Chapter 2 Midlife Crisis

• The palace walls gleamed like ivory as the four knights escorted Kayne toward the throne room. Kayne walked in the center, wrapped in a heavy cloak that did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he looked like death warmed over and then insulted.
• His hands were bound, though only symbolically. Everyone here knew Kayne could burn a man’s eyebrows off with a sneeze if he really wanted to.
• Virgil Bones walked alongside him, chewing on a dried fruit stick like it was a cigar and throwing glances Kayne’s way with the kind of smug satisfaction only a knight who had just chased a half-naked mage through the woods could muster.
• “You know,” Virgil said, clearly trying not to grin, “when you said you were feeling bloated, I thought maybe it was from too much stew. Turns out, it’s a royal heir. Fancy that.”
• Kayne groaned, not out of shame but irritation.
• Runa Thorne, marching on the other side of Virgil, gave a soft snort of laughter and adjusted the blade at her hip. “He’s not even denying the pregnancy anymore,” she muttered.
• “I am denying the pregnancy,” Kayne snapped. “I'm just—ugh, fine. I'm reconsidering my understanding of biology, not reality.”
• “You’re definitely pregnant,” Virgil said with a waggle of his brows. “Trust me, I’ve seen enough farm births.”
• “Oh, brilliant,” Kayne muttered. “You’re equating me with livestock. Just what my self-esteem needed. I should curse your tongue off.”
• “You’re welcome to try,” Virgil said cheerfully.
• Runa rolled her eyes. “Children, please. We’re about to meet the queen. Try not to get executed.”
• That shut them up. Mostly.
• The throne room was all golden arches and stained glass windows, with sunlight filtering through depictions of long-dead monarchs and questionable acts of holy violence. The current queen sat at the center of it all, robed in emerald and wine-red velvet, her crown tilting slightly forward like it was always a second away from demanding blood.
• Queen Esinora Light —the most powerful woman on the continent, known for her beauty, her terrifying temper, and the very specific way she liked her tea—rested her chin on a gloved hand, her gaze icy and red.
• She did not look pleased.
• “Kayne Heartburn,” she drawled. “Do you know why you’re here?”
• Kayne stepped forward. “Because I’m glowing with maternal radiance?”
• A knight behind him shoved him hard enough that he stumbled. Kayne didn’t flinch. His mouth was quicker than most swords.
• Elsinora raised an eyebrow. “You took my potion.”
• “I made your potion,” Kayne corrected, his voice dry. “Then I tested it. On myself. I admit that the labeling could’ve been more clear.”
• “You impregnated yourself with a magical fertility potion meant for me.”
• “Well, technically, the spell just enhances reproductive magic—it doesn’t discriminate. Something ticked off somewhere, and here we are!”
• Elsinora stood, velvet robes swishing as she descended her throne like a storm cloud with cheekbones. “Why would you ever test something so dangerous and unstable on yourself?”
• “Because you were being impossible about letting me test it on anyone else,” Kayne said, not bothering to pretend he didn’t have a death wish. “You wanted fast results. You said, and I quote, ‘I want a baby in my belly before the first frost.’ So I made sure the spell worked.”
• She narrowed her eyes. “And now you are the one carrying the heir to the throne.”
• Kayne spread his arms. “Isn’t that romantic? I’m glowing.”
• Virgil made a choking sound that might have been laughter. Runa elbowed him.
• Elsinora stared at Kayne for a long moment. “How far along?”
• Kayne grimaced. “The healer says a month. Magic pregnancy timelines are…fluid.”
• “Who’s the father?”
• Kayne blinked. “Does it matter?”
• “It matters if the child has royal blood.”
• He sighed. “Fine. I used a royal DNA imprint catalyst from your cabinet. Whoever donated that vial, congrats—they’ve got a baby in me.”
• Virgil’s mouth dropped open. “Wait. You just—you stole sperm from the royal donation vault?!”
• Kayne glared. “Don’t make it sound so crude. It was a controlled infusion with magical intention. It’s not like I seduced a prince in the broom closet.”
• “That would’ve been less insane,” Runa muttered.
• The queen was silent. Too silent.
• Kayne took a step back. “Okay, look. I’m not ‘keeping’ the baby. I was just going to document the side effects and—”
• “You were going to ‘kill’ the heir,” she said flatly.
• Kayne’s mouth opened, then closed. “That wasn’t my intent.”
• “You’re carrying my child,” she said, stepping forward again. “I needed that child to secure this kingdom. You’ve jeopardized everything.”
• “Sorry, I didn’t know pregnancy was a capital offense.”
• She snapped her fingers.
• Two palace guards stepped forward, drawing their swords.
• Virgil stepped between them, his face serious now. “Your Majesty—”
• “Step aside, Sir Bones,” the Queen said coldly.
• He didn’t move.
• Runa glanced at him, then at Kayne. Her hand hovered near her blade.
• Queen Elsinora didn’t blink; her red eyes shimmered in sheer cold. “Cut his stomach open. That baby is mine.”
• “Oh! asshat son of a mother flipping…shi—” Kayne’s mind snapped into overdrive.
• “Wait—please! Don’t do this! There’s still potion left. You could just use that. No need for… surgical magic,” he blurted, his voice shaking so violently. “If only you could untie me, I'll work on the potion.”
• Queen Elsinora paused, then, to everyone’s astonishment, she turned a cool smile on the chamber. “Very well, mage. Bring me the vial.”
• Two guards scurried forward with a small crystal phial tied in velvet. Kayne staggered toward it, eyes wide. “That’s still unstable! —You could—” He swallowed, panic flickering through him as Runa and Virgil tensed at his side.
• Without a word, Elsinora uncorked the vial and tipped it back. The liquid slid down her throat with a soft glug, leaving her breathless for a moment. Then she placed both hands on her flat stomach, pressing fingertips against her silk gown as if listening for a heartbeat.
• A hush fell. The queen’s eyes closed, her lips parting in a faint gasp. Kayne exhaled, relief washing over him.
• “Continue,” she murmured, her voice distant. “If this works…” She opened her eyes—icy, unyielding. “If it doesn’t, I will cut you open and sever your head off your limbs.”