⸻ The Lost Queen - XXXII ⸻
— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.
— genre: yandere, dark!au.
— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy.
— word count: 8,386.
— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1, @kadu-5607 , @zoleea-exultant , @borntoexplore11-blog , @wisdomenlightener , @deadunicorn159 , @elvinapandra , @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife , @animetye-23, @leathesimp, @meheheasasa, @jsprien213, @lammys-thinking, @cheriecelestial, @grandfartvoid, @garfi3ldrulz , @uhkaey, @prettyjay103, @pedropascalbabygirl, @bbmgirll, @sadsaidthesadthing, @pearlstiare, @lilacnavi, @mimideeznutsinyomouth, @momoko-world, @orchidin, @your-mom-gay25, @panch1kos.
— the lost queen series masterlist.
A raw wave of terror washed over you the instant your mind grasped what that warm liquid trickling between your legs meant.
Your heart seemed to stop in your chest, heavy and violent, as if it wanted to flee before you could. You gasped for air for a second. Your fingers gripped the edge of the low banquet table as everything else around you became distant, hazy, irrelevant.
There were still two months to go before the time that, in your mind, seemed safe. Two months that now sounded precious, impossible, stolen. The fear came sharp, immediate. Fear for the twins. Fear of there being no help. Fear of being surrounded by men trained for war but not for bringing lives into the world.
Then, like a flash of light amidst the panic, May's words surged into your memory.
"It's normal for twins to be born prematurely."
You clung to the phrase like someone clinging to a piece of wood in a stormy sea.
But breathing was difficult.
Around you, the makeshift banquet hall had turned into a nest of confusion. Loud voices overlapped each other. Overturned goblets rolled across the floor. Soldiers rushed towards the exit. Generals argued in aggressive tones, trying to discover the origin of the fire that was beginning to cast orange reflections on the fabric and wood walls of the large pavilion.
The smell of smoke already filled the air, mixed with spilled wine, roasted meat, and sweat.
Everything seemed wrong at the same time.
You lowered your eyes and saw the small puddle glistening on the floor beneath your feet.
When you raised your face again, you found Thais watching you with slightly widened eyes. Her surprise lasted only an instant. There was quick intelligence in that look, an immediate ability to understand situations before others even realized something was happening.
Without wasting time, Thais approached and firmly grasped your hand. Her fingers were warm, decisive, human. A simple gesture, almost small in the face of chaos, and yet capable of preventing you from completely falling apart.
You squeezed back without thinking.
Around you, someone was shouting orders. Another man bumped into a column as he ran outside. The glow of the fire grew larger outside the tent, casting agitated shadows on the faces present.
But Thais remained still before you, as if all that commotion was nothing more than wind beating against stone.
"You need a midwife." Her voice came out low, firm, leaving no room for discussion.
Her brown eyes, once gentle during the friendly conversation you had earlier, now narrowed as she assessed the surrounding disorder. She seemed to measure routes, people, risks, time. Like a strategist in silk.
Another contraction began then.
Not just discomfort, not just pressure. It was a deep pain, squeezing your belly from the inside out, making your knees buckle. An involuntary sound escaped your lips, small and agonizing.
Thais caught you before you fell.
"Come with me," She ordered, putting an arm around your waist. "Let the men play war with fire."
You nodded, unable to trust your own voice at that moment. The simple act of answering already seemed to require too much energy. Your entire body was focused on a single brutal truth; the babies were coming.
Thais wasted no time. With one hand firmly holding yours and the other supporting your back, she quickly guided you to the back exit of the banquet tent, dodging frightened servants, overturned tables, and men running in opposite directions like ants after the anthill has been kicked.
A few faces turned as you passed.
Shocked and worried glances.
Glances that drifted down to your wet dress and back to your tense face.
But it only took Thais raising her chin and casting a single stern look for any attempt at a question to die before it was born. There was something in her at that moment that allowed no contestation. It didn't matter if she was a courtesan, a mistress, or a woman. She navigated the chaos like a commander without an official title.
You made a trembling mental note that if you survived that night and your children were born healthy, you would need to thank that woman as she deserved.
Outside, the camp seemed to have gone mad.
The air was heavy with smoke, so thick that each breath scratched your throat. Your eyes burned immediately, filling with involuntary tears. You coughed, bending over slightly, while Thais held you to keep you upright.
Flames rose not far away, ravenous, consuming part of a row of tents and supply crates. The night sky was tinged with orange and red reflections, as if dawn had arrived in the wrong way.
Men ran carrying buckets.
Horses neighed and pulled at their tethers.
Metal clashed against metal.
Orders were shouted in Macedonian, Greek, Persian, and who knows how many other languages.
And then, above it all, you heard a voice you would recognize even in the middle of a large, noisy city. Alexander's.
Furious and authoritarian.
Even without seeing him clearly through the smoke and the crowd, you could perfectly imagine him: eyes of different colors blazing with rage, his dark blond hair disheveled, clothes soiled with soot, giving quick orders while his men hurried to obey. And he didn't know his children were coming.
Another contraction tightened in your belly like an iron fist.
You let out an involuntary groan, gripping Thais's arm tightly.
"Breathe," She ordered firmly, adjusting her pace to match your unsteady steps. "If you fall now, I'll have to drag you, and I prefer to preserve my dignity and yours, Your Majesty."
Even in agony, she almost elicited a short, desperate laugh from you.
She led you through ropes, stakes, and tents to an area a little further away from the main commotion. There, the noise still existed, but it was muffled by the distance.
Her tent appeared before you.
It was smaller than yours, simpler, without the luxuries reserved for a king's wife. Still, there was care in every visible detail. Fabrics neatly fastened, a clean entrance, lamps protected from the wind. Not ostentatious, but vibrant. Habitable. Warm and welcoming.
You vaguely thought that Ptolemy must truly value her to grant her that special space in the heart of a military camp.
Thais pushed aside the entrance flap and led you inside.
The contrast almost made your legs give way with relief.
Inside, there was the smell of perfumed oil, clean wool, and dried herbs hanging in small bundles. The distant fire became just a flickering glow filtering through the tent fabric.
"Easy." She murmured, her tone as soft as possible.
Guiding you with surprising gentleness, she helped you lie down on the narrow cot covered with thick blankets. Your body sank into the simple mattress as if you had been dropped into someone's lap after days of tension.
From fear. From pain. From exhaustion.
Thais pulled a fur blanket and carefully covered your legs, adjusting the soaked fabric of your dress to preserve some of your dignity amidst the disaster.
Her fingers touched his forehead for a moment, brushing away strands of hair stuck together with sweat.
"Stay here," She said, her voice firm as stone. "I'll go get the midwife. Or a doctor. Or both, if the gods have a modicum of decency tonight."
You wanted to thank her, wanted to ask her not to go, wanted to plead for Alexander, wanted to ask for it to stop.
But another contraction came before the words.
Your body arched and a broken sound escaped your trembling lips.
Thais was already standing, determined.
She cast one last assessing glance, as if memorizing everything she needed to do upon returning, and then ran out of the tent, disappearing into the tumult of the night.
And you were alone again, to your dismay. Although you normally enjoy silence and your own company, at that moment, you wanted someone by your side. Your parents, maybe even your annoying brother, May, or even Thais or Alexander. Anyone.
Anything was better than being alone.
With the muffled screams of the camp.
With the pain growing in increasingly unbearable waves.
Thais traversed the camp with the speed of someone who knew every dirt path, every row of tents, every shortcut between wagons, warehouses, and makeshift fences. And she truly did.
Years following the army taught her things that maps could never show.
Where drunken men usually fell.
Where officers hid their whores.
Where the wildest horses were kept.
Where doctors, healers, and midwives preferred to sleep so they could be found quickly on disastrous nights like this one.
She moved between running soldiers and panicked slaves like water flowing around stones. When the tumult grew too thick near the fire's source, she diverted without hesitation, choosing side paths, less illuminated areas, spaces between smaller tents.
The center of the chaos roared behind her.
Flames shot into the sky.
Wood crackled. And the smell of smoke permeated everything.
Part of her, naturally, wanted to know the origin of the fire. In military camps, fires were rarely mere bad luck. They could be carelessness. Sabotage. Revenge. An invisible enemy. Or just stupidity, most commonly.
But her curiosity would have to wait.
She had a more urgent task.
The title came to him almost humorously and yet it didn't seem wrong. The young woman had never worn a crown, never moved with the trained pomp of Macedonian or Persian noblewomen. Yet, there was something about her that made everyone else seem smaller.
Not just beauty, though she was beautiful.
Like someone torn from their own world and left there by mistake.
Thais had known she liked her the instant she first saw her.
Some people arrived making a noise.
Others arrived like an omen.
She belonged to the second type.
She also understood immediately why Alexander was so determined to make her his wife. The king had always desired the impossible, the rare, that which resisted his grasp. Conquering the Persian empire was no longer enough. He needed to conquer that which seemed unattainable.
And that woman seemed made of distance.
Thais remembered well the night Cleitus dared to question the idea of marriage. Foolish. Very foolish. She wasn't present at the banquet but Ptolemy told her what had happened.
Alexander had reacted with such immediate fury that he almost killed him right there, in front of everyone. It was thanks to (Y/N) that he had survived.
The king's obsession worried Thais.
Not because of morality. Morality died young in military campaigns, as she well knew.
But obsessions corroded powerful men from the inside out. And Alexander was already being consumed by too many things: glory, omens, paranoia, mourning, ambition, wine, the incessant need to surpass his own limits.
His wife seemed one of the few presences capable of calming him.
Beside her, he laughed more easily, as she had witnessed earlier.
His eyes lost for a few hours that feverish light that had been frightening half the empire.
But the peace it gave him also made him dangerous. Hungry men gripped bread with excessive force.
Thais passed two soldiers carrying buckets and had to press against a cart to avoid being run over.
"Idiots." She muttered, resuming her pace.
Not even Hephaestion seemed immune to the king's recent mood swings. That said a lot. Hephaestion had always been treated with privileges that no one else received. If even he now left meetings with a clenched jaw and a hard look, then the atmosphere was worse than the rumors suggested.
Alexander was more irritable.
And when a man like that also became a father… May the gods help everyone around him.
She turned left between two supply tents and finally spotted a small area where women and healers usually stayed. Lamps flickered outside.
As she ran, another thought pierced her chest.
Her Ptolemy, still in the midst of the chaos, probably trying to appear calm while everything burned around him. He always did that, carrying worries like someone wearing invisible armor.
It pained her to see him in recent months.
The weariness lodged in his eyes even when he smiled.
Serving an angry King came at a high price for those who stayed too close.
And Ptolemy loved Alexander in his old way, loyal, fraternal, political. He suffered to see him fall apart into pieces that no one could pick up.
She wanted to drag him away, take him to some warm seaside city, make him sleep for a week and remember that there were things beyond campaigns and real crises.
But men like him rarely belonged to a single person, much to her dismay.
She pushed open the flap of a smaller tent and found two older women arranging cloths and jars.
"You," She said breathlessly, pointing at them like a general choosing troops. "I need a midwife now."
The two exchanged glances.
Thais raised her chin, straightening her posture.
"For the king's wife. Pregnant with twins. In labor. And if you delay, I might set fire to the rest of the camp myself."
Thais’s words landed with a dull thud on them.
The women darted into motion.
Thais allowed herself a brief, fierce smile.
Sometimes, authority was simply knowing how to use the right words and speaking with confidence. And that she had in abundance.
Alexander didn't understand where the fire had come from.
A moment before, the night had flowed under the glow of wine, music, and the cheerful conversations that always surrounded a royal banquet, the celebration of his Queen's return to where she belonged. The next, the camp roared in flames as if some bored god had decided to spit fire on his men.
And Alexander hated not knowing.
If it was an accident, he would find the incompetent culprit.
If it was sabotage, he would find the traitor.
If it was revenge, he would find every hand involved, every complicit tongue, every shadow that had conspired, and make the punishment a lasting memory.
No one could ruin his peace and he continued breathing.
His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. The night had started well. Too rare to waste. The atmosphere was light, the wine acceptable, the men momentarily satisfied, and she was there.
Pregnant with his children.
For a few hours, it seemed possible that something existed beyond war, maps, and the profound despair he had felt in recent months.
Now everything smelled of smoke.
Around him, chaos spread like a disease.
His generals shouted contradictory orders.
Soldiers ran with full buckets and returned with empty ones.
Servants and slaves stumbled, carrying fabrics, chests, and jars.
Horses neighed, restrained by fear.
Men pushed each other, coughed, and cursed simultaneously.
Alexander cut through it like a blade through flesh.
"Cut that line before the fire leaps!"
"Get the animals away, you imbeciles!"
His voice cut through the tumult with enough force to reorganize the men in utter panic. Some obeyed before even thinking. Others trembled as they passed him.
Buckets were thrown against the flames, raising clouds of steam and ash. Smoke swirled in the heavy air, entering his eyes and throat. He blinked irritably when the burning sensation hit his eyes for an instant.
He wiped his forearm across his face, clearing away sweat and soot, and continued.
The fire devoured a part of the camp with indecent hunger. Dry wood, ropes, oil, fabrics. Everything collaborated with the flames as if it had been prepared for it.
The thought clung to him.
Alexander paused for half a second, observing the wind direction, the speed at which the fire had grown, the points where it had first appeared.
Very close to the main area.
His already grim mood sank even further.
"Hephaestion!" He shouted, searching for the man amidst the smoke and chaos. "I want guards at every exit. No one enters, no one leaves without being questioned."
Hephaestion would appear somewhere, as he always did when something difficult needed to be done.
Another loud crack drew attention. A beam gave way, sending embers flying upwards. Soldiers retreated.
Alexander took two steps forward, snatched a bucket from the hands of a stunned man, and threw water himself onto the base of the flames.
The gesture had its usual effect. shame on the others, renewed haste.
If the king could face the fire, no one else would dare to appear slow.
Yet, beneath the anger, something more unsettling began to stir in his chest.
His mind reviewed the banquet, the faces, the last moments before the chaos.
His gaze swept across the crowd automatically, as if he could find her amidst the smoke and soldiers.
The unease grew. Alexander had been separated from her for too long; he never wanted to be separated again. A feeling of emptiness overwhelmed his body.
He turned abruptly to a nearby officer. He grabbed the man by the tunic he was wearing.
"My wife." Alexander practically growled in the man's face.
"I… I didn't see her, my King."
The temperature inside Alexander shifted. It wasn't just external fire anymore.
"Then find whoever saw her." His voice came out low, dangerous, and he finally released the man’s robe. "Now."
The officer practically ran before the last word was finished.
For a moment, Alexander stood motionless in the center of the chaos, breathing smoke, hearing screams, seeing the flames reflected in the eyes of frightened men.
The guilty would still be punished.
But nothing in that camp was more important than finding her.
And if something had happened to her in that confusion, then the night wouldn't end only in fire. He would make sure of that.
When the fire finally began to subside, not of its own accord, but by the force of water, screams, and exhausted men, the entire camp seemed to breathe irregularly. Only the smell of smoke and ashes blowing in the wind remained.
Alexander stood in the center of the partial devastation, covered in sweat, smoke, and irritation. Soot marked his forehead, and his sleeves were wet to the elbows. His chest rose and fell rapidly, more from contained fury than physical exertion.
Men avoided looking him directly in the eye.
He was still observing the damage, already calculating culprits, losses, and punishments, when he heard disordered footsteps crushing the earth behind him.
Someone was running towards him.
An officer emerged from the haze of smoke, stumbling over his own feet, almost falling as he tried to stop before the king. The man bent over awkwardly, hands on his knees, struggling for air like a fish thrown onto the sand.
"Your Majesty…" He gasped, trying to catch his breath. "I have news… Of the Queen's whereabouts!"
Alexander turned so quickly that his cloak whipped through the air.
For an instant, everything around him disappeared. Fire, damage, soldiers, ruin. Nothing mattered except those words.
But the messenger's condition did not please him.
"Where is she?" He asked, taking a step forward.
The officer opened his mouth but only breathed in panic.
Alexander took another step.
"Something happened to her?"
"I swear by the gods that if you continue breathing instead of speaking, I will have your tongue ripped out and fed to the dogs."
Alexander grabbed the front of the officer's tunic and pulled him up.
The world seemed to falter for a split second.
Alexander released the man as if he were burning.
The words echoed inside him louder than any fire.
His gaze hardened, but something visceral surged through his expression before he could hide it; shock, fear, fierce disbelief.
The twins shouldn't be born now.
His mind raced at a brutal speed. How long had it been since she disappeared from the banquet tent? How long had she been alone? Who was with her? Was there a midwife? Bleeding? Pain? Safety?
He was already moving before he finished thinking.
"Where." This time it wasn't a question. It was an order.
“In Thais's tent, Your Majesty. She took her there and went to get help."
Alexander waited no longer.
He passed the officer like a human storm, pushing aside anyone too slow to get out of his way. Two guards tried to keep up and almost had to run to avoid being left behind.
The camp, still smoldering, opened before him in corridors of mud, ash, and flickering lanterns.
His heart pounded like a war drum.
He had faced armies larger than cities he had conquered.
He had slept on the brink of death more times than he could count.
None of that compared to the cold that now ran down his spine.
His children were arriving.
And he wasn't by her side.
"Call all the doctors!" He shouted without slowing his pace. "Midwives, healers, anyone with helpful hands. Now!"
In the distance, Thais's tent was already visible through the smoke and shadows.
Alexander sped up even more.
When he reached the entrance of Thais's tent, still breathless from the run, the scene he encountered almost made him laugh in disbelief.
Before the closed flap of the tent, like an improvised wall of very brave or very foolish men, were gathered some of his closest generals.
All with expressions too tense for men accustomed to war.
Inside, muffled by the thick fabric, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold and ignite at the same time.
Not spoken clearly, but torn from it between pain and broken breath.
Alexander advanced immediately.
Hephaestion raised his hand and stepped forward before he touched the entrance.
His voice carried something rare.
Hesitation. Perhaps even fear. If Alexander weren't so worried about his wife, he would have felt bad that his best friend and closest confidant was afraid of him.
"Get out of the way." Alexander ordered, narrowing his eyes.
"You know you can't go in." Hephaestion tried to keep his tone calm, though his eyes betrayed extreme caution. "It's… A feminine moment."
For a full second, there was silence.
The kind of silence that precedes storms, executions, and bad decisions.
Alexander blinked slowly.
Then he looked at each man there, one by one, as if assessing who would be buried first.
"A feminine…" He repeated, his voice dangerously low and incredulous. "moment?"
Inside the tent, another groan of pain pierced the fabric.
"My wife is in labor." He stepped forward. "My children are being born. And you've decided to form a line to explain customs to me?"
Ptolemy raised his hands in a pacifying gesture.
"We're not challenging you. Just trying to avoid scandal. Men don't enter. Never enter."
Alexander turned his face to him slowly.
"I also never crossed the Hellespont to conquer Asia. I never stopped at Gaugamela to ask permission. I never consulted tradition before crushing empires."
Each word came sharply, his teeth clenched with rage.
"Perhaps that's the problem. You've become too accustomed to the word 'never.'"
Nearchus coughed, as if he wanted to be anywhere else and had been forced to be there.
Cleitus crossed his arms and murmured, "Giving birth isn't a battle."
Alexander gave him a look so cold it could freeze rivers.
"If she's bleeding, screaming in pain, and surrounded by uncertainty, that seems like battle enough to me."
Hephaestion took a deep breath.
"Alexander… Listen. The women inside won't allow it. Midwives, servants… This isn't right."
Another scream came from inside.
Alexander no longer seemed merely angry. It seemed like something older and more dangerous, a fury he had felt only a few times in his life.
"Then they might try to stop me too."
Hephaestion grabbed his arm.
Alexander ripped the arm back with instant brutality.
The impact of the sentence made everyone stiffen.
He moved so close to Hephaestion that their foreheads almost touched.
"Listen carefully. If any of you, tonight, stand between me and my family, I swear that argument will be remembered for all of history."
Hephaestion remained motionless for a moment, then closed his eyes briefly, as if accepting defeat before it happened. A small smile appeared on his face.
"You're impossible." There was a familiar, amused tone there.
Alexander replied without hesitation, "And yet you're still surprised."
Inside, there was commotion, female voices, quick orders, the sound of water being moved.
With a swift movement, he pushed aside the tent flap.
Ptolemy spoke behind him with less determination, "If you go in now, half the camp will be gossiping for years." Alexander didn't even turn around.
"Great. It will give people something useful to do."
Sweat trickled down your forehead in hot rivulets that ran down your temples and mingled with the hair clinging to your skin. A few damp strands clung to your face, and you no longer had the strength to brush them away.
All that existed was pain.
Deep, crushing pain in your abdomen, coming in violent waves that seemed to begin in your spine and close in around your entire body. Pain in your back, your hips, your legs tense from trying so hard to endure. Pain even in your fingers, clenched so tightly against the blankets that your knuckles burned.
The rest of the world came and went like a feverish dream.
The voices around you became jumbled.
The smell of herbs, sweat, oil, and smoke mingled in the stifling air of the tent.
The light from the lamps trembled against the fabric of the walls, casting shadows that moved like restless ghosts.
Between contractions, your thoughts kept returning to the same point.
Your babies were in a hurry.
It seemed impossible that everything was happening so fast. There was panic in it but also astonishment. You had always imagined endless hours, suffering that would drag on all night and perhaps until dawn. However, your body seemed determined, driven by its own ancient urgency, which didn't ask permission from your mind.
You vaguely remembered something you had read years ago in a world too distant now to seem real.
Some labors, especially under certain circumstances, could progress quickly.
Twins could also surprise.
At the time, it was just curious information on a screen, an innocent curiosity in the middle of the night.
Now it was your body experiencing it.
Another contraction came.
You arched your back, a broken sound escaping your throat. One of the women murmured something, and another held your shoulders to keep you lying down. Someone ordered more water. Another asked for clean cloths.
Thais's tent was full of women you had never seen before.
An older woman with gray hair gave orders with dry authority, probably the head midwife. Another crushed herbs in a bowl. A third stirred heated jars near the lamp. Two younger girls exchanged cloths and whispered to each other.
None of them were familiar to you.
None knew who you had been before all this.
The discomfort grew along with the pain.
Perhaps it was your 21st-century brain, still alive in some stubborn corner inside you. Perhaps these were habits from a world where privacy mattered differently, where hospitals had names, protocols, identified doctors and chosen companions.
There, you were a body in labor surrounded by strangers.
You knew, rationally, that they were helping.
You knew they were probably experienced.
You knew that this was the best chance available.
But knowing didn't prevent the sadness.
Tears came unbidden, mixed with sweat.
One of the women thought it was just pain and murmured something kind while wiping your forehead with a damp cloth.
It was longing for things that no longer existed.
You missed the cold, electric light in hospital corridors. Someone asking your full name. A nurse explaining what was happening. Your mother holding your hand and saying everything would be alright. Any familiar face you could choose.
There, everything seemed stolen and improvised.
You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing rapidly.
"Take a deep breath," The older woman there said firmly. "Save your strength."
Easy to say. You almost cursed her.
"I want…" Your voice came out weak, faltering. You didn't even know what you wanted to ask for.
His name flashed through your mind like a spark.
You didn't know if he had been notified. You didn't know if he was still fighting the fire. You didn't know if you would make it in time. If he would even come.
Another wave of pain crushed any thought.
You let out a groan and gripped the blanket so tightly you almost tore the fabric.
One of the women said something cheerful to the midwife.
The old woman approached, looked between your legs, and nodded with professional sternness.
"Quick," She said, looking at you. "These babies don't intend to wait for anyone."
The words should have comforted you.
Instead, your chest tightened.
Because you didn't want to wait for anyone either.
You wanted a familiar face.
You wanted a hand that wasn't a stranger's.
You wanted not to be alone at the most vulnerable moment of your life.
And, for an exhausted and aching instant, all you could do was cry amidst the excruciating pain that engulfed your body.
Thais approached the cot and took your hand in hers with surprising care.
Her fingers were firm, warm, real.
There was no aggressive haste in that touch, nor the distant objectivity of the other women busy preparing cloths, water, and herbs. It was a simple, almost intimate gesture, offered as one who understands that sometimes a person doesn't need an immediate solution, just something human to hold on to while the world tries to tear them apart. Or in your case, when two babies seemed to want to tear you in two.
"Look at me," She said softly.
Your eyes burned with sweat and tears but you managed to focus on her face illuminated by the lamp. Thais seemed irritatingly composed amidst the chaos, as if premature births, mysterious fires, and temperamental kings were just another inconvenient night. And, considering this Athenian woman's history, perhaps it was.
"Breathe when I tell you to. Curse the gods if it helps. Bite someone if necessary, but I'd rather it wasn't my hand."
Despite the pain, a weak, trembling sound almost escaped you in the form of laughter.
Another contraction began to form deep in your belly.
You squeezed her hand with brutal force.
Thais didn't even complain.
Around you, the women moved in efficient circles. The oldest midwife arranged positions. A young woman brought more warm water. Another collected stained cloths and replaced them with clean ones. The air inside the tent was thick with heat, herbs, and expectation.
Then came a noise from outside.
The entrance flap moved violently, followed by an indignant chorus of women.
"For the love of the gods!"
The canvas was finally pulled back.
For a second, the entire tent froze.
He was covered in smoke and soot, his clothes stained with water and ash, his hair disheveled, his chest rising rapidly from running. His clear eyes scanned the interior like blades searching for a single thing.
Finding you on the cot, he stopped.
All the violence outside seemed to leave him at once, replaced by something more raw and far less comfortable to bear.
The women around him immediately began to protest.
The oldest midwife raised her hands as if to stem a flood.
"Your Majesty, you can't be here!"
Another murmured that it was indecent.
A third made the sign against bad luck.
Thais released your hand only to raise an amused eyebrow.
"Well," She said dryly. "Apparently he can."
Alexander didn't even look at anyone else.
He took two steps inside, as if everything else were just noisy furniture, and knelt beside the cot.
His eyes darted over your sweaty face, the strands of hair clinging to your forehead, the tension in your body, the pain etched into every muscle.
"How long?" He asked hoarsely.
No one answered quickly enough.
He turned his head toward the midwife with an intensity that would make generals recoil.
"A few hours ago, Your Majesty," She stammered.
Then he turned to you, and this time his voice changed completely.
Almost incredulous, as if saying it more to himself than to you.
Another contraction hit you mercilessly. Your body arched, a groan escaping before you could contain it.
Without thinking, your hand searched for something to grasp.
Alexander grasped it immediately, firm and careful at the same time.
His fingers were cold from recent water and rough from sword, smoke, and reins. Still, they were the most comforting touch of that night.
"Breathe," He said, leaning closer. "Look at me."
Thais let out a small, theatrical sigh.
"I love it when someone steal my lines."
You gave a low, breathless laugh.
The midwife, still scandalized, tried to regain control.
"Your Majesty, it would really be better to wait outside…"
Alexander didn't even turn around.
"If you want to discuss tradition with me," He began calmly, "choose another night."
The silence that followed was obedient.
He brought his hand to his lips for a brief moment, then rested his forehead against Alexander’s, unconcerned by the dozens of shocked eyes around him.
"Bring our children into the world," He murmured. "And I will destroy anything that stands in your way."
Another contraction seized his body before he could even respond.
It came like a violent tide, rising without warning, dragging everything with it. His belly tightened, his back arched, and a broken cry escaped his throat before he could swallow it.
His hand crushed Alexander's.
He didn't even blink as his nails dug into his skin.
"Breathe," He said, though his own voice was strained. "Breathe with me."
You wanted to say something sharp, maybe tell him to give birth in your place, but the pain occupied too much space for sarcasm.
The older midwife approached between your legs, serious and focused. After a brief, assessing glance, she raised her head.
"Good. Very good." She spoke firmly. "The first baby is descending."
Your heart leaped in your chest.
There were still one more.
Thais noticed the expression on your face and squeezed your shoulder.
"One catastrophe at a time," She murmured, trying to distract you. "Let's focus on the first one."
You almost laughed, which turned into a miserable groan as another wave of pain coursed through your body.
The women around you began to move faster. Cloths were piled up. Water was repositioned. A very young girl seemed on the verge of fainting just watching and was shooed to the back of the tent by the midwife.
"When I tell you to, push." The older woman ordered.
You nodded, breathless, unsure if you really understood anything.
Alexander remained kneeling beside you. Soot still marked the side of his face. There was smoke in his hair, water on his tunic, and his eyes fixed on you as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
You had never seen him like this.
Without the mask of a king.
Without the posture of a conqueror. Just a terrified man trying to hide it.
"If I die." You gasped through your teeth, "I'll haunt you."
Alexander took a second to respond, clearly offended.
"You won't die. I don't give you permission."
"Don't talk like you're in charge."
"I'm in charge of almost everything."
"I'd say confident." He smiled at you.
The midwife interrupted the argument.
The effort tore a raw sound from your throat. Every muscle in your body seemed to ignite. Alexander gripped your hand even tighter as Thais supported your back.
"Again!" The midwife ordered.
You pushed again, tears escaping your eyes.
"He or she is going to tear me in two!" You exclaimed.
"Maybe," Thais tried to joke. "But drama later."
Alexander gave her a murderous look, which made her tremble slightly.
Then came the peak of the pain, followed by a sudden, strange sensation of relief, the pressure easing in an abrupt instant.
The sound cut through the entire tent.
For a second, no one spoke. Even the women seemed overtaken by that small, furious voice announcing its existence to the universe.
The midwife lifted a slippery, red baby, quickly cleaned with warm cloths.
Alexander stood motionless.
As if his brain, trained for battles and strategies, couldn't process something so small screaming like that.
"One…" His voice lowered.
"Daughter," Thais finished, amused. "Try to keep up."
You started crying without realizing it.
Exhaustion, relief, disbelief.
The baby was wrapped up and placed on your chest for a moment. Warm. Tiny. Irritated with the whole world.
You rested your forehead against hers for a trembling second.
Alexander watched as if he saw miracle and threat at the same time.
He touched the girl's head with a hesitant, almost reverent finger. Amazed.
But the midwife didn't allow long tenderness.
The baby was taken away to be warmed and cleaned more thoroughly while new pains began to grow. Smaller at first, then quick and decisive.
You realized that Alexander didn't seem to like that his daughter had been taken away from you.
The midwife returned to her post.
"The second one wants to come soon. That's good."
"I disagree." You grumbled, breathless.
Alexander kissed your sweat-dampened forehead.
You turned your face to look at him.
"Granted." He replied, smiling lovingly. There was a tenderness in his expression that you had never seen before.
"Yours." He agreed immediately.
"All the jewels in the world will be yours." He declared as if he were truly making a promise. And he was.
"The right to insult you publicly." You scoffed.
Thais chuckled softly beside you.
"Push!" The midwife called out, interrupting the conversation.
You obeyed, cursing men, gods, biology and twins at the same time.
The second labor progressed faster. Your body already knew the way and seemed determined to finish the task before dawn.
A few pushes later, another cry filled the tent.
The midwife smiled for the first time.
The tent erupted in voices.
The women thanked the gods.
Thais raised her arms as if she had won a military campaign.
Alexander simply lowered his head for a moment, breathing as if he finally remembered how to do it.
When he raised his face again, his eyes gleamed dangerously.
The two babies were wrapped up and brought to you.
You stared at them in sheer astonishment.
All the chaos of the night, the fire, the pain, the fear… It all seemed distant before those two wrinkled, furious faces.
Alexander knelt beside the cot and looked at his children like a man before unknown territory.
"They look angry." He said, his voice slightly trembling.
"They take after their father." You murmured, exhausted yet overwhelmed by emotions you had never felt before.
You and Alexander remained silent for long moments, side by side by the narrow cot, gazing at the twins as if both feared that any word might shatter the fragile spell of that moment.
The little girl was wrapped in light blankets, her face still furrowed in newborn indignation. The boy, beside her, seemed equally offended at having been torn from the comfort of the womb into a world full of light, cold, and noise.
You could hardly believe that those two little creatures had been inside you just minutes before.
Alexander also seemed unable to fully comprehend. The man who faced armies without hesitation now observed a handful of tiny fingers as if he were before some sacred mystery too sacred to touch without permission.
From time to time, he slowly reached out, brushing the blanket or touching a finger to one of their wrists, just to confirm that they were indeed there.
Around you, however, the tent remained crowded.
Women circulated, collecting bloodstained cloths, changing basins of water, murmuring amongst themselves, commenting on the birth, the king, the babies, his audacity in entering, the signs of the gods, who knows what else that her tired mind couldn't register at the moment.
The midwife gave short instructions.
A young woman laughed nervously.
Another thanked Hera in a low voice.
The intimate moment you wanted seemed to be fragmented among strangers.
Your body still ached. Your head throbbed. You were exhausted, vulnerable, with your newborn children beside you… And surrounded by people you had never seen before that night.
The discomfort returned like a thorn with a latent anger.
Your gaze hardened without you realizing it.
You observed a woman handling the babies' blankets without asking, another whispering while looking at you, a third rearranging objects as if she were in her own home.
Not now. Not at that moment.
Perhaps because he knew all too well how her silence changed in temperature. Perhaps because, even looking at the children, he had never stopped paying attention to her.
He slowly raised his face.
His clear eyes scanned the entire tent.
When he spoke, his voice was calm.
The movement around them ceased as if an invisible rope had been pulled.
The midwife blinked, incredulous.
"Your Majesty, the Queen still needs care, I must check the bleeding, and the babies need…"
Alexander didn't even need to raise his voice.
"You've done your work. Now leave."
The old woman hesitated for a split second.
"Do you wish to argue with me tonight as well?"
She decided to love her own life and began to gather her instruments.
The other women moved with admirable speed. Jars were picked up, cloths gathered, whispers buried. One almost tripped trying to leave before the others.
Thais stayed last near the entrance, arms crossed, observing the scene with an amused expression.
"Sending women away from a tent right after giving birth." She arched an eyebrow. "Brave."
Alexander replied without looking at her, "You can leave too."
Thais glanced at you, as if asking for your opinion.
"Then I'll be needed another time." She approached, lightly touched your shoulder, and smiled. "You were magnificent."
Then she left, closing the tent flap behind her.
The silence that remained seemed immense.
Outside there were still distant voices, footsteps, the echo of a camp reorganizing after a fire and a birth. But inside the tent now there was only the soft sound of the babies' breathing.
Alexander exhaled slowly, as if only now allowing his own body to rest.
The real hardness vanished from his face as quickly as it had come.
"Better?" He asked softly.
You nodded, feeling tears threatening to return from sheer exhaustion.
"I didn't mean to…" Your voice faltered. "So many people."
He sat on the edge of the cot, careful not to touch where it hurt, and brought his hand to his face, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead.
"Now nobody comes in without your permission."
There was something fierce in the promise.
The two of you looked again at the twins between you.
The girl let out a small groan.
Alexander frowned immediately.
You laughed, weak and tired.
"Conqueror of worlds. Defeated by a sneeze."
He ignored the provocation.
"They are so small and defenseless."
The admiration in his voice was almost childlike.
You watched the man who instilled fear in entire cities lean toward two newborns as if before sleeping dragons.
Alexander's voice was low, almost reverent, as if speaking too loudly might frighten the newborns or break the rare delicacy of that moment.
He leaned over the twins, his clear eyes still fixed on them with an unlikely mixture of fascination and absolute possessiveness. When he raised his face to you, a tender smile rested on his full lips, softening lines that normally belonged to war, calculation, and ambition.
You needed a few seconds to answer.
Your body still ached with exhaustion. Your mind fluctuated between weariness and strange euphoria. Even so, the question found a warm place within you. Names.
You looked at the little girl wrapped in blankets, small and determined, as if she had already battled the entire universe in her first hour of life.
An old name emerged from memory, pulled from a distant corner of another time.
You remembered nights with May a few weeks ago, researching endless lists of baby names on the internet, laughing at absurd meanings, discarding some for sounding like app names or soap opera characters.
"What do you think of Aella for the girl?" You finally suggested.
Alexander repeated the sound with his expression.
His lips pursed slightly.
He tasted the name in the air like someone sampling foreign wine.
"Quick as the wind. And whirlwind." You turned your face to observe the baby. "It suits her. She arrived causing chaos and without waiting for anyone."
The girl let out an indignant grumble, as if approving of the description. As if she understood.
Alexander raised an eyebrow.
"She inherited the temperament."
"Your temperament." You corrected.
He ignored the accusation with suspicious elegance.
"Aella…" He repeated again, this time more slowly.
There was something satisfied in the way the word came out of his mouth. Strong without being heavy. Strange enough to arouse interest. Beautiful enough to deserve attention.
He approached his daughter and touched the blanket on her chest with his fingertips.
You smiled, watching the girl sleep with the dramatic seriousness of a retired little general.
"Aella," You murmured to your daughter. "Welcome."
Then your eyes slid to the boy.
He slept less peacefully, his brow furrowed and his mouth pressed together as if he already disapproved of the world's administration.
"And him?" You asked, turning to Alexander. "Do you have any idea?"
You already suspected the danger.
Besides of his own name, of course.
"Let it not be Alexander." You interrupted, mockingly.
He seemed genuinely offended.
"People honor kings by naming their children."
"People also exaggerate."
"It's narcissism with decoration."
Alexander placed his hand on his chest, dramatically wounded.
"I just witnessed you give birth to my children and now I'm attacked. How cruel of you, my Queen."
"Quick justice." You winked, amused.
He snorted through his nose, then turned to the boy.
With unexpected care, he took the baby in his arms. There was still something hesitant in his movements, as if he were afraid of breaking this tiny creature with hands accustomed to swords and rough reins.
The boy opened his eyes for a moment, dark and unfocused, staring at his father without the slightest reverence.
Alexander seemed impressed.
He observed the wrinkled face, the clenched fist, the expression too severe for someone who had existed for less than an hour.
You raised your eyebrows.
He looked at you over his shoulder.
Of course he would choose an imperial name.
"A man I admire," Alexander continued, gently adjusting the baby. "He built a vast empire, ruled different peoples, was remembered for greatness and intelligence."
He then gazed at his son with an intensity almost absurd for a newborn who could barely open his eyes.
"Our son will be as great as his father… And as Cyrus himself."
You stared at Alexander for a long second.
"He's just been born and you're already setting professional goals for him."
"Healthy ambition starts early."
"The boy can't even hold his head up." You sighed.
You laughed, too tired to contain yourself.
"Cyrus." You repeated, testing the name.
It sounded solid. Ancient. Strong.
You reached out and touched the baby’s wrapped little foot.
"All right," You agreed. "It will be Cyrus."
Alexander seemed too triumphant for someone who had just negotiated a baby’s name.
And so, in the tent still smelling of smoke, herbs, and birth, your children received names:
Aella, swift as the wind.
Cyrus, carrying the echo of ancient kings.
Alexander immediately became worried.
You burst into laughter, weak and happy.
"Welcome to fatherhood, Alexander." And, for the first time since waking up in that strange world, you felt a sense of belonging.
— lady l: First of all, it's good to be back! I took a while to update for the reasons you already know, but I had a problem and lost the chapter 🤡 but luckily I managed to recover it and finished editing and writing. I hope you understand and forgive me for the delay, I hope this long chapter makes up for it! <3
Secondly, I'm no expert on childbirth, I don't have children, but I did a lot of research and talked to women who have had children to try to write as realistically as possible. I hope you liked my attempt! :)
Finally we've reached a point in the story that I wanted and now… The biggest disaster begins to happen. This chapter was the calm before the storm! And yes, a little fluff because I felt like it 💞
I hope you enjoyed it, as always feedback is always appreciated and forgive me for any mistakes. I spent a good amount of time revising but there might always be one I missed! 💖
