So, I don’t find myself sitting on top of my throne again until six moonscycles later, when my womb starts to painfully contract.
And then the scene is… well,bizarreisn’t even the word for it.
“Are you sure this is how I’m supposed to deliver?” I ask Yerivian for what has to be the thousandth time.
I’m sitting on my throne with my legs bent wide on either side of me, ankles bound to the backs of my thighs with a couple of Veyrion’s shadow bands… while the king himself licks my straining sex with even more enthusiasm than when he has it trapped between his face and a stone wall.
“Yes,” Yerivian assures me again. “Coaxing the egg out in this manner is a time-honored tradition among our kind. And perhaps this strange human female design feature of having your pleasure gland located on the outside of your sex will aid in your delivery. But you appear nervous. Are you certain you do not want me to invite your wonderful father in to hold your hand? He’s right outside the doors and eager to?—”
“No!” I assure him. “I have zero wish for him to see me this way.”
Though I do appreciate that Veyrion reaches up from his kneeling position to take hold of my hand as he continues to “coax” the egg.
“You are doing so very well, Sovereign,” Yerivian encourages. Then he turns his attention back to me. “Did the king not discuss any of this with you beforehand?”
“I mean, he tried… but I kind of shut him down,” I admit.
To be fair, I was way too terrified to have a reasonable conversation about the possibility of laying an egg like a barnkip instead of giving live birth.
Honestly, I didn’t believe it was a real possibility until Yerivian put a finger up there after the contractions started andsaid, “Yes, I feel the egg’s tip. Sovereign, it is now time for you to do your part.”
And that was pretty much all the warning I got before my unexpectedcoaxing.
On hindsight, laying an egg—versus trying to give live birth to something with a set of wings—was probably the best-case scenario for my “weak” human body.
Still, I kind of wish I hadn’t given myselfquiteso much grace.
I have questions. Lots and lots of questions.
Which I don’t get to ask because Veyrion starts fluttering his tongue over my clit in that way that never fails to drive me crazy.
“Oh! Oh!” I start having contractions of averydifferent kind.
And the next thing I know, Veyrion’s catching a baby-sized egg that appears to be made of a thin-but-somehow-supple purple granite shell.
And then Yerivian swoops in for another gloved examination.
“No tearing!” he cheers. “I was worried, considering...”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah—my weak human body,” I finish for him.
He blushes that dark gray my father loves so much—moons, I hope Yerivian doesn’t ever recount this delivery story to Dad.
The shadow bands disappear, and I’m able to let down my legs as Veyrion regards me with the most tender of looks over the purple egg.
“Thank you for giving me legacy, my flower. I did not think it possible, but my love for you has grown bigger and brighter than the two suns.”
More poetry. I smile back at him just as happily, even as Yerivian completes the not-nearly-as-romantic task of applying the taarhorn tape to my sex and pulling my shift back down.
Then Veyrion carefully places the large purple egg into my arms. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before—and incredibly hard to describe without scientific language, which I do not have.
But even in this form, wrapped inside a shell, the eggfeelslike life, and I can sense the baby inside its confines.
“Now what?” I ask after several wondrous moments of staring at our egg-baby in awe.
Veyrion smiles gently. “Well, there are a few rituals we must perform to thank the Eryx moon for our blessing. Also, we have protection and intention markings to apply with black paint.”
“No surprise there,” I say with a tired chuckle.
