Hey all! See, I promised I wouldn't forget this story :D This one took a lot of work, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: super freaking choppy pronouns, flashbacks heavily implying rape (because our precious prince can't catch a break)


In the beginning, it had taken Arslan a long time to trust Daryun's touch.

They'd met when she was a tiny child, in the midst of the worst treatment of her life. Even as a young teen himself, he'd been very intimidating to her.

That first time, when his muscled arm reached towards her to help her stand up after Vahriz had once again knocked her to the ground during training, she'd seen her father's, and every muscle in her had gone taut and she'd slammed her eyes shut. She might have cried, had she any tears left, and she might have begged, had her voice not frozen.

When she was carefully, almost too gently, pulled to her feet, she had forced her eyes back open- and saw the almost nervous look on his face, as if afraid he had done something wrong.

His hands were still clasped around her much smaller ones, and she couldn't help but notice how much kinder they were. The calluses were softer than the ones she knew, the grip delicate but sure, the warmth comforting instead of scalding. She could feel the power behind that hold, and the care he was taking she felt even more so.

"Are you alright, my prince?" He'd asked, and the genuine concern in his voice was like a balm to a burn she hadn't realized she'd had.

That had been her first step towards a trust she'd long since had beaten out of her.

I can't believe I had forgotten that, she thought now, comfortable in his arms. One of my most precious memories.

Her guardian was doing everything he could to ease the journey for her- he walked smoothly, holding her close so she wasn't jostled, and he didn't complain when she clung tightly to his neck, grip strengthening whenever a pain washed over her. His hand would pet gently at her side in comfort and he made no comments.

Walking right alongside them were Elam and Narsus, with Gieve leading the way with a torch. No one spoke, focusing on their thoughts and getting to Arslan's chambers in good time. There was a tension in the air that she couldn't quite name. She frowned to herself.

They're angry with you, her thoughts supplied. You're disgusting and you're a liar.

Perhaps, she conceded, heart hurting, but still they are loyal and kind to me. That must mean something.

They're being kind to you because you are dying.

Anxiety, all-encompassing and heavy, squeezed her in a harsh grip reaching far deeper than the contractions ever could. Her pulse sped up at the thought, even as internally her very soul was crying out to the contrary.

I can't be dying- someone would have said something by now! Elam would never lie to me! A contraction came, lasted, and left. Her eyes were watering to the point that the nearing castle was no more than a dark mass against a darker sky.

Plenty of women die in childbirth, the fear reminded her. You're not built to deliver a child. It will die. You will die.

She fisted her fingers in Daryun's cloak, earning an uneasy glance from him.

If you both do survive, you will forever have a remnant of those men-

-no, don't think about them! You can't- stop it! STOP IT!

The slew of hazy memories that sprang forth at the mere thought of those men was ferocious, inescapable, hitting her so unexpectedly that she had no way of stopping it.

-the hungry look in his eye, the texture of his skin-

The path marked Where I Shall Never Go was suddenly the only way forward, and the hands pushing her on were strong, vicious, familiar.

-that voice, whispering in his ear in a language he never wants to hear again-

-the heat of their bodies intermingling, suffocating him, his very flesh seared by invisible flames in the shape of handprints, all over all over all over his body-

-the pain, his mocking croons-

-the indescribable, shameful heat that never leaves him, even as he's put on display like some sort of plaything, the room so imposing and cold and his attire hardly covering an inch of his body-

-both of them like touching his hips, and he doesn't understand why; whenever he's chained to a metal post in the dining hall one will come up beside him and put his arms around him, hands resting firmly on the crests of his hips and caressing-

-that man's laughter as he looks away, has to look away-

-the dim light glinting off of the guards' armor as they chain him in place, protecting them from his rabid attempts at biting and punching and scratching-

The final blow had been dealt and her shield was gone.

-the feeling of never being clean again,

Of being broken, soiled, irredeemable.

There was no fight left.

-all thoughts of rescue far from his mind, not wanting to be seen like this by anyone-

-wishing the guards would end it with their swords- why will they not be provoked? Nothing he does convinces them that he needs to be done away with. If anything, they seem amused.

-so many eyes, staring at him, raking over his deformed body, staring into his very soul-

-please just kill me-

"Are you alright, my king?"

Daryun?

Her arms were tight around her guardian to the point of shaking from the strain, and as they entered the castle and the light from the multitude of torches came spilling onto them, she could see clearly the concern lining every inch of his face. His golden eyes bored into hers. Shame made her skin crawl. She didn't loosen her grip.

I gave up. Even with all of you, all of my people, depending on me. I gave up.

Elam chimed in, "Have they gotten worse?" He sped up a bit to reach for her, hand resting on Arslan's shoulder. She flinched, and then forced herself to relax into the touch. If I can't trust my friends, my life is no longer worth living.

She realized they were still expecting an answer. She shook her head- quickly ceasing as a pain came upon her. The rippling of her muscles was so powerful and independent, just as foreign now as it had been what felt like ages ago.

She had gotten better at staying somewhat cognizant through the pain, and could hear the additional rushed footsteps as several maidservants and a guard scrambled over, much to the girl-king's panic.

"What's happened?"

"Is His Highness hurt?"

"Shall I fetch a healer?"

Thinking quickly, Narsus cut them off. "There was an accident and His Majesty was injured. We're taking him to his chambers, where Elam and I will dress his wound."

Working around the pain, Arslan gave a corroborating nod, face twisted. After that, the pain, refusing to be ignored, engulfed her world.

By the time she could focus on her surroundings once more, they were nearly to their destination, and the servants were gone. Whatever else Narsus had said, he had talked them out of a tight spot once again.

She let out a wavering sigh, dropping her arms to wrap around her stomach, and rested her head against Daryun's chest, listening to his fast heartbeat. The exhaustion of the past few days was catching up to her again. She closed her eyes.


Arslan went still in his arms, and Daryun didn't know whether or not more concern was warranted. The small king had seemed to shrink into himself, face completely pale and body shaking.

It was easy for the soldier to recognize a traumatic memory- or, judging by the now constant tremble to Arslan's breaths, perhaps a string of them. Something had cracked.

The light had gone from his eyes again.

Daryun remembered this same look on Arslan's face when he'd first come to on that awful day.

It should have been a day of celebration; their king had just been rescued and returned to them! He was alive!

But when the first thing King Arslan did upon opening his eyes and seeing Daryun was to sob brokenly, thin shoulders bowing under an invisible weight that no strength of Daryun's could lift, it was hard for the marzban to find any joy at all.

He'd been sitting beside the teen's bed for an entire day while he waited for the boy to awaken, only turning his gaze away out of respect for the king's privacy as his handmaiden made quick work of changing him out of those slave's clothes (sex slave's clothes, you think if you ignore that it makes it untrue?) and into one of his softest tunics. He'd stewed in his thoughts while the silence devoured him whole, wondering how he hadn't realized sooner when they'd traveled together for months, during a span of time when the prince had clearly already hit puberty and the androgyny of childhood should have melted away.

The signs had been there, he realized. There were blatantly obvious ones, such as keeping his maidservant even though he should have switched to a manservant years ago, and then there were ones that were obvious in hindsight: refusing to bathe until the others were a safe distance away, with ample foliage between them, refusing to remove his tunic around them- once even when it would have better allowed treatment of a gash across his collarbone, avoiding unsubtly all physical contact with his chest…

Daryun had once theorized that the prince was self-conscious over his admittedly effeminate body when compared to much larger, more muscular men- including (especially) Daryun himself. He only pretended not to notice the way young Arslan would look at him in envy, would become frustrated with his lack of physical strength, even after years of training.

The boy was much stronger than he looked, of course, but when Daryun had to step in and help him dislodge his sword from a tree's trunk, for example, and was able to do so with ease while Arslan had struggled, it had obviously bothered the young prince who was already drowning in too many expectations. He was strong for his size, but his body was undeniably slender and small- he was not physically imposing, nor was his strength alone much of a threat.

And with a father like King Andragoras, who was the very embodiment of brute strength, why wouldn't Arslan be self-conscious? The man whose legacy Arslan was to carry on was also his exact opposite in every way, and, knowing the barbaric king, this was surely a point of rebuke from father to son. Surely Andragoras regretted taking in a child who clearly wasn't built to be a vicious warlord, and surely he made this regret known in the form of unjustified anger and coldness.

Daryun had tried to assure Prince Arslan several times that the boy had his own assets; he was built for the speed that, with his years of training under Daryun and Vahriz, made him a deadly opponent, and his reflexes were all the better for it as well.

Besides, he was still barely out of childhood and there was every possibility that he would grow given time.

As was to be expected from someone with a disposition like His Highness', the words of encouragement always garnered a blush and a smile that never quite reached Arslan's eyes, and the subject was quickly changed.

Sitting there and watching each breath as it moved that clearly female chest, he'd realized he'd been very close to the truth all along. But his trust in the young king to be honest with him about something so obvious had prevented his thoughts from taking that turn- even when he'd realized just how similar Arslan and young Etoile's builds were, how similar their voices were once Etoile dropped her overly-forceful 'male' affectation.

Arslan had hidden things from him. He wasn't angry, though. Just as he'd known King Andragoras would be furious to have such a non-threatening heir, he knew that same man would have worse feelings towards an heir that was actually female. Arslan had every reason to keep his secrets, to hide away everything his father found unforgivable. It wasn't Daryun's place, nor desire, to force something like that out into the open.

Now, however, Daryun was deeply regretting his silence on the matter- he should have reached out to the king before now, should have offered his complete support and listening ear, understanding or advice- anything! Even if the secret stayed hidden from everyone else, he should have taken advantage of knowing it and been there for his young king. His former worry about upsetting the teen seemed foolish now.

As dedicated as Arslan might have been to keeping his secret from everyone, Daryun realized he still likely would have appreciated a confidant more.

How else was he expected to overcome everything that had happened those many months ago, those many years ago?

Fool, he cursed, your one job is to protect him and yet again you have failed!

When they finally reached the king's chambers, Farangis was waiting for them in the doorway. Inside, Arslan's handmaiden stood with worry etched on her face.

"We're here, Highness," Daryun quietly informed his charge, who barely cracked an eye open to take in their location before cringing and curling up further in his arms. His trembles increased.

Unlike Narsus, who had apparently had suspicions for years and wasn't entirely surprised to be told King Arslan's true sex, Farangis quite obviously hadn't expected this: her first look at the king was intense as she studied every visible part of his body, clearly wondering, as Daryun had, what she had missed all this time. He was sure that being a woman herself made her feel even more surprised that she hadn't picked up on the boy's secret.

The glance-over was quick, and then she guided the small party into the room. "Even though this is very sudden, we were able to prepare the necessary supplies." She spared an uncharacteristically soft look towards the frightened teen who still refused to open his eyes. "I've done this many times before, Your Majesty," she assured, "you're in good hands."

Arslan said nothing.

Face schooled once more, the priestess lifted her whistle to her lips and blew a long note, closing her eyes as she awaited an answer. After a few moments she looked pleased.

"I've consulted the Djinn-" this caught the boy's attention, and he looked to the woman with an openly anxious expression, "-and they speak of no ill fate in the near future." Daryun could feel some of the distress leave Arslan at that, and was glad for it.

He carried the boy over to his bed and gently laid him on it; the king immediately curled up on his side and seconds later was fully tense with pain. The man couldn't help the way his pulse would spike in alarm each time that happened- seeing the boy in pain was like being in pain himself.

The handmaiden, Hayal, was at Arslan's side immediately, taking a wet cloth and wiping it against his brow, crooning words of comfort under her breath.

Daryun begrudgingly took a few steps back to give the women space to work, going to stand by Narsus and Elam; Gieve was mysteriously absent.

"What do we do now?" he asked Narsus. "Men aren't supposed to sit in for this."

The painter was watching the scene unfold with sharp eyes. "We'll leave in a moment."

"Why a moment?"

"It's only right that we wait until our good king is able to give us his blessing to leave."

Daryun dipped his head in agreement. "Fair."

"Elam," Arslan suddenly groaned, arm outstretched. Farangis stepped lithely out of the way, and then they could see him. His face was still pinched in pain and his hand sought one to hold onto.

Elam jumped ever so slightly at the sudden address, eyes wide in surprise. He looked to Narsus as though for permission, clearly taking into account what they had just affirmed about leaving. His face was conflicted.

Narsus let out an almost amused huff. "Go on," he encouraged, nudging the boy with an elbow. "It seems you've been granted an invitation."

Daryun wondered if Elam even wanted to stay- he looked awfully nervous. Perhaps he was considering staying only out of respect for Arslan's wishes, out of the need to support a close friend. Daryun wouldn't blame him for not truly wanting to do this, for being overwhelmed at the thought of witnessing something men simply were not supposed to witness... so long as he overcame these misgivings, anyway.

For young King Arslan, genuine friends had always been hard to come by. If he wanted his closest friend to stay by him during one of his most gruelling challenges, Daryun would ensure his wishes were fulfilled as though they were law.

Elam's face set, determined, and he gave a single nod before surging forward, crossing the room in seconds to be by his king's side.

Their fingers intertwined easily and from this far away Daryun could see the immediate crushing grip Arslan applied to his poor friend's hand. The brunet didn't make a sound besides a murmur that the marzban assumed was encouragement.

When Arslan pried his eyes open to look up at the other's face, chest heaving and cheeks flushed, Elam gave a gentle smile- and Arslan weakly reciprocated. Getting the response he wanted, Elam's smile grew just enough to reach his eyes.

Daryun warmed at the sight, all doubts forgotten- it was clear there was nowhere else in the world the boy wanted to be.


Damn it all, Arslan cursed internally. The contractions were nearly on top of each other now, and still the baby wasn't moving fast enough, firmly lodged in her hips. This child must be enormous!

She paused, realizing this was the first true thought towards the child that she had spared, and it felt foreign and strange as it made its rounds through her mind. The child. There is, in fact, a child.

In a break between pains, she finally spoke, addressing Farangis as the woman leaned over her, gently pressing on various parts of her stomach. "If- if I am... why has it not shown?" Her voice was somewhat raw from her earlier screams, and she eagerly accepted the water Hayal hurried to provide.

Farangis was seated elegantly on the bed, legs tucked beneath her. She placed a flat hand against the side of Arslan's stomach and pressed firmly, but not enough to cause pain. "Sometimes it happens this way, Your Highness, although it is rare. It could be that the babe is very small, or that your womb is angled differently than most." Her hand moved down to the other side and repeated the process. "I assume you're to term?"

"To term?"

"Would the child have been conceived around nine months ago?"

Arslan swore several of the others grew tense, but she must have been imagining things.

Don't be foolish, she chided herself, of course they've put together what happened in Tuuri.

She tried not to let that bother her.

"About."

Don't ask, don't ask, please leave it at that.

Thankfully, Farangis nodded and did indeed leave it at that. "I've also noticed that younger mothers tend to have smaller children," she said conversationally, lifting Arslan's tunic just enough to see her abdomen, "and that the size of a mother's frame can affect how large their pregnancy grows." The casual way she spoke helped Arslan stay calm as her clothing was once again moved, so dangerously close to showing her bandages. She knew it was irrational at this point, as everyone now knew her secret, but her heart still clenched in slight panic even as she forced herself to be compliant.

A contraction was stirring, and the girl-king adjusted her grip on Elam's hand in preparation.

Seeing her restlessness, Farangis placed both hands on her stomach and they stayed there through the whole contraction. When Arslan was able to open her eyes again, she saw the pleased glint in the older woman's green eyes and felt her anxiety further lift.

"Whatever doubts you may still have, Highness, rest assured that there's definitely a child here."

Arslan hadn't truly been in doubt at this point, as there was too much evidence for her to deny it anymore, but she couldn't lie to herself anymore either.

"And," Farangis continued, "so far everything is progressing normally. You're nearly done."

It took a moment for that reality, and all of its implications, to sink in. I'm… It will be over soon? For some reason this was absolutely stunning to her. Soon I'll be a… soon I'll have a child!

Arslan's jaw worked quietly, as she was unsure what to say- hell, she didn't even know exactly how she felt about this.

Part of her was excited. As a prince she'd always secretly hoped to have children one day, determined to treat them with the kindness she'd never gotten from her adoptive parents. There had always been a determination within her to break that cycle, to become something more than her Lord Father and Lady Mother had been, not just as a ruler but as a parent.

However, she was sixteen years old, unwed, thought to be male by her kingdom, and her child was the product of an unwilling union she wanted so desperately to forget. Trepidation loomed over her; even if the birth went without problem, what would the rest of her life now be? Her plans could be ruined! She wasn't ready! This was too soon into her reign, and who knew how this could affect her standing amongst her people as well as other rulers? Would she be seen as even weaker than before? Would anyone take her seriously anymore? Would she be expected to marry into another royal family to maintain peace? There was no way she could hide her true gender without hiding her child away, and that was too cruel to consider. And what if the child took after its father? Could she truly love it if that man's eyes were the ones that looked back at her? The future was so uncertain and there were so many problems she'd now have to somehow-

Selfish, she scolded herself, finding a spark of indignant flame and clinging to it with a crushing grip. She was tired of being scared and unsure and weak, and being angry was a fine alternative. Anger at herself, anger at the vile men who had done this to her, anger at her 'parents' for putting her in this whole situation, anger at the world- it filled the cold, numb corners of her soul and made her feel alive, powerful, again. This is your child, you cur! It has no fault, and if you can't love it despite your circumstances you are no better than your father!

She was being mercilessly, unnecessarily harsh, she knew- but it helped her bring perspective to a bleak situation. She could never forgive herself if she abandoned her own flesh and blood in a moment of panic, regardless of who had fathered it. She knew what it felt like to be unwanted, a disappointment, emotionally abandoned. She wouldn't wish that on her worst enemy.

You will figure everything out- it's your child. Not one of theirs. You will love it and care for it and raise it, and you will not give up this time, and the baby will be yours and no one else's- those evil men will not take the fulfillment of your desires from you! They've taken everything else, don't let them taint your baby as well!

Being so certain of something, of having at least a basic plan for the future, eased her trepidation. No matter what had happened in the past, she was moving forward and embracing the future; she would be grateful for this unexpected gift, and she would do her duty as a mother and care for this child as though she had planned and tried for it.

Because, in the end, the circumstances of the child's conception didn't matter. The child was hers.

And she would love it no matter what.

Beside her, Elam lowered himself to kneel on the hard floor. That wouldn't do. She rolled onto her back, muscles protesting with painful twinges, and sat up with help from Elam and Hayal. She scooted sideways to be closer to the middle of the bed, and Hayal propped her up with some pillows. Then Arslan patted the space beside her, beckoning her best friend closer. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly but did as asked, sitting cross-legged beside her, hand finding hers again.

Another hand I could never despise, she noted happily. His was slightly softer than Daryun's, and while it wasn't as massive it still nearly swallowed hers in its grasp. She wondered at that- not too long ago their hands had been nearly the same size. Time changes us all in many ways, she supposed.

When the next pain came, crushing her insides roughly enough to bring tears to her eyes, she jerked forward to sit on her knees, spreading them widely and planting her hands into the bedding before her. She wasn't sure why she did so, as no conscious thought had spurred her into action- it was almost an instinctual movement, her body preparing itself for what was to come.

The pain reached deep into her hips, the pressure of the child pushing against her harder than before. It felt like it was tearing her open!

There were hands on her back, but she couldn't tell whose- one gently rubbed between her shoulder blades while another pressed into the base of her spine, relieving some of the unbearable ache that was building. She groaned, clutching at the blanket until her fingers lost circulation.

"You're doing great, Your Highness," Elam said softly, near her ear. A few strands of her hair had fallen out of Narsus' tie, sticking to the sweat on her face, and his cool fingers carefully pushed them behind her ears. She leaned into the touch even as her face stayed screwed up in pain, breath leaving her in occasional pants when she remembered to breathe.

Seeming to catch this, Farangis' hand- ah, she'd been the one rubbing her hips- moved to her shoulder. "You need to breathe evenly, Highness," she advised. "In, out. In, out." Arslan followed her directions as well as she could, but the pressure in her abdomen made breathing difficult, and the overwhelming pain was enough to scramble her thoughts.

Finally the pain receded, her breath leaving her all at once. She relaxed as much as she was able, leaning back to sit on her knees as her hands went to cradle her stomach of their own accord; the abused muscles underneath throbbed pitifully. Her legs were shaking as well, and she was tempted to lay back down and rest, but in that same moment she was too restless, needed to be upright.

Surprise overtook her for just a moment as the child let loose a weak kick. It had been still for a while now, and she hadn't even realized how much she missed its movements- now that she knew what they were, an indescribable warmth filled her heart, the likes of which she'd never felt before. She let her hand rub her stomach as though to caress the child within. Thank you for your reassurance, little one.

Daryun approached from where he and Narsus were standing near the door. "How long do you think this will take?" he asked the women.

Hayal was the one who answered. "The little one should be making its appearance within the hour, my lord." Farangis nodded in agreement.

"Judging by how close together the contractions are, it definitely won't be long now."

Daryun exchanged a look with Narsus before turning back, addressing Arslan this time. "Narsus and I will wait in the hall, Your Highness," he said, but she recognized the hesitance in his tone.

That wouldn't do, either. "Actually, I would appreciate it if you stayed here," she requested bashfully. "You don't have to… but…"... but having you near is comforting. For most of her life, Daryun had always meant safety. And, while she wasn't as close to Narsus as she was to Elam and Daryun, they were still very close. These three were the most like family to her. She wanted them near regardless of tradition.

She'd seen Gieve go out onto the balcony earlier, holding her tongue instead of inviting him to stay as well; something told her he was still out there, perched on the railing and waiting. He didn't want to be too close, but also cared too much to simply leave. That was enough for her.

Why am I so fortunate to be surrounded by such good people?

Daryun, who she secretly knew could hardly ever say 'no' to her, did not lose his hesitance, but didn't seem opposed, either. "What would you have us do, Your Highness?" he asked, meeting her eyes solidly. Behind him, Narsus' face was neutral, but she could sense no opposition from him either.

"I simply ask that you stay in the room." She gave a wan smile to them both, ignoring the stirrings of an oncoming contraction. "Your support has been my motivation for so long- I'm afraid I need to be selfish and ask that you provide it again, should you be willing."

It might have been a bit manipulative, but it certainly got results.


Elam watched in slight amusement as the two men crossed the room to stand against the far wall off to the side, visible but out of the way. He could imagine how uncomfortable they both were despite their desire to do whatever they could to help- he himself was less fazed because of his background, but he was sure that neither of them had witnessed a birth so closely before.

Speaking of discomfort…

Beside him, Arslan was caught in another pain, fists clutching at the old blankets the women had laid out. All of the fine pillows and sheets were gone, replaced with worn counterparts that could be burned after all was said and done.

He hadn't initially realized how glad he was that Arslan wanted him to stay by his side; he'd assumed that the king wouldn't want any men around when things got more intense and the removal of trousers would be required, so he hadn't expected the request, having made temporary peace with leaving.

But now he knew that he would have spent the entire time worrying- not being able to see what was going on, not being able to help in every way he was able… it would have driven him mad.

He also wouldn't have been able to take note of the promising change in Arslan's demeanor; he'd noticed that the lingering fear and denial had been replaced by the king's battlefield resolve. Whatever had been going on in the other boy's head, it seemed to have worked towards the better.

Hopefully that meant the constant emotional fluctuation would ease and the poor teen could finally find some peace.

Arslan's flesh was feverishly hot beneath Elam's hand as he gently rubbed at his back, murmuring encouragement he was fairly certain was going unheard. He didn't stop.

Between reassurances, he picked up on a whispered conversation between the handmaiden and Farangis.

"When should we change her clothes? She hates being unclothed, I'm afraid it might make her panic."

A thoughtful pause. "To avoid unnecessary distress, we'll wait until she starts pushing and only remove her trousers. Her tunic's long enough that we don't need to change her into a gown."

"Won't you need to check…?"

Elam wasn't entirely sure what the handmaiden- Hayal, he believed her name was- had been about to say, but, going off of his childhood memories from accompanying his mother to her duties as midwife, he guessed she meant checking dilation. That, he was sure, would be traumatic for the king.

Consistent with what he remembered, Farangis replied, "Not at this point. I've rarely ever needed to- the body will do what it wills regardless of what I may determine."

Arslan shuddered under his hand, drawing his attention back. "You're doing well, Highness," he assured for the hundredth time. He wasn't sure what else to say, what else could be comforting, so for now he stuck with repeating himself. It wasn't as if Arslan was paying attention anyway.

The king wasn't breathing again, and Farangis cupped his face in her hands and gave directions once more, breathing slowly for the boy to imitate. After a few seconds he caught on, letting out a massive pent-up breath, but then failed to suck in another, face going bright red from intense strain. His lips peeled back and he grit out a hoarse-sounding cry from between tightly clenched teeth.

That's when Elam realized something was different about this one.

Sure enough, Arslan suddenly engaged more of his muscles, every single one seeming to tighten.

The king made a choked sound, arms beginning to shake from how hard he was clawing at the blanket, and his ponytail fell over his shoulder as he ducked his head, chin to chest, and pushed.


Thanks for sticking around, awesome readers! Let me just apologize for the emotional rollercoaster that Arslan is- I'm trying my best to depict the roiling emotions faced by someone in such a complex, terrifying situation, so it may seem a bit back-and-forth and all over the place. Now that she's got a grip on herself, things will be better.

*And no, I don't think women pregnant by rape should be downright mean to themselves if they have (very reasonable) doubts about their future- that moment was based on what my friend told me she went through, and not normal by any means. She was raped, 17 years old and about to give birth to her daughter and she was not in a good place mentally: "And then I got mad at myself, like, "Bitch, get yourself together- you've always wanted to have kids and you are NOT gonna let that guy make you a bad mom!" I d'know why that helped me so much, but I think being angry let me feel, you know, in control again. Like, I was super blunt with myself and angry in a controlled way, and it kept me going until I had her and then I just wanted to be a good mommy." (She's currently the proud mama of two cuties, and has a wonderful fiancee who treats her right.)

***IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm having a hard time coming up with a solid design for the baby- so if you've got ideas on the name (preferably of Middle-Eastern roots or simply made up), sex, and appearance of the baby (you'll notice I've left out what the father looks like, so whatever you envision his traits to be), just drop them in a review or PM and I'll try to pick one or take inspiration from them! Thanks! :)

We're close to the end of this part! After this is done, I think I'll write a follow-up oneshot or two, and possibly a sequel if I have the time :)

Next chapter, again, may be a bit far off. College. Sux.