[10] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry
MAIN MASTERLIST | It's Good to Be King Masterlist
Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.
A/N: Thank you for being so patient with me! It's been an especially busy past few months for me. I love you all so much for sticking with me and this story! xoxo
Ch. 10 Word Count: 7.1k
Ch. 10 Warning: Smut, mentions of pregnancy and symptoms, implied threats, light emotional distress
. .
Harry’s hand rested warm over the swell of Y/n's hip, the two of them turned toward one another, face to face on the pillows as if the past days had not stood between them at all. They had made amends the night before in the most ancient fashion… with their bodies entwined, apologies and forgiveness spoken in sighs and shudders. Y/n could still feel the way he'd apologized when he lay between her legs, and his whiskers tickled and scratched at her inner thighs.
The chamber lay quiet as the grey winter light barely slipping through the curtains. The fire in the grate was all but ash, and the king had instructed Fred to hold his appointments until noon. He had no intention of sharing her yet, not after so many days without the warmth of her skin, the feel of her thighs parting beneath him, her lips breathless against his ear.
He was already halfway to that hunger again. His mouth found her breast, warm and bare, and he suckled her with the languid contentment of a man who had no need to rush. His tongue rolled gently over the peak, then suckled harder, lips closing firmly around it until her back arched and her fingers pulled at his hair.
She giggled when he nipped softly. "You are the devil," she said with a gasp.
"The devil you love, little mouse," he replied, voice muffled against her skin, and then sucked harder, drawing a soft moan from her lips.
"Mmm… The king has grown terribly wanton since last night. What would your ministers say if they knew you’d deferred council to bed your wife?"
"I have missed you," he said, his nose brushing lightly over hers when he lifted his face up, breath warm and steady. It sounded less like a confession and more like something torn from him at last. "They will wait."
Y/n closed her eyes as he pressed his mouth to hers. She felt the rough edge of his beard against her chin and cheeks as he kissed her again. She loved the feel of him, even so. Between her thighs, her mouth, her tummy, her breasts… all sensitive to the rough brush of his beard from the way he'd devoured her the evening prior.
His fingers shifted at her waist, stroking the bare skin down to her thigh, then tracing upward again, along the plush of her bottom. She opened to him, the parting of her lips a subtle invitation. It was all he required. The restraint he’d worn gave way in a single breath, as if her acquiescence had unlatched something deep in him. The control he’d been clinging to gave way to his deeper urges.
He slid his hand from her hip to the small of her back to draw her closer until there was no room for air between them. She smoothed her fingers up from his chest to his shoulder, then into the warm hair at his nape, feeling the little shiver that went through him when she did.
"You are so beautiful," he breathed, kisses turning heated and rough. "I don't know that I'll ever have enough of you."
She gave a quiet moan and rolled her hips against him. His member, already fully risen, throbbed against the curve of her abdomen. It pleased her beyond words to know that he still desired her, that he still found her worth this kind of admiration, despite everything she'd done. There was no greater relief than to be taken by him, a man who craved her. However, part of her doubted she could reach that trembling peak again so soon. He had already coaxed two sobbing climaxes from her the night prior. It wouldn't be possible again, would it?
And yet, as the king's hand wandered downward and slipped between her thighs, she felt the unmistakable heat of readiness. His fingers found her slick and wanting, the wetness gathering on his knuckles. She gasped aloud, half in disbelief, her eyes lowering to witness it. Her body, it seemed, had made up its own mind.
She had been told such things were impossible. That the marital act was for the husband’s need and not the wife’s pleasure. She had been warned it would be painful, distasteful, that she would learn to lie still and let her husband have what he needed. That it shouldn't take very long and that she should endure if she wanted God to bless her with a child.
But none of that had been true. At least not for her. Not with Harry. For every time he touched her, she found herself slick and open, her quim aching for him, her heart thudding like a trapped bird. Her legs parted when he approached her. Her mouth watered for his kiss. When his body pressed against hers, she did not resist. She yielded because it always felt so good… from the first time he touched her before they were married, to right then.
She still had to come to terms with what she'd been led to believe. Because now, with a little bit of experience behind her, she found that she enjoyed the act more than almost anything else in the world.
He smoothed a hand up her back, over the line of her spine, and then down again, lingering at the curve of her waist as he smirked at her. "It seems the queen is also quite wanton."
He pressed two fingers inside of her, and she arched her back, breasts pressing his chest as she panted. "The court would lose their minds if they knew the way the Queen wetted her King's fingers. So ready for me, mouse. So soft and warm."
"Oh, Harry…"
He groaned at the sound of her. "Yes," he whispered, pressing his mouth to her breast as she gasped. "The court would faint dead away if they knew how their queen takes her king. If they heard the sounds you make when I’m inside you, filling you to the hilt."
He drew his fingers from her dripping entrance and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean with a sound of approval. Then, bracing himself, he rolled her gently onto her back and followed her down, his body covering hers, the mattress dipping beneath their joined weight.
"I need more of you," he said, voice low and roughened as he raked his gaze over her bare body underneath him. "I cannot resist the way you feel, the way you sound…" he dipped and kissed her chin and then her neck. "The way you taste."
He guided his thick cockhead to her opening, and her legs fell open wider, thighs parting to cradle his hips. She felt the broad, aching length of him press against her entrance, nudging, seeking. Then, with a slow thrust, he entered her.
Her eyes fluttered shut at the stretch, the deep, aching fullness. He pushed in until the whole of him was buried inside her, his hips flush against hers. Her body adjusted around him, snug and wet, muscles fluttering.
"Heaven above," he groaned, head tipping forward briefly, closing his eyes to savour the way her insides squeezed snugly around the whole length of him.
Her heart was filled to the brim by his praises as he pushed harder, the tip of his member carving through her end sharply until she hissed. The corner of his mouth twitched, the shadow of a smile there and then gone. His lips followed the line of her jaw, the hinge beneath her ear, the fragile, racing beat in her throat.
Her palms slid over the breadth of his back. He shivered, and the sound he made into the hollow of her throat was unguarded, almost boyish. She smiled at the way he reacted to just her touch, to the feel of his length encased by her.
"You undo me," he said.
"And you me," she answered, fingers tracing the scars and sinew.
She whimpered when he drew back and shoved forward, grasping at his back, nails pressing into his skin as he began to move. He withdrew, then thrust forward again, the rhythm careful but with purpose.
The friction sent sparks of pleasure darting through her spine. Her legs locked around his hips, keeping him close, deeper. He grunted softly at the feel of her tightening around him.
She opened her eyes to look up at him. His gaze already held hers, dark and intense as he drove into her.
"You are my heart, mouse," he whispered, lips brushing hers. "Do you know that?"
"Yes," she breathed.
The thrusts grew bolder. He found a rhythm with deep, rolling strokes that made her moan aloud, her back arching, hips rising to meet his. Each movement stoked the fire low in her belly. Their joined flesh was slick now, the sounds of it unholy, shameless, damp.
He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers above her head, pinning it gently to the pillow. With his free hand, he cupped her breast, thumb circling the peaked nipple, teasing it until she writhed beneath him. His mouth found her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, lavishing kisses between gasps.
The wood that held the bed together groaned under the movement. The sheets twisted beneath them as Y/n's limbs began to tremble, her breath coming in uneven, pleading gasps. His thrusts were steady, deep, each one seeming to reach further inside her, rubbing against a spot that sent bright, helpless shocks up her spine.
Harry felt the tremor in her thighs and growled low in his throat. "That’s it… let me feel you melt for me."
He shifted his weight subtly, angling his hips until she gasped, her nails dragging down his back. The sensation only spurred him on. He pressed closer, chest flush with hers, his breath hot against her cheek as he drove into her with slow, merciless strokes.
Her breasts brushed his chest with each movement, then he pushed up, eyes lidded as he looked down at her, heavy cock stuffed into her deep before he dipped down, his mouth sought a nipple, lips closing greedily around the rise of it as he thrust. She curved into him, offering more, her fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there.
"Harry—oh—Harry, please—"
Her plea dissolved into a soft sob as he suckled harder, tongue circling the peak, pulling at her until her back bowed. Her hips lifted to meet him, the wet slide of their bodies distinct in the quiet room. Every stroke filled the air with soft, sinful sounds… his low grunts, her breathy cries, the slick joining of their flesh.
He lifted his head, beard scraping gently over the curve of her breast as he kissed upward, slow and indulgent, still driving into her in languid, thick motions, until he reached her throat. He mouthed at the racing pulse there, teeth grazing lightly.
"I want you undone beneath me," he murmured against her skin. "I want your legs shaking again… your voice gone hoarse… I want all of you, mouse."
He lifted and sat back, throbbing member still buried, spreading her insides as he pulled her thighs over his. He slid his hand over her breast downward to her trembling stomach, until his thumb found the tender, aching bud nestled between her folds. He circled it gently at first, drawing a startled cry from her lips. Then he pressed more firmly, stroking in time with his thrusts, every movement deliberate and devastating.
Her body jolted beneath him, hips jerking in helpless response. She was almost embarrassed by how quickly he could work her to her end that way. She reached for his hand, panting as her body began to uncoil under him. "N-no, I cannot—Harry, it is too soon—"
"Yes," he whispered, voice rough as he rocked in deep. "You can. As many times as your body wants. Open for me, my love, come for me."
Her head fell back, fingers gripping his hand with near-desperation as he rubbed her faster, the pleasure rising inside her so swiftly she could scarcely breathe. Each thrust drove the sensation higher, sharper, until she could do nothing but cling to him, legs shaking around his waist as the pressure built unbearably.
As good as he felt, what really had her unable to control her body was the way he looked above her, his hips thrusting, abs flexing, the line of sweat that dripped between the sparse hair on his pecs. Broad, thick chest, strong arms, soft pink lips held open as he trailed his jeweled green eyes from her face to her breasts, and down to the space he was filling her. He truly was every bit the vision of a king she could worship.
He moaned her name softly, the gushy sound of his girth sliding through her arousal only more noticeable with every stroke. He pulled at her hand and pressed it down to the bed as he leaned back over her, his pelvis hitting her clit. He kissed her open mouth, his tongue stroked hers languidly, contrasting the relentless rhythm of his hips.
Her thighs quivered violently around him, breath fractured, vision blurred. "Harry, oh! God, please—"
"That’s it," he groaned, mouth kissing at the edges of her lips as he circled his hips into her faster, firmer. "Let go for me. Let your king have you."
Her belly tightened, and her breath caught, then everything broke open inside her.
And when her climax came, it rushed through her like wildfire… an uncontrollable tide that tore her apart. She cried out beneath him, body clenching around his member, hips jerking. He grunted, hoarse and near wild, and thrust hard as his own release followed.
He spilled into her with a shudder, mouth pressed to hers, eyes shut as if the very sensation of it might undo him. His whole frame quaked, and for a long moment, he could do nothing but breathe and hold as he emptied himself inside of her in orgasmic throbs.
She could feel his hand still holding tight to hers, feel the way his arms shook, the way his heart pounded rapidly against her chest. He moaned a relieved sound against her cheek as he caught his breath.
He rolled them gently onto their sides, her leg draped over his hip, his twitching length still cradled inside her. The moisture between their legs was overwhelming. Just as it had been the night before. She was sure they were due for a bath.
They lay there, quiet, her fingers tangled in the damp curls at his nape. He kissed her brow, then her cheek, then the top of her head.
"That wasn't too much now, was it?" he asked softly.
She blinked at him and lifted her head to look at him. "I fear I've grown greedy for you. For the way it feels when we are together."
He smiled. "What is there to fear when the greed is born of love?"
She hummed, a hand sliding up to his shoulder. "I fear I will not have enough. That I will not be able to quell my urges for it. Like a boozer enslaved to his drink."
Running his nose along her cheek, he cradled the back of her head. "That does not sound like a bad predicament to me."
"But surely ignoring moderation is perilous. Covetous."
Harry puffed out the softest laugh, tracing a fingertip over her jaw. "Covetous... It is not abhorrent when it is your husband you are greedy for, mouse. I welcome my wife's gluttonous appetite."
She sighed and leaned in toward him, pressing her cheek to his clavicle. "I have never been so fulfilled in all my life. Clothing, food, comfort, warmth… It almost feels wrong."
Running a hand up her spine, he kissed the top of her head. "And you shall be fulfilled always. You are the queen of Thornekeep. You are my queen."
She lifted her head to kiss him, slow and sweet, then lay her head back upon his chest. His arm drew tight around her waist. It would take some getting used to, being called Queen. In moments like these, they were simply man and wife, tangled together in the aftermath of pleasure and reconciliation.
. .
The cold had settled in earnest by the time a week had passed, the kind of crisp winter cold that turned the breath visible and made teeth ache. Y/n drew her fur-lined cloak tighter as she stepped into the castle yard, Phoebe at her side, both of them bundled enough that the tips of their noses froze.
Behind them, Niall and another guard followed at the regulated distance. But Niall’s eyes kept darting toward Phoebe in that unmistakable way of a man trying not to be obvious. Y/n and Phoebe both noticed it.
She didn’t dignify it with so much as a glance. "He keeps looking at me," she muttered under her breath, cheeks warming despite the cold. The soft smile on Phoebe's lips told Y/n she liked that the guard kept letting his gaze drift over her.
"Because you keep kissing him," Y/n said, nudging at her friend playfully.
Phoebe exhaled a scandalized little laugh and then whispered, "Do not say it out loud!"
"Do not worry. No one can hear us, and your secret is safe with me."
Phoebe groaned and kept her sight tilted toward the hedges as she spoke quietly. "He is quite good at it."
Y/n’s laugh burst bright into the air. No one knew what she and her lady-in-waiting were on about but as Phoebe caught Niall's gaze briefly, and she watched his cheeks pink, there was a momentary look of knowing about him.
Phoebe tugged her arm. "Come, tell me everything about your nights with the king. It seems you have been quite occupied by him since you reconciled."
The queen smiled. "He's gentle and loving."
"What else?" Phoebe pushed.
"There's nothing else to say that wouldn't have you fainting in shock," she said with a laugh.
Phoebe let out a defeated breath. "You promised. I have been waiting the entire week while you’ve been floating about the castle like a love-struck lady in a poem."
Y/n pressed her gloved fingers to her warming cheek. "I am not floating."
"You are fluttering," Phoebe corrected. "Positively fluttering."
Y/n bit her lip, trying to smother the smile, but it pressed through anyway. "He has been… very generous and kind in bed."
"Kind," Phoebe repeated. "That is the word you choose?"
Y/n fixed her with a look. "We are not discussing particulars right here."
"Too bad. Look at you." Phoebe tugged her arm again. "You are glowing."
"And you’re being absurd."
Phoebe hummed. "Absurder things have happened than a Queen glowing after forgiveness and eight days of being thoroughly—"
"Phoebe!" Y/n laughed.
Phoebe only smirked, then leaned closer, voice lowering to something more thoughtful. "Truly… you do seem well again. Happier. I am glad of it."
Y/n’s breath misted in front of her. She looked out over the small orchard at the far end of the yard, bare branches scratching at the pale sky. "I am," she admitted softly. "It is much better to be on his good side."
Phoebe nudged her shoulder affectionately. "Then all is well."
They walked a little farther, letting the cold nip at their cheeks and the wind tug at their hoods. The silence between them was companionable until Phoebe’s voice broke it, light but sly.
"Have you had your courses yet this month?"
Y/n blinked. "My courses?"
Phoebe gave her a look. "I only ask because this month you have not yet summoned for any articles to help with it."
"Well…" Y/n frowned slightly. "I… think not."
Phoebe nodded solemnly. "And your last bleed was early last month?"
"I don’t know," Y/n insisted. "I lost my courses often before the wedding. Stress does that. And now, with everything that has happened—"
"Oh, heavens," Phoebe breathed, seizing her arm. "What if you are with child?"
Y/n felt her stomach swoop. "No, that is not certain—"
Phoebe laughed. "Maybe not, but you have been in that bed near every night since your wedding, save for the few when Harry was not speaking to you. Do not tell me you’re surprised."
Y/n went stiff. "We cannot think that."
"Well, what am I to think?" Phoebe teased. "I see you at breakfast looking half-dazed, hair undone, and the King walking about the castle with the air of a man who has been… greatly restored."
Y/n covered her face with her gloved hands. "This is mortifying."
"And wonderful if true," Phoebe corrected.
Y/n lowered her hands and exhaled, breath clouding in the air. "I do not know yet. Truly. It could be nothing."
Phoebe softened, looping her arm through Y/n’s. "Then we shall wait and see. But if you are…"
Y/n’s heart gave a hard, quiet pound. If she was… She pressed a hand to her middle without thinking. Phoebe noticed and smiled.
"Whatever comes, my Queen… you will not face it alone."
Y/n swallowed, eyes drifting toward the tallest tower where Harry’s study window looked out over the courtyard.
"No," she whispered. "I will not."
.
The warmth Y/n felt after the walk did not leave her, but it changed its structure as the day went on. By the time she returned to her chambers, there was a tight, humming awareness inside her that she couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Phoebe helped her out of her cloak and set it over the chair. "You’re quiet," she murmured.
Y/n brushed it off. "Just cold. And… perhaps I'm thinking too much."
But even as she said it, her hand drifted lightly toward her stomach again. She didn't know anything just yet, but the suggestion from Pheobe had wormed into her so deeply that she felt as though she could almost make out the stirring of something inside her.
The rest of the afternoon ticked by as slowly as time ever had. She tried to read but couldn’t. Tried to write down her thoughts, but forgot halfway through the first paragraph what she wanted to say.
Finally, Phoebe, ever astute, stepped closer.
"Ma’am," she said softly, "shall I send for the physician? Not to say anything for certain, only to… inquire."
Y/n hesitated. So many consequences hinged on her body now. On a clock she could not see. On a life she could not yet feel.
"Yes," she said. "Send for him. Quietly."
.
The old castle doctor, Dr. Holder, had recently been replaced by Dr. Alderton. He was an older man, mild of manner and much kinder than Dr. Holder, who'd kept insisting Y/n be checked for virginity before she wed the king. But Dr. Alderton had the air of someone who had seen every kind of worry a woman might have.
"Majesty," he greeted with a bow when he arrived. "How may I be of service?"
Phoebe stood by the door, hands clasped, silent but watchful. Hopeful.
Y/n kept her voice soft. "It is only that I have… missed a course. And I wish to know whether it signifies anything."
The physician nodded as if this was a question posed to him a hundred times a year, which it likely was. "May I ask when your last monthly bleeding occurred?" He stepped in closer, his examination bag still in his hand.
"The early days of last month," Y/n answered. "And before that, I was irregular. Often."
"Have you felt sickness upon waking? Lightness in the head? An ache in the lower back? Changes to appetite?"
Y/n bit the inside of her cheek. "No sickness," she said. "But I have felt… very tired the last few days."
"That is as common a sign of strain as it is of childbearing," he said gently. "And your recent ordeal in the square may have taxed your constitution."
She lowered her eyes. "Then there is no way to know yet? No exam to do?"
He shook his head. "No exam for now. There are signs I may watch for," he said. "But at this early stage, one cannot say with certainty. The body keeps its secrets until it no longer can. I would advise rest. Avoid undue exertion. And…" His voice softened. "Tell His Majesty. Should you be with child, caution is warranted."
Y/n nodded, folding her hands tightly together. "Thank you, Doctor."
He bowed and withdrew, leaving Phoebe and Y/n alone again.
Phoebe came closer, her face bright with soft hope. "Then we will wait and see. We shall not act prematurely. But I have a feeling, ma'am."
"No one knows. It is too soon," Y/n countered. "I might not be with child."
"But you might," Phoebe whispered.
Y/n’s stomach fluttered. She wasn't sure if it was from excitement or fear. "Yes," she admitted. "I… I might."
.
That evening, Harry entered as he always did. Like a man with the weight of work and duty on his mind, focused, composed. He removed his gloves and set them aside, loosening his collar, hanging his coat. Even still, he noticed her. He watched closely as he moved about.
"You’re quiet," he said as he approached. "All day, you’ve carried some thought. I could tell after supper. What is it?"
She stood near the fire, warming her hands as she looked at him while he wrestled his boots off his feet.
"I do not know how to say it… and there may be nothing to say," she answered.
"Y/n." His voice gentled. "Tell me."
She turned to him slowly. "I may be with child."
Harry went very still. Not a breath nor a blink. Only the soft flicker of concern in his expression, the slight parting of his lips as though he’d forgotten how to draw air.
He stepped across to her and took her hand in his. "May," he repeated, voice low. "May be?"
She nodded. "The physician cannot say yet. But I have missed a course. And I am… more tired than usual. And we have been—" She didn't let herself finish that sentence, but they were both more than aware of what she meant.
Harry lifted a hand to her cheek. "Are you unwell? Any pain? Any dizziness?"
"No," she whispered. "Nothing of concern."
Relief flashed through his eyes, and then worry. He pressed his palm over her cheek and traced her temple with his thumb. "If it is true… You must be careful. You must not walk alone. You must not—"
"Harry," she said softly, placing a hand on his chest. "We do not yet know."
"I know enough," he said quietly. "I know what losing you would do to me."
Her heart clenched. "You will not lose me."
He cupped her face fully now, warm palms framing her cheeks. "Tell me the moment you feel anything unusual. Any sickness, any weakness, any pain."
"If I do, I will," she promised.
He kept his gaze on hers. "And promise me you will be very careful. Even if you may not be, we cannot chance it."
"Yes. Of course. I know. I will not be sneaking into a crowd to stop anymore hangings if that is your worry."
He huffed. "If there is a child…" He swallowed hard. "It would be a great blessing."
Y/n felt her eyes warm. "I am unsettled but… excited. If it is true."
He kissed her forehead. Then her cheek. Then the soft corner of her mouth.
"And I will be both as well," he whispered. "Until we know."
. .
Two weeks later, things were starting to feel different around her. It wasn’t drastic at first. Just a shift in how her mornings began. She'd become very aware of her body and every little thing that she felt, to the point that she was nearly convinced now that she was carrying the king's baby.
Y/n woke each day, for the past three, with the same subtle queasiness pooling low in her stomach, a shallow wave that rose and then ebbed. Not enough to bring her to her knees, but enough to make her press a hand to the mattress and breathe steady until the feeling passed.
Harry noticed before she'd even said a word. He sat down beside her on the bed, shirt open at the collar as he fastened his cufflinks. "Again?" he asked, voice gentle in the half-light.
"Only a little," she whispered.
He brushed his knuckles along her cheek, the gesture so tender it might've been the cure to the way her stomach turned. "Sit a moment longer. I’ll have Phoebe bring a little bread."
"You fuss," she teased softly.
"I have cause to fuss." He looked her over with the concern of a loving husband, but then his expression lifted… a quiet brightening.
This was something new in his demeanor that she had never seen in him before. Not the heavy protectiveness he’d shown in the days after the scaffold, nor the restrained warmth of their reconciliation. This was something lighter. She might even describe him as spry as of late. A new kind of spark that she was learning to understand as him being hopeful for what was to come.
He tried to hide it behind a composed air, but it slipped through anyway. She saw it in the way he lingered at the door before leaving each morning, in the quiet little smile he fought whenever she touched her stomach absentmindedly, in the way he handled her differently.
"It is the third day of sickness, mouse. I will call for Dr. Alderton again."
She laid her hand on his knee and nodded. "Okay. We will see if he can say with certainty, but I have a feeling it is still too early."
"Your courses still have not come, you wake sick in the mornings, and last night you were faint after tea. Even if it's too early, I will insist."
Harry kissed her forehead and made his leave. Not long after he'd gone, Phoebe arrived with bread and hot tea that both soothed and filled Y/n's insides warmly. But more than the tea and the bread, her friend's presence comforted her thoroughly.
Before midday, the physician arrived with his satchel and a respectful bow as Phoebe let him in the room. "Majesty. You look well," he said.
"Do I?" Y/n said as she moved across the room toward the doctor.
He gestured politely. "If you would sit, I shall ask you a few questions."
Phoebe stood nearby, trying not to beam but failing. She kept her hands clutched at her back and her mouth sealed, but Y/n could see the strain it took for her to keep her composure. It was almost as if Phoebe were more excited about the prospect of Y/n's disposition than even she was.
The examination was modest and brief. He checked her pulse. Asked about her appetite. Felt lightly along the low curve of her abdomen with no more pressure than a butterfly’s touch. Questioned her about her courses, her sleep, her morning spells.
When he finished, he stepped back with a small, warm smile. "It is early, Majesty," he said. "But all signs are consistent with childbearing."
Y/n felt her breath leave her, even though she already felt the delicate changes in her body and was certain of it by then. Still, to hear of it from the doctor felt very final. As exciting as the news was, it was equally scary.
The physician continued, gentle but firm. "You must rest often. Avoid sudden exertion, but take a bit of fresh air daily if you can manage it. Light but frequent meals are best. Steeped ginger for nausea and warm compresses if discomfort grows."
Y/n nodded, dazed. "Thank you."
When he left, Phoebe threw her arms around her with a giddy little squeak. This was something a lady-in-waiting should not do, but friendship outranked etiquette in the privacy of those chambers. Y/n welcomed her friend's cheer and love openly.
"Oh, ma’am," Phoebe breathed, "a child. You will give the king an heir."
Y/n held her, blinking against sudden hot tears. Her heart felt full and wild and terrified all at once.
"I suppose I will."
"Wait until His Majesty hears," Phoebe whispered. "He will be beside himself."
.
When the news found Harry, thanks to Phoebe, he felt faint in the head but overwhelmed with something deeper and more severe. He was excited yes, but this meant that he would have to ensure his Queen's protection even more now than ever. Not only was childbearing already a very dangerous thing to endure, if she was not given the proper care she could succumb and his chances of losing her were greater now than they ever had been.
Harry returned early that evening, which was a rare thing. He entered the room with a pace too swift to be casual and crossed to her where she sat.
"Phoebe sent word," he said. "Tell me."
Y/n rose from the settee slowly. "He believes I am with child."
For a moment, Harry stared at her like a man whose entire world had shifted at once. Her husband, the king of Thornekeep, was visibly shaken.
Then he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her mouth so softly and breathlessly that Y/n could feel every emotion he held inside.
He pulled back only enough to look into her eyes. "Are you well? Any pain now? Any dizziness?"
"No," she whispered. "Just… a little tired and sick in the mornings, as you know."
He exhaled deeply and rested his brow against hers. "I have never prayed for anything," he murmured, voice breaking quietly. "But I pray that you are kept well and healthy. I will do everything I can to ensure it."
Her heart pulled tight in her chest.
"Hush," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "Once again you fuss. Everything is okay right now."
"We will make it well," he said fiercely, quietly, as though vowing it against the entire world. "I will double the guard again. No stranger comes within ten paces of you. You do not walk alone, not even in the garden. I will have Niall stay with you as well as the—"
"Harry—"
He shook his head. "I will not risk you. Not now. Not ever."
She let him hold her, feeling his joy radiate through the tension and fear that lived side by side in him. He rested a hand over her stomach and smiled at her.
"We will endure this together," he whispered.
Then he swallowed and his shoulders loosened just slightly before he continued. "I am so very happy, my love. This news changes our course forever, but I am ready for it."
Her eyes stung as she nodded at him and then wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek to his chest. She felt the same. The news was joyous, but unsettling at once. She closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer of thanks to God.
.
The castle did not know, not officially. But rumors had a tendency to spread all on their own in Thornekeep. Maids and servants were always watching, listening, paying too much attention to things they shouldn't when their days grew long and boring.
By the week following, whispers moved through the corridors like drafts. She heard bits and pieces. Some were happy of the news, others were not.
Doctor Alderton was with her near an hour… If she gives him a child, the realm is lost. What joyful news!
And that afternoon, Y/n did not mean to overhear the men when she neared the upper-floor chamber with Niall at her back. Normally the doors were closed for privacy in the old solar when anyone gathered inside, but right then, the doors were open when she caught the tail end of a hushed conversation that came from the room.
"…and if she gives him an heir, the king will be undone."
Y/n paused, not turning to look back at Niall as she listened closer.
"There are those who won’t allow it."
She took a breath and then continued toward the keep to view the kingdom from the topmost floor, as had been her intention before she heard them. The men fell silent as she passed, unaware she’d heard a word. But ice slid from her spine to her ribs.
Niall noticed her falter. "Majesty, are you okay?"
She straightened at once. "It is nothing."
But it was not nothing. The words had her rattled. She'd barely fallen pregnant, and men were already plotting her unborn child's demise.
She kept walking, every step echoing with the words she could not unhear.
If she gives him a child, the realm is lost… There are those who won’t allow it.
.
It had become the new routine for the king to retire to his chambers early every night, no matter how much work he had to attend to . There was no question to his men why he insisted on making his leave like that, and to Harry it was the only thing that made sense. While he trusted the guards he'd placed at the door to protect her, he preferred to see to it himself, with his own eyes, that she was okay.
And like every evening since he'd learned of the doctor's report, he had been doting with gentle hands at the small of her back, asking her more than once how she was feeling, offering to bring her fruit, and arranging extra pillows without being asked. But now, as she sat on the edge of the bed smoothing her nightgown over her knees, he watched her with a careful look.
"You’re quiet," he said at last. His voice held only concern threaded with exhaustion. "More than before. Something sits upon you."
"It is nothing," she said, drawing the covers back.
Harry exhaled a soft breath at the idea of her suffering alone. He crossed the room, extinguished the last lamp, and climbed into bed beside her. The feather mattress dipped under his weight, and then his hand found hers beneath the blankets.
"Mouse," he said quietly. "I know when you keep something from me. Please tell me."
She shook her head. "It will only trouble you. It is not a matter of urgency."
He shifted, pressing closer. "Then you must speak it all the more. Trouble me, if that is what truth requires."
His insistence dissolved the last of her resistance. She couldn't hide things from him, especially when worry was written all over her face like that. Truly, she hadn't wanted to repeat the words she'd heard earlier in the day, mostly because she didn't want to think of it. But she couldn't get the voices out of her head no matter how hard she tried to push them away.
"I heard something today," she said. "Voices in the old solar. Men speaking about me."
Harry's brows pulled together as he shifted, eyes focused on her face as she spoke.
She continued. "They said… if I give you an heir, the realm will be lost. And that there are people who won’t allow it."
Harry was silent for a long moment as he let her words sink in. His hand tightened around hers in a bristling, controlled fury she could feel in the tremor of his breath. He worked his jaw and his breaths slowly grew more rapid.
"Who?" he asked, voice low and angry.
"I don’t know," she said quickly. "But Niall was with me and he should know who stood in that chamber."
Harry sat up, only a little, but the movement was taut. He dragged a hand through his hair, jaw hardening, grinding, the undaunted king rising in him like heat from a flame that'd been freshly stoked.
Y/n reached for him at once, pressing her palm to his chest. "Harry," she said, "do not let fear take you. I am protected. I am safe."
He looked down at her. His eyes were fierce, shadowed, and aching with something almost violent. And then, with solemn slowness, he lifted the edge of her nightgown. His hand slipped beneath the linen and rested warm and secure over her lower belly where their baby would soon grow.
Harry bowed his head, lips brushing her temple as he murmured, "You and this child—" He paused and swallowed, tracing a thumb over her skin as he spoke. "I will guard you myself if I must. I will not allow any hand, any threat, any whisper to come near either of you."
"You are acting as if these men could reach me. All these guards, Phoebe, you… It is not possible for harm to come." Even as the words left her, she didn't know that she truly believed it herself, but she needed to calm her husband so that he didn't work himself into a dither.
"No." His tone was quiet and absolute. "Listen to me. There is no one in this world… no crown, no realm, no council more important to me than you. And now this small life we may have made." His fingers stroked lightly over her skin. "If anyone wishes you harm, they will not leave these walls alive. I swear that upon my name."
She felt tears sting her eyes. "You are frightening when you speak so."
"You are everything I fear losing," he answered simply.
She pressed her hand over his, fingers threading with his own over the gentle curve of her abdomen. "We will be cautious. We will be careful. But do not become consumed by this because I need peace, husband. Promise me that much."
His breath eased and after a long moment, he nodded and settled back beside her, gathering her into his arms without releasing her stomach from beneath his palm. She curled into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.
They lay quietly, entwined, held safe against the dark as snow began to whisper at the windowpanes. Neither could predict the future, but Harry would see to it that his wife remained unharmed.
Harry kissed the top of her head. "Sleep, my mouse," he whispered softly. "I have you."
"And I you," she whispered back, eyes closing as she brushed her palm over his chest, adoring how warm and solid he was. She'd never felt so safe and loved as she did when she was in his arms that way.
His hand stayed over her womb as their breathing steadied into the same rhythm, their bodies pressed close, their fears and their joy folded into one shared warmth. And as the fire sank to embers, Y/n let herself rest against him, despite the realm outside their chamber doors already whispering of the heir who might change everything.
. .
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