC$7/Bronze Directory
$12/Silver Directory
$22/Gold Directory
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.
-
Turner arrived within the day and set up shop in one of the spare rooms of the Plethera palace. At seeing Ivy, he was clearly surprised.
“The magic is strong,” Turner noted, blinking.
Ivy just offered a nasty look as she entered the impromptu office. “Or the old sciences, as you called it? Clearly you took some liberties.”
Even Ivy didn’t convince herself. She could feel magic’s reign on her growing stronger every day. It flowed through her veins.
“I heard about your recent engagement.” Turner chose to ignore Ivy’s last remark. “Congratulations, your highness.” He gave a smooth but insufficient bow; more of a nod, really.
“Turner, thank you for coming.” Derrin swept into the room. “Our venture turned out taking much longer than anticipated. It seemed unsafe for Ivy to be away so long without your oversight.”
Turner nodded, again shifting his attention to Ivy. “I trust that the Princess is…well?”
Ivy scowled.
“Indeed,” Derrin answered for her. “Though, as you see, she has been undergoing plenty of…changes.”
“Yes,” Turner agreed. “Only her highness has the tact and focus to juggle such substantial things as a magical pregnancy and a betrothal at the same time.”
Derrin’s expression grew stony. “Yes, well…” He cleared his throat. “We appreciate your aid in these very joyous events.” It came out deadpan.
“Joyous, indeed,” Ivy spat. She was seething. At that moment she should have been hidden in her quarters, sprawled in bed, waiting for the boulder attached to her to pop. Instead, she was looking towards public declarations, diplomatic chattering, celebratory parties, ceremonial exchanges, and a marriage to boot. She would relentlessly be in the public eye, and so would her condition.
“Shall we get started?” said Turner. “Princess Ivy, please lie down if it suits you.”
Ivy sent a glare towards Derrin, but Derrin gave no indication that he was leaving, which only caused Ivy’s scowl to deepen. Yet Derrin was unfazed, and Ivy thought best not to open her mouth lest she start spewing curses.
So she got on the raised bed in the center of the room. It was terribly awkward, and she was embarrassed that she fumbled somewhat between her weight and the awkwardness of her body, that rapid increasing dimension, her belly round and protruding. It was just so abrupt, so alien.
When she was lying back, she grew breathless from the heaviness of her five babies resting back against her torso.
“Are you eating enough?” Turner asked as he reached down and carefully undid Ivy’s dress at the waist so that her naked belly was exposed.
“I think all I do is eat,” said Ivy indignantly, trying to distract herself from the embarrassment of her body.
“Well, you’ve a lot of little mouths to feed,” Turner said. “Resistant though you may be to your blooming maternity.”
Ivy shot Derrin a look, wondering if her uncle would acknowledge Turner’s insolence, but Derrin just stood back, watching in silence.
Ivy had been a fit young woman only weeks earlier, her body slim and lean where her swollen belly now sat. “I’m to be Queen when this is all over,” she bit out, though she didn’t know why she allowed herself to be baited. Perhaps King Reese had gotten in her head.
Turner’s hands were examining Ivy’s belly, cupping, pressing, exploring every part of it. “Hasn’t started to drop,” he noted. “Doesn’t seem you’re near finished.”
A particular stroke left Ivy tensing, and she was horrified to feel herself getting aroused. But it wasn’t Turner. The man was gray and unpleasant. Ivy hadn’t been touched in a while. She swallowed and tried to get a hold of herself.
“It’s okay,” said Turner. Somehow he’d noticed. “All the hormones and pressure, it can be quite bothersome.”
Ivy felt her face heating. Derrin threw them a look of curious puzzlement. Thankfully, he hadn’t figured out what Turner was talking about. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, completely mortified.
She tried to change the subject, one of her hands unconsciously sliding to the underside of her belly. “This is…it’s quite substantial. The size, I mean. How…how big should I expect to get?” she managed.
“It’s impossible to say,” Turner responded apologetically. “The magic seems to have taken the lead, and as you know, it is quite unpredictable.”
When Ivy looked down at herself, she thought she looked at term with child. Which was even beyond the maximum size that she had anticipated she would endure when she had originally agreed to all this, back when Derrin had first proposed it. She had expected a small pregnancy at best, one that would end a bit prematurely. She wasn’t made for this, especially given all the earlier failings.
Ivy’s felt contact on her chest, Turner opening her dress further. She tried not to shudder as the fabric dragged on her swollen nipples.
Soon her breasts were exposed. They were round and bloated, supple and soft. C-cups, Ivy mused.
She hissed out as Turner grazed the flesh with his fingers, sliding along it, to finally close in on a nipple that was terribly sensitive, tender, and plump. Turner gave a gentle squeeze, causing a groan to come up Ivy’s throat.
Moisture. Ivy closed her eyes as she felt her milk releasing, a droplet rolling down the underside of her breast.
“Lactating prematurely,” Turner noted. “Though it isn’t surprising. You are a very, very pregnant young woman.”
“Carrying five,” Derrin agreed, where he still stood several feet back from them. “She was nursing a babe back in Anbrotha.”
“Was she?” Turner sounded genuinely surprised. “Getting an early start? You may be embracing maternity yet.”
“I don’t have to embrace anything,” she said irritably.
There was a pause. Ivy turned her attention to the ceiling, breathing heavily. She could feel her chest rise and fall.
“Princess Ivy, you must realize, there is more to this than just incubation.”
“Are you quite finished, warlock?” she inquired.
Turner sighed. “Yes. You are healthy. All seems well with the children.”
Ivy braced her hands against the bed to help heave herself up to a sitting position, though it took a good amount of effort. She glared when Turner looked like he might try to help.
“It would be wise to be mindful. Calories are lost through nursing,” Turner noted.
“Do I look like I am nursing anything?” Ivy snarked back as she pulled her dress closed, frowning at the way her nipples bulged out visibly against the fabric. She laid her hands against her abdomen.
“Look at you, you’re doting on them.” Derrin nodded to the gesture.
Ivy just eased herself off the bed. “I did it, uncle. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” She motioned to her belly. “And yet you mock me. What more do you want?”
Derrin’s face fell. “Ivy, it’s all in good spirits.”
But she had heard enough. Ivy turned and left.
-
“Is it not splendid?” Emeric asked as they walked together along the garden path. “We will have plenty of flowers for the ceremony.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “If you are welcome to it being outdoors.”
“I’m sure that any setting will be lovely,” Ivy responded politely. She was hot and uncomfortable, her back aching, and it felt increasingly difficult to maintain a smooth stride. She found herself repetitively resisting the temptation to place her hands against her belly, not that this offered any actual support.
“Very well,” Emeric said. “You are most pacific, princess. It’s a grand day, isn’t it?” He motioned to the clear sky.
This kingdom held many traditions and niceties that Ivy didn’t have much patience for back in Gelt. But she wasn’t a fool when it came to diplomacy. “I can seldom look at the sky when you’re in my presence, my prince.”
This was a farce. A circus. She was exhausted and just wanted to lie down. But when the Plethera Prince invited you for a walk in the gardens, you did not decline it. Especially not when he was your fiancé.
Emeric smiled at her. She appreciated his generously slow pace. Maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as he behaved. The two emerged into a courtyard with some tables and seating. Settled there was Derrin having tea with the King and Queen.
Ivy and Emeric joined them. Ivy bowed as gracefully as she could manage. The Queen offered a brittle smile and the King just scoffed as Ivy and Emeric took their seats. Two servants hurried over to pour them tea and serve them biscuits. Ivy could hardly keep herself from stuffing it all into her mouth like a glutton.
“Ivy, do you know that in this garden, we grow many herbs that are quite medicinal,” Emeric told her. “Why, there is even a rare plant that might aid your fertility for future children.”
Ivy choked, and this time she failed to hide it. Palm against her navel, she blinked back at Emeric. “Ah, that is — that’s quite interesting,” she said as the King glared at her. After the quints, she had no intention of having additional children.
“Everything is falling into place,” Emeric said. He reached out, laying his hand against Ivy’s belly. Her magic did something odd, sort of heaving, her insides twisting, then she could feel the…the children…moving?
It was more like a writhing. Emeric released a surprised laugh as Ivy sat frozen, stunned by the forceful squirming that littered her insides. It was not nearly comfortable. Babies, she registered, a bit numb.
“I’m afraid that might not be wise, my prince,” Derrin interjected, and to Ivy’s relief, Emeric withdrew his hand.
The movement settled, and Ivy inhaled against the feeling of nausea deep in her throat. She forced a smile that she hoped came off as pleasant and not queasy. She lifted her tea cup.
“The magic can be quite temperamental at this stage,” Derin went on.
Emeric’s face fell. “I see…” he said. “It is understandable. They are not mine, after all.”
Ivy very much wanted to leave.
The Queen was frowning. “Do not fret, my dear,” she said as she patted Emeric’s leg. “Everything will work out fine.”
“Yes…” Emeric responded, his peevish demeanor not receding.
“The sky really is quite clear, isn’t it?” said Ivy, finding herself unable to meet any of their eyes.
-
Emeric desired a dainty, soft-spoken princess. Someone feminine who would take her role as matriarch. That was what she was meant to be. However, Ivy’s body intervened at every opportunity.
It was the eve of the wedding. Ivy stood stiffly through her final fitting for her dress. It seemed like every day that fretful hands were upon her, trying to make her look slightly less massive.
It didn’t help with her inability to accept her condition. Her burden was often the source of frustration. She saw it in the royal seamstress, who was quietly panicking. Ivy was to be wed in just over twelve hours, but her buttons were straining. Ivy had outgrown her dress in only a few days. The seamstress could attempt to bring the dress out, though that could be seen as an insult.
“Why I’ll…prepare something fresh for the morning,” said the seamstress, sweating now. “You will be quite the beautiful bride, Princess Ivy. Leave it to me.”
Ivy gave a nod. As the seamstress gathered her materials and scurried off for a long night of work, the door swung open once more in her wake and Derrin entered Ivy’s quarters.
He walked around, surveying his niece. “If you grow another breath, I think those stitches will split indeed, my Princess.”
“You never tire of your quips.”
“Just happy that the children grow strong.”
Ivy started to unbutton the ill-fitting dress, a frown on her lips. “It seems you take every opportunity to insult me these days. Is it that wonderful to see me vulnerable?”
“Not at all.”
“You must feel so small, Derrin,” Ivy noted, looking up to meet his eyes. “Ever the servant to great magicians and monarchs.”
“It is an honor,” said Derrin, coming to face her. “We are family.”
“You are not my real uncle,” Ivy snapped. “Just an advisor. An underling.”
“My family has served the throne for generations,” Derrin responded, moving forward and peering, as though intrigued by every sound that came up Ivy’s throat.
“Well maybe it’s time they didn’t. You have become petulant and waspish. A true curmudgeon at the old age of forty-two. I say it’s time to retire you.”
“Would you prefer another sycophant, your highness?”
“I’d prefer anything else.” She stepped closer. So close she could inhale his scents of cedar wood.
Then Derrin kissed her.
Ivy’s magic thrummed, like a heartbeat.
Next Chapter
