Chapter 1 Unexpected Pregnancy Problem

• "Uhh, congratulations? You're pregnant." The healer announced in dismay, holding the glowing diagnosis orb like it might bite him.
• Never in his forty years of practice had he seen something quite so... odd. Or loud. The orb was whistling. That was not standard.
• Kayne Heartburn stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. Possibly a singing one.
• "Pregnant?" he repeated, his voice flat, eyes twitching. “Me? Pregnant?!”
• He pointed to himself dramatically—spindly, five-foot-ten, very male, very unpregnant-looking Kayne. His robes were still smoke-stained from the last potion mishap. His hair was a frizzy disaster of ink-black curls, and his face was currently in an expression best described as horrified disbelief seasoned with nausea.
• The healer only shrugged, his mustache twitching. “I mean... the orb doesn’t lie.”
• Kayne flailed. “But I’m a man! I can’t be pregnant! I—it’s just a fever and minor sickness! You know, a bit of throwing up, occasional blackouts, glowing veins, food cravings for lamp oil... perfectly normal mage stuff!”
• The orb whistled again and released a puff of pink smoke shaped like a baby rattle.
• Kayne slapped it off the table.
• “Right. Well,” the healer cleared his throat and picked it back up with tongs, “I’m going to assume this was magical interference. Very advanced magical interference.”
• Kayne’s stomach twisted again. He doubled over, gagged—and a small flame shot out of his mouth.
• “...Definitely interference,” the healer added, jotting something into his scroll like ‘Spontaneous gestational pyrokinesis?’
• “Okay. No. Nope. We’re undoing this,” Kayne announced, straightening with all the dignity of a flaming peacock. “Tell me how to reverse it. I didn’t sign up for this. I only took a sip, just a smidge for side sideeffects. I was testing a potion meant to enhance fertility. For a ‘woman.’ A royal woman. The Queen! Not a half-mage whose idea of parenting is feeding stray cats stale toast.”
• The healer hesitated.
• Kayne squinted at him. “You do know how to reverse it, right?”
• Silence.
• “Oh gods.” Kayne backed away. “Oh no no no no. Don’t you dare do the dramatic pause.”
• “I don’t... think we can reverse it,” the healer said slowly, already reaching for backup scrolls. “Whatever potion you consumed—it didn’t just simulate pregnancy. It triggered ancient magic. Forbidden stuff. Life magic. Womb of the world, sacred balance, all that poetic crap.”
• “I hate poetic crap.”
• “And from the traces in your blood, it looks like this was designed for one specific womb. Royal womb. Probably enchanted to ensure... viability. Maybe even favor the strongest magical host.”
• Kayne blinked. “So the potion took one look at my magic and decided, ‘Yup, that’s the uterus I want’?”
• The orb burbled in agreement.
• The healer nodded apologetically. “Congratulations, Mister Heartburn. You are now the carrier of a magically enhanced, genetically royal heir. Probably the only one in existence.”
• Kayne sat down. Or collapsed. It was hard to tell. The room tilted. The orb let out a baby giggle.
• “I’m going to throw up,” he muttered.
• “You already did,” the healer reminded him.
• “I’m going to do it again.”
• —
• An hour later, Kayne trudged back to his tower in a daze, clutching the orb like it owed him money. It was nestled in a burlap bag and occasionally chirped. He whacked it against the doorframe before stepping inside.
• His tower—if you could call it that—was a glorious disaster. Shelves lined with spellbooks and expired alchemical ingredients, potion bottles that hiss when touched, and a cat that may or may not have once been a cursed baron.
• He flopped onto a couch covered in burn marks and stared at the ceiling.
• “I cannot be pregnant,” he whispered to the rafters. “I have a warlock exam next week. I haven’t paid rent. I lost a toe in an explosion last month, and it hasn’t grown back. I eat moldy cheese and drink potions that scream at me. I am not qualified to be a womb.”
• The cat meowed.
• “Shut up, Archduke Fluffbutt.”
• Then the door burst open.
• “Kayne!” barked a deep voice.
• Kayne bolted upright. “No. No, no, no. How do people always find me the moment I become inconveniently magical?!”
• Sir Virgil Bones, Knight Commander of the Crown, strode in, armor gleaming, expression grim. He was all chiseled jaw and righteous fury, carrying the scent of steel, lavender polish, and *trouble*.
• Behind him slouched Runa Thorne, rogue knight and chaos incarnate, gnawing on a cinnamon stick and grinning like she already knew something juicy.
• “You need to come with us,” Virgil said.
• Kayne crossed his arms over his stomach like it might deflect royal wrath. “What? Why? I didn’t do anything. Recently.”
• “You’re pregnant,” Runa said, disbelief in every syllable. “With the royal heir. Ohhh, I knew something was off the moment your hair started glowing last week.”
• Kayne gawked. “How the hell do you know about—?!”
• “The Queen sent us. And half the Guard,” Virgil said grimly. “She wants her heir.”
• “Oh,” Kayne said faintly.
• “Alive,” Runa added. “Preferably born. But, you know, it depends on your cooperation.”
• Kayne bolted.
• Not metaphorically. Literally.
• He kicked a potion bottle at their feet with the label written “FORGIVE ME!” It exploded in glitter, causing the distraction needed, giving time for Kayne to launch himself out the back window.
• Virgil sighed. “He always does that.”
• Runa shrugged. “At least it’s not the roof again.”
• —
• Two hours later, Kayne was hiding under a bakery cart, covered in flour, arguing with his stomach.
• “I’m not going to be a parent,” he hissed. “I’m thirty-two. I own one fork. I forgot my mother’s birthday six years in a row. I talk to jars. This cannot be happening.”
• The orb buzzed from his coat pocket, then let out another baby giggle.
• “Oh sweet mother of light. When did I bring this with me”—
• And then—
• “Found him.”