4. Not From Lack of Trying

"Lydia.", was whispered like a prayer in a voice filled with lust. The Attendant that was holding my hand turned to take me away as her own face pinkened. I was going to be six soon. Mother had lost three other infants in the cradle following Lyanna.

She had miscarried only two months before, and it made sense to hear my father was visiting her. Probably planned to fuck another child into her and help secure his Line further.

"Lydia! Lydia! Lydia!" was called out soon after as the sound of skin slapping reverberated through the halls.

I missed sex. I missed the feel of a tight little pussy wrapped around my dick. I missed my fucking hormones that let me get hard.

If I hadn't gone through a life without Lydia as my mother I'd bang her. It was easy to see how one could develop a Oedipus Complex when their mother was as hot as mine.

My mother's own voice joined in, and it wasn't difficult to hear how much she faked enjoying my father penetrating her, "Osborne! By the Heavens, you feel so good. Please, my King, give me another child!"

My guess was that she wanted him to finish and either pass out, leave, or die from exertion.

"Ah!", my father groaned. Really it had probably in total lasted two minutes. I'm surprised that my mother had ever gotten pregnant at all by the man considering the subpar performance.

There were no siblings, pregnancies would end before coming to term or siblings would die early on. I was an only child, and not from lack of trying. If I could survive to adulthood with no siblings I wouldn't have to worry about a Succession Crisis that included siblings trying to murder me for power.

Luckily there were other children nearby.

The meetings were something my parents had no idea about, as they would hate the idea of me interacting with the children of servants. And, as much as I hated having to act like a normal child, doing anything else would draw too much attention to me. Having the reference points on how "normal" children act helped immensely.

But, I only ever played with the children who were girls and I wasn't sure if that was because none of the servants had sons my age or if girl children were more common. For all I knew it could be by design. Maybe servants were trying to place their daughters in a position to become my mistress one day?

(Until I could learn more about the political climate, I wouldn't know if it would be possible to take them as official Concubines.)

I learned that religion was a thing here, but it didn't apply to Royalty. We were said to have the blood of the Gods flowing through of veins. It explained our unique coloring to the masses. Noble and Royal hair color was dictated by the father through some genetic anomaly. Apparently bastard children would be born with the hair of the father, but the favor of the Heavens would wane outside the correct lineage meaning the hair wouldn't carry over to the next generation following bastards unless legitimized.

Magic wasn't real, but Gods were.

It was a terrifying concept.

But it meant that I was meant to be here. Perhaps the Gods wished for my Line to not die out?

Zanna loved telling me the stories she had heard.

I finally caught a glimpse of my reflection. My hair was purple. But my eyes? I had heterochromia like a main character in some anime. One purple eye and another the same blue as my mother's.

My father hired someone to help me with Swordsmanship early on. It was invigorating. The feel of the training sword was annoying, but live weapons? Those got my blood pumping in a way only the thought of finally being able to have sex again had.

I was good at this.

The repetitive motions helped establish a set schedule.

Jade, a companion of mine from childhood, looked at me with awe.

I walked by my mother's room, the door was partially open.

Lydia's legs were spread, my father was between her legs. I couldn't see his face, but I could see hers. Her eyes were closed, but tear marks were present. Her breasts heaved up and down with each thrust, her hips had bruises in the shape of a hand the size of my father's.

I continued walking.

"Lydia!"

I pitied her.

I was twelve.

My mother was constantly sick, whether that be because of her most recent pregnancy or because the grief of losing another one of my siblings I wouldn't know.

Her beautiful hair was limp and her eyes looked dead whenever she wasn't talking to me.

I hated my father for doing this to her.

"My sweet Lorcan, are you well?"

I nodded, "Yes, mother. Father has me training with live swords now."

Her lips pursed, "That sounds dangerous."

"Eromy needs a strong leader."

"A knight fights. A King dictates who lives, who dies. Why would you ever need to hold a sword? Everyone else only exists for you my dear. If you wanted the servants to slit their own throats they would."

"I need to know how to defend myself."

"Why?", she looked frantic, "Have there been any threats? Everyone in this castle would die for you, and if they wouldn't I would kill them myself."

"There have been no threats.", I hurried to reassure my mother, "It is just that I wish to hold a blade."

Her face relaxed, and she cradled her stomach. A kick garnered a look of pure love and wonder.

"Your sibling is very active. You were the same way when I carried you in my womb. I just know that you'll be an amazing brother."

My nails dug into my hand. I couldn't tell her that this baby was killing her like every one before. I wouldn't tell her about the scene I had witnessed from her cracked door nearly eight months before. Instead, I smiled.

"I only wish that I could be half as good of a brother as you are a mother."

Her smile returned full force, "You're the sweetest son a mother could ask for. Would you like to feel your sibling kick?"

I didn't, but I nodded.

I could tell that this would be the last pregnancy my mother would ever carry.

She was tired.

I had expected my father to die first, but I knew how futile it was to think that way. This pregnancy would kill my mother, there was no doubt about it.

She could barely hold down her food. Her face looked puffy from crying all the time. I would miss her. I loved her because she loved me.

Mintha walked in to pour my mother some tea.

"Your father and I have been talking about future marriages for you. At sixteen you'll be eligible to take a wife. My brother has a daughter a few years younger than you. I wanted you to take her as your wife, but your father is keen on having you marry as soon as you can. Sweet Allura is five years younger than you. If the Heavens are kind she may be able to be your Second Wife."

I watched as Mintha froze slightly before her expression returned to neutrality.

My eyes widened, "Second Wife? Won't I have to worry about the possibility of a Succession Crisis? Darbu's Royal family was bathed in blood not even two years ago leaving only a single infant son alive."

Mother frowned, "Has your father never told you? By the Decree of the Heavens, Kings can take up to seven wives. One to symbolize each day of the Holy Week. The power struggle would need to be established early on. Your father's father had three wives, though the war left your father an only child. Your father has chosen to only keep one wife at a time."

I didn't want to say that the only reason my father only kept one wife at a time was because he couldn't satisfy anyone in bed, but it felt like it.

"Of course though, a Noble Concubine instead of another Wife would help with the power dynamics. Heavens forbid you take a Peasant Concubine!"

"There's nothing wrong with peasants. They're the same as you and I."

Mintha tripped on her way out, luckily my mother didn't see, but the conversation ended soon after.

A harem was within my grasp, but it wasn't as sweet with the knowledge that mother would be gone soon.

The room smelled strongly of blood even a week after the Incident had come to pass. Mother died on the Birthing Bed. 

The baby, a daughter, had killed her.

The infant wasn't turned correctly. It had torn apart my mother and died in the process.

There was too much blood.

Lydia, mother, she looked pale. I never imagined anyone could look that pale. Father wasn't outside the Chambers like I was, he didn't see what he had done to her.

Her face didn't look peaceful in death. It was haunted, twisted in horror and pain, I knew she suffered.

Her funeral was grand, befitting a Queen.

The children I had grown up with stayed beside me after.

Jade flowered, as did Zanna, Mintha hadn't yet. But I could see the looks in their eyes growing hungrier with each day and wondered if my own gaze reflected the same.

I was thirteen and was starting to wake up with hard ons that I was able to feel pleasure from.

I realistically wouldn't be able to satisfy any of them until they made the first move to protect my reputation. Jade was twelve. Zanna was thirteen. And Mintha was ten. I had time to wait.