Alpha King's Mate

61. No Time

     I haven't left by room in days. 

     I haven't left the East Wing in weeks. 

     I haven't left the palace in months. 

     There are royal protocols for just about everything, but none of them are as strict as the ones regarding the line of succession. The child in my womb will be the heir apparent, and as such, there is no room for error, especially not in a time of war. It has been relayed to me over and over again that if the King were to die in combat, and (God-Forbid) anything happened to the baby, the results would be catastrophic. With Zachary's line destroyed, Griffin would become King. However, his mate died years ago and, from what Zach tells me, it is unlikely he would ever be willing to have children with anyone else.  That fact would upset the royal traditionalists and subsequently, a power vacuum would form and Dukes and Earls and Princes and Kings and Alphas from all over the world would try to conquer us and they would probably succeed. They tried to explain to me what would happen after that, probably thousands if not millions of deaths and decades of war and mass-treason, but by then I had stopped listening. By then, I decided, it wouldn't matter who became what and when, because if that were to ever occur, my husband and baby would both have died. I wouldn't care if I lived in a castle or a cave. Nothing would matter. 

     I asked people to stop discussing such things around me. 

     My baby would survive at all costs. 

     That is why I had left neither my room, nor the East Wing, nor the palace. My security detail has been expanded to twenty men; four of whom stood outside my door at all times. It was their professional opinion, fairly, that nothing could hurt me if I stayed inside all day. Not that that was so hard, considering the fact that my house was composed of hundreds of rooms full of things to entertain myself with, as well as what is left of my extended family.

     My mother and sister had hardly left me alone since the start of my pregnancy, but even more so since Zachary left, which I couldn't help but feel guilty for. Julia had just come back from something harrowing, but instead of recovering, her attention was focused on the problems of a sister she hardly knew. She was so quiet when we were together, I wondered sometimes if she had gone mute. 

     Lou helped lighten the mood when everyone else felt somber. She cracked jokes and recommended her favorite films for us to watch together. Her demeanor was just as delightful as the sweets she brought me, which I was very grateful for. She had taken up the task of helping Julia assimilate. Like she had with me, she taught Julia how royal ladies were expected to act, without mentioning the extent to which we were put down by this government. Ironic, considering we were left to lead it.

     Lou was the one constant in my life, since Zac left. She had been here since my first days at the palace, almost a year previously. She was the kind, funny soul I had grown to love. She was good.

     Which is why today was going to kill me. 

     I paced my bedroom, chewing my stubby fingernails, my mind racing. There was nothing I could do. Zac couldn't even do anything when he was here, how was I supposed to stop it? It was pathetic how little I knew about my own country and its laws, even more when you consider it was designed to be that way. The Queen was allowed to decorate to her liking and produce heirs for the king, and that's what I had done. I had been a good little girl and now I was sick to my stomach. Really, I could retch. 

     There was a knock at the door and my head thrashed in its direction. "Yes?"

     Julia entered and I let out a sigh of relief. She was looking plumper, a fact I could also attribute to Lou and her encouragement of our late-night binges, using the excuse, "Guys, it's okay, we're eating for four." Julia would always smile at that line. 

     "Hey stranger," she said, her voice trying to sound big despite being small. She shut the door behind her. "I thought you might like some company."

      I sunk onto the bed that I had just made neatly, unable to bear the weight on my feet any longer. "Yes please."

     Julia sat next to me. I rested my head in her lap. "You feelin' alright?"

     "Not really," I admitted. "I can't... I don't know."

     "Tell me."

     "No. It's self-pitying and I've been trying really, really hard not to do that with the war going on and having to grow a person and all."

     "I'm sure it's not self pitying." She leaned over me, forcing me to look at her face, which was upside down. I couldn't help but smile. "And you're allowed to have feelings, you know. It's not insensitive or wrong. It's a hormonal time for you. Besides, who am I going to tell?"

     I wanted to laugh at her dark joke, but the penultimate sentence is what stuck with me. "Aren't you tired of that? Of just being a 'hormonal woman'?"

    "I'm afraid we don't have much control over those things," she said, stifling a laugh, until she saw my curious face and realized I was serious. "I suppose so."

     "You should hear some of the things the Council says about me. Their servants talk. I've heard whispers that I don't care to repeat, but the most infuriating thing about all of it is that none of it is even true. They see me as this- this tyrant who came in day one and set the country on a path to destroy tradition and spit in their faces, and, you know what? If I could do that, I would! But the harsh reality is that I have zero control over anything that happens around here. I'm just a fucking incubator to them."

     "Did you not want...?" She asked, a little surprised.

     I didn't hesitate. "Oh god no. I mean, it wasn't panned but I wanted this, just-"

     "Just not like this." She finished for me.

     "Precisely."

     "I know what you mean," she said, and then I remembered. My stomach felt like a bottomless pit. I hated myself.

     "Oh, god, I'm sorry."

     "Don't be." She insisted calmly and placed a reassuring hand on the side of my face as she stroked my hair. The silence stretched for a moment. Then she said, "Have you felt any kicks yet?"

     "Yes," I say and instinctively my hand flies to my abdomen. "Just before. Wanna feel?"

     I guide her hand to the top of my belly and wait. Nothing happens, then I poke the side gently and am met with a defiant collision. "Ah, there we go."

     I readjust the position of her hand and rest mine on top, repeating the action. She smiles. "Oh there's one!"

     I smile. 

     "You know, when I was pregnant, my boy would always get me right in the ribs. It hurt like hell." 

     I proceeded cautiously, but she didn't seem to be too bothered. "Yeah?"

     "Yup. But whats worse is the bladder."

     "Oh, I know that feeling."

     We felt around for more kicks, but not many more came. 

     "He's tired." 

     We breathed. 

     "So are you going to tell me what's really wrong now?"

     I sigh, and it all spills out: how I failed everyone I loved -her, mom, dad, and now Lou too-, how I was slowly coming to realize just how messed up our country is, how I'm terrified of raising my child in such a backhanded, toxic place, especially if that child is female. She listens to me drone on about it for a while, until there is another knock at the door and I know this couldn't be another social call. 

     "Come in," I voiced monotonously and our mother entered. 

     She wore an apologetic smile on her tired face and said, "It's time."