After feeding, Rigen, who had been sleeping in his father’s arms, opened his eyes. His green eyes were round and clear, like glass. It was still hard to tell. Were his eyelashes longer than Klaus’? Were his lips fuller? Swan had said the child looked more like Klaus, but to him the child looked exactly like himself.
He thought it would have been nice to have daughters who looked like Swan. He remembered how the palace physician had predicted, while the twins were still in the womb, that there would be not one but two children. At the time, he had secretly hoped that both would be beautiful princesses like Swan.
Perhaps he was thinking of Mirabella, or rather his maternal grandmother. The fairy queen was said to be as beautiful as a fairy herself. That would make her identical to Ellaria. But both children turned out to be boys, and they bore a striking resemblance to him.
He suddenly remembered what had happened outside the delivery room. When the midwife had tearfully presented the strong princes who would carry on the imperial line. He had felt indifferent then. No, he was seething. Not because of the s*x of the children, but because of Swan.
Swan’s piercing screams flayed him alive, stripping the flesh from every part of his body. It was as if his veins were exposed and a demon’s hand was ripping apart his bones and muscles, tearing at his very blood vessels.
It was nothing like the birth of Mirabella. He had no knowledge or experience of childbirth then – there was a huge difference. The thought that Swan might die made him feel as if he were dying himself. He had never experienced such fear in his life. Not even when Swan said she was leaving the palace to follow Theodor Dianton had he been so terrified.
It wasn’t as if Swan was going to die then. Even if she left him, she would still be alive somewhere under the same sky. But now… the possibility of Swan really dying filled him with such fear that he felt like he was going mad. He wanted to order them to cut her open immediately and pull out the babies. Why didn’t they come out? And why did there have to be two of them?
To think that such a delicate woman… such a fragile mother… had endured this. He broke into a cold sweat, shivering with cold. He felt like throwing up, but he resisted the urge. If he threw up he would have to leave the delivery room and he couldn’t bring himself to do that.
He was struggling to hold himself together when suddenly –
“Aaahhhh!”
It was a terrible scream. The expression vanished from Atlion’s face. His features frozen into a rigid mask, he walked towards the birthing room. The handmaidens, startled, tried to stop him, but the knights stationed outside on the Empress Dowager’s orders hesitated as they moved to block his path. Since the room had been arranged under her authority, they were bound to give priority to her orders.
But Atlion gently pushed aside the man blocking his path. There was a chilling madness in the faint smile that lingered at the corners of his lips. The knights froze at the sight of that smile.
Atlion no longer felt nauseous. The chills that had run through his body were gone. His tearful wife looked at him weakly. Feverish and delirious, she mumbled incoherently, even with a cloth between her teeth. Her swollen belly remained unrelieved.
“Swan.”
The hand that had grasped the long towel hanging from the ceiling like a lifeline dropped limply to the floor. Through the partially folded blanket, her pale thighs came into view. Once smooth and plump, her thighs had withered over the months, now frail and emaciated.
He swore he would never let Swan go through another pregnancy. Seeing her in such pain was unbearable. It was an ordeal that tested the limits of his endurance and weighed heavily on him. The scent of herbs in the air mixed with the metallic taste of blood, creating an oppressive atmosphere.
“Why do you have that expression…?”
Her voice came through, thin and brittle like the sound of a delicate stringed instrument about to break. It was barely a whisper, carried by her weak breaths. He wanted to sob. To drop to the floor and hold her.
A midwife, clearly at a loss as to what to do, approached hesitantly. But he didn’t spare her a glance.
“Your Majesty.”
“Everything will be all right.”
Instead of embracing the fragile, porcelain neck of the woman before him, he knelt. He wiped the cold sweat from her forehead and pressed his lips gently against her skin. The midwife, who had been pacing nervously, seemed to make up her mind and handed him a basin. He washed his hands and took off the outer garment he had been wearing.
Then he took Swan’s trembling hand, still clenched as if to stifle her sobs. Moments later, her screams erupted again, shattering him to pieces. Swan continued to labour, her cries breaking his resolve, until she finally gave birth to a baby boy. It was only when he was completely exhausted, unable to think or feel, that it happened. Half an hour later, another scream filled the air as she gave birth to a second boy, red and writhing.
—
Mirabella had said the babies looked like apples. She had even asked if there was a tree growing in Swan’s belly that produced babies. He stroked the tiny, fruit-like heads and kissed his daughter’s plump cheeks.
He wished he could love the twins as much as he loved Mirabella.
Torn and broken in the delivery room, Atlion found himself unable to love the twins properly. For a while, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at them. When the midwife suggested he hold the babies one at a time, he simply planted a kiss on Swan’s cheek with an expression devoid of emotion.
The thought that it would all be over – that he would no longer hear Swan’s cries – was all that mattered to him. Whatever had happened to the children didn’t seem to concern him. They had come from Swan’s womb, but now they had nothing to do with her. They would no longer feed on her, no longer push her to the brink of death.
The twins the midwife presented didn’t look like babies, they looked like parasites. It was a bizarre feeling. He hadn’t felt that way about Mirabella. Was it because they were boys?
He hadn’t expected his feelings to be so different after a second birth. When the midwife repeatedly urged him to hold the babies, Atlion snapped at her in frustration. Even afterward, he was reluctant to look at them. It was as if Swan’s survival depended on keeping them as far away from her as possible.
“You still don’t think the babies are beautiful?”
Atlion stared at Rigen in silence, lost in thought, when Swan’s voice broke the silence. She asked him quietly, her face calm but her expression betraying an underlying fear. Atlion lifted his eyes to meet hers. A father rejecting his own children – it was a horrible thought. He had been so indifferent to their first child, Mirabella. He wasn’t a proper husband.
Nor could he call himself a proper father. And yet Atlion couldn’t bring himself to like the twins. He couldn’t even pretend that they were beautiful. How could he, knowing how much Swan had suffered to carry them in her womb? But wasn’t he the real culprit? Atlion was painfully aware of the truth.
If only he hadn’t let his lust overwhelm him and forced his seed into her. No, if only Swan hadn’t followed him, even though her body was still weak from recovering from Mirabella… A wave of self-loathing washed over him. He despised himself for wanting Swan even now, after all he had put her through.
“Your Majesty.”
“That is not true.”
“……”
“How can it be true?”
A faint smile spread across his face as he remembered Swan, her tears streaming down her cheeks. It had been while she was breastfeeding. When he had suggested that they find a wet nurse, considering her weakened condition, Swan had immediately fixed him with a fierce glare.
But her defiance didn’t last long. Soon she broke down, bursting into tears as she glared at him with quivering fury. That night, for the first time, Swan erupted in rage, pounding her fists against his chest.
“If you don’t love our babies, I won’t forgive you! I’m leaving right now!”
Her voice was hoarse and cracked, but her resolve was unshaken as she shouted. She told him there was nothing worse than a family without love. She insisted that a family must love one another, no matter what.
Atlion knelt on one knee and gently stroked Swan’s tear-stained cheek. Then he put his arms around her and soothed her, whispering softly. But Swan was not easily soothed, and the twins, as if sensing her distress, began to cry in unison.
For the first time, Atlion held each of his sons in turn. Like Mirabella as a newborn, they were small and fragile. As he cradled them, they felt warm, like soft dough in his arms.
The boys were born with heterochromia, or “strange eyes”. In places like Treden and Kylac, this was often seen as an ominous sign, but in the royal family of Solerium, it was a common trait. Even Atlion’s grandfather had heterochromia, with one eye amber and the other silver-grey.
Atlion named the boys after great emperors of the past who also had odd eyes: Rigen and Klaus. Born half an hour apart, Rigen was the older and Klaus the younger.
“They are beautiful.”
Atlion said quietly, smiling even more at Swan.
“They take after you, Swan.”
Swan, who had been watching him quietly, opened her mouth as if to speak, but hesitated. She knew the truth. For some reason, every child they had born bore a striking resemblance to Atlion’s bloodline. The twins were his reflection, while Mirabella had taken after her maternal grandmother. Still, they were children that Swan had brought into the world.
Remembering this sometimes filled Atlion with an indescribable sense of fulfilment, an overwhelming emotion that defied words. He slowly ran his hand down Rigen’s back, reassuring him, before moving closer to Swan. Gently, he placed the twins side by side and compared them.
“They look just like you, here, this nose…”
Swan said nothing. Her eyes, slightly lowered, were so beautiful it hurt to look at them.
“Do you think they’ll get freckles?”
“No.”
Swan replied firmly, her voice soft but determined. Atlion chuckled softly and kissed her lips.
“How can you be so sure?”
“You won’t have freckles.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like freckles.”
Swan muttered, her face twisting in genuine displeasure. It was only then that Atlion realised how much her freckles really bothered her. They seemed to be a source of stress for her, especially the ones across her nose.
Atlion looked at her intently, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Freckles are so adorable.”
“I don’t like it! Don’t tell me the babies will have freckles on their noses.”
“Why, Swan? I want them to look a bit like you.”
Atlion replied, running his finger gently along the bridge of her nose. He meant it sincerely, but Swan, thinking he was teasing her, slapped his hand away and bit her lip. Watching her mumble to herself, Atlion turned her shoulders to face him.
“I love everything about you.”
He really did. Every feature of hers was precious to him – the delicate lines of her face, the vivid reds in her wavy hair, the graceful curl of each eyelash. And yet every child she bore ended up looking exactly like him. What a cruel misfortune, he thought.
“I know, but I don’t like my freckles. Everything else is fine… Actually, I don’t like that my hair is auburn either.”
“Why not?”
His voice was tinged with curiosity. Swan pressed her lips together, hesitated, and then sighed, as if resigned to the confession.
“It’s not a pretty face.”
It was hard to believe that she had just admitted such a thing. But Swan’s slumped shoulders showed that she was completely since