POV Kali
The changes in my body now scared me. What had started as occasional weakness was becoming constant struggle, and I could no longer hide the physical cost from the palace workers.
"Your Majesty," Elena said carefully as she helped me dress, "maybe you should stay in bed today. The council meeting can wait."
"No," I said, though just standing made me breathless. "I need to show strength, especially now."
But looking in the mirror, I could see what she meant. My face was thin despite my round belly, my skin taking on a see-through quality that made me look like I was fading from the physical world. The energy I took from Zion each night kept our child alive, but my own body was slowly eating itself.
The cruel irony wasn't lost on me - I'd never been healthier during the brief hours after our energy sharing, filled with supernatural strength that made me feel like I could do anything. But those moments of borrowed power were followed by crashes that left me weaker than before.
"The baby's movements are getting stronger," I told Healer Morwyn during her twice-weekly visits. "Sometimes it feels like they're trying to break free."
"The child is getting ready for birth," she said, her hands gentle on my swollen belly. "But their supernatural nature means each movement carries otherworldly force. Your ribs show signs of small breaks."
Small breaks. I'd suspected as much from the sharp pains that came with our child's stronger kicks, but hearing it said out loud made everything feel more real, more dangerous.
"How much longer can my body handle this?" I asked.
"I honestly don't know," Morwyn admitted. "We're in new territory with supernatural pregnancies. But I'm preparing plans for early delivery if needed."
After she left, I walked carefully to the women's dining hall, where their reactions to how I looked ranged from real worry to barely hidden calculation.
"You look otherworldly today," Lady Vivienne said with fake sweetness. "Almost like a spirit. Though I hope you're getting proper... support during this challenging time."
The way she said 'support' felt loaded with meaning. Over the past weeks, Vivienne's comments had grown more pointed, like she knew about the energy sharing between Zion and me.
"The King is wonderfully caring," I said carefully.
"I'm sure he is," Vivienne smiled. "Though one notices he seems rather... drained lately. Almost like something is taking his remarkable strength."
Lady Serena immediately stepped in. "Pregnancy is naturally demanding for both parents," she said firmly. "The King's concern for his heir's welfare shows good character."
But I could see the knowing look in Vivienne's eyes. Somehow, she'd figured out the truth about our situation, and I suspected she was planning to use that knowledge.
"Elena," I said quietly after the meal, "has Vivienne been asking strange questions lately?"
"More than usual," Elena said with worry. "About energy, about supernatural pregnancies, about what happens when..." She stopped.
"When what?"
"When a king becomes too weak to rule well."
My blood went cold. If Vivienne was researching succession laws and royal inability to rule, she might be planning something far more dangerous than palace gossip.
That evening brought a formal dinner with visiting nobles from the Western lands. As Zion and I took our places at the head table, I could feel the subtle judgment from our guests. They were checking our fitness to rule, looking for signs of weakness or trouble.
"Your Majesty appears to be glowing with motherhood," Lady Westbrook said with diplomatic politeness.
"Thank you," I said, though speaking took more effort than I wanted to show. "We're both excited to welcome our child."
But I caught the meaningful looks exchanged between delegates when they thought we weren't watching. Zion's getting-worse condition was becoming impossible to hide from experienced political watchers.
"The King seems quite devoted to his expecting queen," Lord Westbrook noted. "Such attention must be... tiring."
Zion's response was carefully controlled. "Nothing is too much effort when it comes to making sure my heir is safe."
Later that night, as we prepared for our nightly ritual of energy sharing, I watched Zion gather himself for what I now understood was huge sacrifice. His hands shook as he helped me into bed, and I could see the cost of keeping up his public image.
"We need to talk about limiting the energy sharing," I said desperately.
"Our child needs what it needs," he said, getting into bed with careful movements that spoke of bone-deep tiredness.
"And I need you alive," I whispered. "What good is surviving pregnancy if I lose you in the process?"
As the familiar warmth started flowing between us, I felt the same terrible contradiction that had been tearing me apart for weeks. Deep gratitude for the energy that kept our child alive, and devastating guilt at the cost to the man I loved.
We were now eight months into this pregnancy that was slowly killing us both in different ways.
"I won't let you die for this," I said as supernatural strength filled me while he grew weaker.
"And I won't let our child suffer," he said back, his voice already growing quiet. "Whatever happens, they'll be born strong enough to break this curse forever."
But as I fell into sleep filled with borrowed strength, I wondered if we were racing toward salvation or destruction. And whether our love would be strong enough to survive the choice that seemed more certain with each passing night.