A/N: Late update is LATE. Like, two years late. I'm so sorry. I haven't exactly 'moved on' to another fandom…but I went through a huge change in my life…I started working on a job I'm not so good at (yet), and y'know after univ graduation a lot of friends move on (some moved away to different countries even). I have been so lonely (I haven't been having any regular contact with a close, genuine friend for almost a year) I entered into a relationship with an incompatible guy. Loneliness is…so depressing. And my job is very time-consuming. I'm in a vulnerable, confused state now. I don't know who I am, what I want out of life, how much suffering I can withstand, etc. Consequently, I hadn't been writing anything since Sept 2013. Last Monday I started again.

Chapter 2.15.1: Your Enemies are Inside

Waiting had never felt neither this long nor this frustrating.

At least that was what Roderich thought as he saw Emperor Alfred pacing back and fro ten feet away from the patient, wearing the exotic rug thin with his heels. He'd fussed too much the doctor had to politely tell him off, and after much shouting and pacifying, Roderich successfully dragged the monarch to the other end of the room and the doctor could finally start his inspection productively.

But not for long. The blue-eyed blonde literally catapulted himself to the flower when Arthur stirred and returned to the waking world with a weak moan, bloodshot green eyes standing out against the paleness of his face. "Arthur, Arthur," Alfred squeezed the begetter's hand. "How do you feel? Are you all right?" He bombarded.

The slighter blonde blinked profusely and rasped, "Dizzy…" he frowned.

Alfred turned to the middle-aged paramedic and asked frantically, "What's wrong with Arthur?"

"I haven't finished my diagnosis," the doctor reminded with an edge of annoyance to his voice. "Please sit down, Your Majesty," he gestured at a chair at the foot of the bed. The blue-eyed male obeyed grudgingly.

Meanwhile, Xin appeared with a glass of water perched on a tray. The doctor nodded. The servant wordlessly helped her master drink, one hand supporting his back and her other hand holding the glass steady. "Thank you, dear," Arthur smiled at her after he settled himself.

Alfred felt a stab of jealousy and glared at the maid.

There was a few seconds of silence as the doctor checked his patient's pulse, two thin fingers tapping against the blue veins of Arthur's inner wrist. "…Milord, when was the last time you had bled?" he asked in a calm, detached, professional tone.

Arthur looked confused for a while, before a burst of red coloured his cheeks. He cleared his throat. "…I can't recall," the flower squirmed. "…it's…always been rather irregular."

The doctor raised an eyebrow, but as his eyes searched his patient's face they discovered the mark at the base of the begetter's neck, and his mind clicked in comprehension. "I'm going to ask another private question, Milord. I apologise in advance," he spoke discreetly, his face still expressionless. "Have you consummated in the recent past?"

Emperor Alfred began to catch on.

Arthur's face turned impossibly redder before he gave a jerky nod.

"Then, I believe there is absolutely nothing wrong, Your Majesty" the doctor dusted his robe and rose to his feet, his assistant packing his tools as he bowed to his monarch and the flower. "Lord Rose, congratulations. You're pregnant."

Arthur blinked as Alfred whooped in joy and swept the Rose into a tight hug that nearly made him swoon again. Arthur wanted to be as happy as his husband. They were having a baby, a possibility Arthur had long given up on when he entered slavery, though he dearly loved kids. He was having a baby with someone he loved, someone who could provide this baby a bright, secure future. This was a HUGE thing.

But for some reasons, Arthur only felt uneasy.

Other nobles around the room started congratulating the couple. "Thank you!" Alfred remarked with an ecstatic grin. "I'm truly elated!"

"It is truly a happy occasion, Your Majesty," Prince Ivan, the VIP of the banquet that had been disrupted, had feigned concern for Arthur's well-being and insisted to wait at the Noble Consort's quarter. The big-boned begetter shook the Emperor's hand, his lips curling to a childlike uncanny smile. Ivan continued, "I wish that you will have a big and prosperous family."

Of course, Alfred understood what the Northerner was implying. "Thank you for your well-wishes," the Emperor responded, his face belaying none of the negative emotions he was feeling at that point in time, "if all is well, Arthur will bear the first Prince in my reign and be crowned Empress, as dictated by Bonnefoy Dynasty's tradition." He indirectly answered Prince Ivan's proposal.

"I see," Ivan's expression, too, was unwavering. "Regardless, I hope you would have me stay here, in your Palace, as an ambassador of the North. It is to both our Empires' benefits."

Which translated to: I would stick around and wait for something to happen. Alfred bristled inwardly.

Meanwhile, Arthur caught Xin's gaze and sent her a non-verbal cue. The Easterner turned to the doctor and coughed. "Milord, is there any medicines I should retrieve for my master from the royal pharmacy…?"

"Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me," he took out a quill and a pad of papers. "And gentlemen, it would be greatly appreciated if you can vacate the room so that Lord Rose could have his rest," he announced in a louder voice.

The crowd wished the monarch and his consort good night, carrying conversations in hushed tones as they slowly exited.

"I'm prescribing you a couple of tonics to revitalize your strength and nourish the baby," the doctor pulled a sheet of paper from his pad and passed it to Xin as the aristocrats dispersed.

"Doctor," the pale flower called out weakly and grasped the paramedic's white robe as the latter turned to leave, "how long have I been pregnant…?" he whispered.

The doctor hummed in thought. "I can't be exact…" he folded his arms and rubbed his chin as he talked, "my estimate is…the foetus should be around ten to fifteen weeks."

Arthur's heart sunk to his stomach.

The doctor was wrong, he thought. There might be nothing right about this pregnancy.

The Peony's chamber was one of the most frequented places in the harem.

Within the couple of weeks of his servitude to the Noble Consort, Hong had seen more nobles in the petite begetter's living room than those he'd met in other manors he'd worked at over his whole life of slavery. Anyone, from servants and upstarts fighting for scrapes of power, to opportunistic barons and counts gleaming with gold accessories, could be seen gracing the round table where the flower often promised exchanges of favours.

The Peony wasn't averse to playing dirty to drive a hard bargain. From distracting his potential business partners with glimpses of expensive jewelry or skin peeking out of his Shanghai dresses as he crossed his legs languidly to fast and emotional threats of dropping the deal – Hong and Xin (who'd often been borrowed from the Rose to tend to the Easterners) had seen them all.

(It had happened like this. Emperor Alfred, his flowers and some of his subjects were seated around the dining table, eating breakfast peacefully, when Peony barged through the door dramatically, his arms crossed. He slammed his palm on the table and shouted, "Your Westerner slaves are clumsy and ignorant! I demand for Easterner slaves who can serve me better!"

Alfred scrunched his brows in annoyance, his lips pressed to a thin line.

Sensing that his Emperor was going to explode, Roderich entered the conversation. "Lord Peony," he began conciliatorily, "may I know what the basis of your statement is?"

"They don't know how to serve green tea," Yao held his fingers out and ticked off one by one. "They are too rough when they wash my feet. My silk robes always crease in their grip. They are not punctual. They-"

"I get it," Roderich interrupted. Yao's high-pitched complaint was grating on everyone's nerves, judging from the displeasure on Alfred and his subjects' faces. "Unfortunately, Easterner slaves are in very short supply in this Empire. I will ensure that your current slaves are trained till they serve you to your liking-"

"No!" the concubine interrupted, his gaze on the Prime Minister haughty and challenging. Yao merely sneered, and turned to one of the other two Noble Consorts. "Lord Rose, would you be so kind as to let me have your Easterner slave? I would be so very grateful," he transformed so drastically to a deceptively demure expression within a blink of an eye.

Roderich gritted his teeth. In a few seconds, Yao had made a simple matter a form of power play. A glance at Arthur told the former Edelweiss that the Rose was stricken. To avoid an all-out war, Roderich would have advised Arthur to cave; after all, Yao's demand was petty. But he knew how important Xin was to the green-eyed begetter. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't.

For once, Emperor Alfred understood that Yao intended to undermine Arthur. He rose to his feet in righteous indignity, his hackles raised like he was a pissed off cat, but before his throat could give voice to the protest his mouth was shaped around Arthur had forced an amicable smile to his face. "I'm afraid Xin's service is irreplaceable to me, Lord Peony." His hands remained hidden from the table as he spoke, his expression unnaturally stiff. Roderich could only guess how white the former slave's knuckles would be from forcing himself not to tremble. "But," Arthur quickly added before Yao could edge in a word, "I am willing to share with you."

Good, the former Edelweiss praised the younger begetter in his mind. Arthur hadn't forgotten this dance, it seemed.

Yao narrowed his eyes, but before he could up his ante, Roderich threw an open invitation to the floor. "Perhaps there may be other lords or ladies who could spare a thought for our Noble Consort…? I'm sure Lord Peony would not forget your kindness." He shot the petite Easterner a warning stare as he gave his Emperor a sharp tug on his sleeve, signaling him to sit down and stop showcasing hostility to his donor for goodness sake...

There was a beat of silence before someone offered Hong, and since Yao could not pressurize Arthur further so obviously, the case was closed.)

There were unpleasant rumours around the Peony, since Yao wouldn't hesitate to attend those negotiations instead of dining with His Majesty. Bolder men had tried to gain an upper hand by insinuating that the Peony wasn't a dutiful Consort, but the amber-eyed begetter would only dismiss the attempt with a high-pitched laughter. "After having two husbands, one learns not to rely on them," he'd mocked, waving one hand dismissively. "I'd be a fool otherwise."

'Two husbands?' Hong was puzzled. Judging from the nearly imperceptible twitch of Xin's brow, he could tell she was suspicious as well. The way Yao said it sounded like he'd had two husbands and Emperor Alfred was his third, but maybe it was just an erroneous figure of speech. Maybe Yao wasn't used to speaking the Western language.

The man on the opposite side of the table was too flustered in anger to notice the strange wordings, however, and the matter was not pursued.

The Peony was always a little jumpy. At first, Hong thought it was because he was scared of the people he'd been cruel to (and there were a lot of them), but it didn't seem quite like it. Once, Xin had delivered a letter from a relative named Yong Soo, for a split second, the Peony looked like he had seen a ghost, his face white as a sheet and his amber eyes wide, before feigned indifference dominated his doll-like countenance again. He'd promptly shooed her out rudely (he'd given up his efforts to buy Lord Rose's personal maid's loyalty after one week, Hong'd observed), He even glared at Hong when the long-haired begetter noticed the slave's curious glance.

There was no mistaking it. Their cunning Lord Peony was keeping a secret. A secret that could make him vulnerable.

Not long after the incidence dubbed as 'that letter' in Hong's mind, as the two slaves performed their duties, Hong's eyes met Xin's over the empty cups of tea they were clearing from the table. He held his gaze and tried to conduct a silent conversation with her.

(There were too many questions he wanted to ask: what kind of secret do you think it is?

Which district of the East did you come from? When did you start as a slave?

What do you like to do in your free time?)

But she ducked her head before long.

Hong never attempted to befriend her again. It wasn't worth his life.

"You don't look happy."

The Prime Minister spoke by way of greeting.

Arthur responded with a start, jostling the china in his hands, brown aromatic liquid sloshing the sides of the cup and splashing his fingers. Xin immediately came to her master's attention with a towel and took the porcelain away as though it had offended Lord Rose. He shot her a grateful look. The servant that attended him in her absence was not nearly as efficient. Or caring.

"Your Grace," Arthur returned the greeting, somewhat sarcastic. "It's a wonderful day to be out making snowmen or snow angels," he commented as he looked over the garden over the railing of his balcony in his private quarter, the estate awash with snow and the reds and the pinks of poinsettia and Christmas roses the gardeners planted months ago. They were in the thick of winter, with the new year approaching, but the sky was clear and the air was crisp. It was a rare day.

"Indeed," Roderich took the empty seat next to the blonde, glad to see this acerbic side he thought the flower had left behind in his past. And yet, his thoughts were derailed as he spied the crease between Arthur's massive eyebrows. Again. "Even with a baby on the way, your moods seem very blue, milord."

Arthur flinched. He's not Matthew, he reminded himself, mentally berating himself for letting out a physical reaction. The perceptive Royal Prince would have caught it and put two and two together. The blonde disguised his nervousness poorly with a barked out laugh. "Do you seriously feel that having a baby is something to be happy about, in this political climate?" He gave a wide gesture, meant to encompass everything from the battles against Duke Orleans' armies to Prince Ivan's continuous stay at Alfred's court (two weeks and counting now).

"Indeed," Roderich sighed to the tea Xin had served him. "But surely, you have noticed that the announcement of your pregnancy have planted hope and stability in your husband's court? A dying Dynasty is a breeding ground for civil war, thanks to Francis for siring only two offspring."

Arthur had to swallow the bile that rose to his throat, one hand cradling his stomach reflexively as though he could feel and protect the life growing within that way. The memory of that celebratory banquet where Alfred shared the news of his joy made him sick. The ballroom had been filled with ill-spoken whispers behind masks of cheer, some mocking Alfred's virility, some questioning the baby's paternity. The latter were questions Arthur also asked himself, repeatedly, in the dead of the nights, wearing himself thin with worries.

(And the whispers never stopped. They spread to the hallways, to the streets, to the homes of far-flung aristocrats.)

For his sanity, Arthur attempted to distract them. "Four."

Thrown by the non-sequitur, Roderich blinked. "I beg your pardon…?"

"There are Maria…and Gilbert's child," talking about them made Arthur miss the albino, the longing sudden and piercing. Not a good territory to enter, he noted. "Whatever gender that child is."

Arthur felt the older begetter's gaze on him for a moment before he heard Roderich respond. "Two heirs," he amended himself, "I suspect there may be more than four offspring."

"Huh?" Arthur leaned closer to his companion. "What do you mean?"

Roderich was about to explain when they were interrupted by a voice they were both familiar with.

"Arthur!" Alfred's face lighted up visibly once he laid his eyes on the flower. Arthur wasn't even sure the young Emperor noticed that his Prime Minister was with them. "It's almost time for lunch," he approached the older blonde from the doorway and grinned, "accompany me to the dining hall?"

Arthur gave his husband a warm smile. He could never refuse him anything it seemed. "Sure," he rose to his feet and turned to the former Edelweiss. "Lord Edelstein?"

Something flashed across Alfred's blue eyes.

Roderich didn't need to see his sovereign to know he was unwelcome. "Let me soak in the beautiful scenery a little longer," he waved his hand dismissively, "please enjoy your meal, Your Majesty, milord."

As soon as the couple left the bright balcony to the privacy of the central living room of Arthur's quarter, Alfred weaved the fingers of his left hand to Arthur's right hand, and bent over the begetter's abdomen. The monarch pressed the palm of his right hand on the small mound that was beginning to show on Arthur's slowly expanding belly. "Hi, my boy," he greeted the beginning of life nestled under the green-eyed blonde's skin. "It's your daddy again."

Arthur chuckled. "The baby may be a girl. You're going to make her confused."

Alfred pouted at his flower. "It's going to be a boy, I know it!"

The Emperor was so distractedly happy as they walked down the corridors, his arms swinging in a wide arc, pulling Arthur's hand with them. The young monarch was lost in his imagination, his tone progressively more excited as he shared the future he envisioned of teaching a blonde boy how to play tag and ride a pony. Arthur soaked in the other man's happiness greedily.

The begetter's joyous mood, however, disappeared in a puff of air as soon as the couple reached their destination.

The Emperor had been spending a LOT of time at the Rose's quarter (and boy, hadn't tension been building in the harem; Arthur swore the Lilac had been drilling holes on his back with her glares), and after two weeks Alfred's enthusiasm had barely diminished. Conversely, he started gifting Arthur with baby clothes sewed from the best silk and wool, threads of gold and silver. He treated the Rose like he was already an Empress Consort from having birthed the Empire's first heir.

"Milords," Arthur cut in as soon as there was a natural break in Alfred's chatter, alerting the sovereign of the other flowers. It would not do to ignore the people he was sharing a husband with. "Milady," he gave his fellows a small nod.

The Peony and the Lilac ignored him. Kiku and Mei, however, replied the greeting politely. "Your Majesty," they all stood for the Emperor.

"At ease," Alfred pouted slightly as Arthur slipped away from his arm to his seat between Yao and Kiku. The Emperor himself was flanked by Yao and his Minister of Justice's daughter (not by choice). "Where's Matthew?" Alfred asked the room in general.

"Your Majesty," a gangly servant Arthur recognized as the younger Prince's valet shuffled forward. "His Highness has not returned from his visit to the Southern Ambassador's home. He sent his apologies."

That Carlos. The Emperor sighed. "We should start without him," he signaled to the first footman.

Meals were almost always a family affair in the royal household. When the harem gets too big, the tradition may not be upheld (it was plain impossible to fit all of Francis' concubines a room, except the great hall and the ballroom), especially if guests or family friends joined them, but for now, there was enough space for six of them.

Or ten of them, it seemed, as Prince Ivan, his timid aide and his two sisters strolled in before the servants returned with food. "I hope I'm not too late," the big-boned monarch smiled.

Alfred pursed his lips. He knew better than to not let them come in uninvited. He wasn't at their beck and call, not exactly, but Ivan kept pushing and pushing his boundaries, and soon enough, Alfred could not be held responsible for snapping at them. "Settle down," he fought against the impulse to bark the words.

Poor Mei looked like she was going to jump out of her skin when the large Northerner settled down next to her. The first time Ivan showed up at breakfast, he deliberately plopped himself at the other end of the table, where Empress Consorts typically sit. What followed was an explosive drama where Ivan claimed ignorance and Prince Matthew had to hold his brother back from doing something rash. The servants were told to remove that chair and that was the end of that.

The tension in the room hit an all-round high, just like any other times their meal times were crashed by these particular guests, until bowls of wine chicken soup were placed on the table. Only Arthur's looked different, an alcohol-free diet for his condition.

He sniffed. "Herbal?" he wondered under his breath.

"Hai," Kiku unexpectedly answered. The dark-haired flower smiled kindly as Arthur blushed in embarrassment at being heard. "Yao-ni ni just received a parcel of huai shan [1]. It's good for pregnancy. We requested the chef to add it to your meal."

"You're too kind," Arthur thanked the Peony and the Chrysanthemum. The former, for once, smiled graciously. Yao's attitude toward Arthur didn't change much after the doctor's diagnosis, but he wasn't as antagonistic.

As everyone tucked in, Arthur sipped his food slowly. The taste was all right. Just typical herbal. Back in his ancestral home, Arthur used to gather herbs from around the Kirkland's estate to be handed to the cook. He should be used to that flavor, yet, for some reasons, it didn't agree with his palate. Nausea made itself known again. He couldn't finish the soup.

"I'm sorry," he couldn't help but say as he pressed a napkin to his lips.

"So rude," the Lilac shot him a condescending stare, "it's a gift. You have to finish it," she sounded unusually forceful.

"You know what, morning sickness isn't really contained to the morning," Alfred defended Arthur, his tone carefully lighthearted, yet on edge. His hand sought Arthur's fingers over the table. "We are very grateful to you, Yao and Kiku, that doesn't change."

"Of course, we understand, Your Majesty," Kiku was quick to reply.

The meal went on without any incidences until they reached dessert. Suddenly, Arthur was overcome by restlessness. He began to sweat profusely. His heart was beating so rapidly his hands were shaking.

As he pondered about the cause, bile rose up his throat so fast he almost couldn't clam his mouth shut in time. "Excuse me," the green-eyed blonde quickly squeezed through gritted teeth, his face pale. He all but flew to the washroom, barely reaching the basin before he emptied his stomach.

"Arthur? Arthur!" from the haze of his pain, the flower heard his husband chase after him. Before long, there were hands holding his hair away from his face.

Arthur turned to his ruler with great effort. "It's okay…" he moaned. He sounded delirious.

But the expression on the Emperor's face told Arthur he was anything but fine. "Arthur," he was afraid, the flower realized, "t-there's blood." He pointed at the basin. "A copious amount," his blue eyes were wide.

Arthur touched his lips.

His fingers came back red.

TBC

PLEASE REVIEW. Reviews make me happier :).

A/N1: Why is it my chapters often ended with Arthur being some kind of hurt?

Notes:

1. Chinese Yam/nagaimo/huai shan: wiki/Chinese_yam. I got the idea from a website recommending Chinese soups for the pregnant: thechinesesouplady com (slash) pregnancy-soups/

A/N2:

Between the commemoration of Francis' death and Alfred's Coronation, only a three weeks had passed. And between the time Matthew discovered about Arthur providing 'services' to the nobles to the commemoration of Francis' death, at most only a month had passed (Alfred spent a week at Yao's. It took nine days to travel back and fro). I read that most pregnancy only start showing in second trimester. Around the same time, Arthur's lifestyle changed from that of a slave to that of a kept mistress (aka started becoming more well-fed), so it's possible he considered the expansion of his waist a result of a better diet. Nobody knows how old the pregnancy was at this point in time. :/