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Anabella is 11 years old when her parents announce that 5 summers from now she is to be wed to her first cousin, Archduke Elwin Rosefield.
This isn't news to her. There have been murmurs of it for the past few years, perhaps even before she was born, but a part of her is mystified that they're still going through with it. That they still find her a suitable option. Everyone around her— Mother, the chambermaid, even her governess— comments on how lucky Anabella is. That she's so fortunate to be put into this position. It could have easily been another close cousin— they have no shortage of them. They could have found some fault in Anabella. They could have found nothing special worth pursuing.
Until now, Anabella didn't believe her parents found her good enough at all. Mother has made sure to remind her of it every day.
Father, sitting stock still in his seat, looks at her and says, "You will give birth to the future Phoenix Dominant."
Anabella, who originally had no purpose other than to live life quietly and to mind her manners, has been given something special. A dark weight on her shoulders bears down when she bows her head.
"Yes, Father." That's all there is to say. It does not matter if she wants marriage to Elwin or not, or if she wishes to take on the heavy burden of continuing the Phoenix claim among the ducal bloodline. Whatever others say, goes. She does not question.
Father doesn't move from his seat, but the ground rumbles as if he does, and she can almost feel the ice-cold grip of his fingers on her jaw.
"You will not fail us," he says.
Anabella doesn't look up. "You have my word, Father."
It’s a lovely Spring day on the morning of her wedding, and Anabella's stomach has been in tight knots since the night before.
Her wedding dress, crafted from the finest gold silks and sewn with stunning jewels, was designed by one of the most prestigious seamstresses in Rosaria. The sleeves flare out at her elbows and the skirt swishes around her ankles like it's made of air.
It's gorgeous and it's one size too small. Mother, angrily whispering that Anabella should have lost more weight, grabs the laces and tightens the corset herself. It squeezes Anabella in a way that she has to breathe slowly for it not to hurt, and it pushes her chest out to the point she thinks is obscene. Everyone says she looks more mature now.
Make-up done, hair brushed back and crown pinned tight to her curls, she masks her discomfort as she parades down the court and in the presence of her soon-to-be husband.
This is the second time in her life that she's seen Elwin in person. She was permitted to correspond with him by letter before the wedding, but she struggled to find what to say to him. Elwin had sent her a letter— short and sweet, only politely discussing the anticipation of their wedding— but Anabella didn't reply. She kept it hidden away with her other mementos.
She wants to get sick and pass out, but Anabella has been trained to hide her true emotions and she’s certain Mother will have her head if she acts up now. The people in attendance stand with straight backs, eyes on her, judging, as she walks. It takes everything in her to not scratch at her skin, ridding herself of their stares.
It's not until she's in front of Elwin that she can begin to truly ignore them.
He looks much more mature than when she last saw him, and the official royal portraits she's seen painted of him do not do him justice. His dark hair is combed back with a single curl hung loosely across his forehead for style. He has the kind of boyish handsomeness that only a prince can be born with. The royal garb he wears matches hers, but unlike her dress, it fits his frame perfectly.
Elwin stands imposing yet the smile he gives her is gentle. The knots in her stomach tighten, but she can't tell if it's still from anxiety or something else. Heat flares up her neck and she wants to look away until she hears Mother's voice in her head. Keep eye contact, smile, be polite, be docile, don't embarrass me.
Anabella's breath is shaky when she finally smiles.
All too soon, vows and declarations are made, and Elwin takes her hand in his as they're blessed by the King. The ring Elwin slides onto her finger is surprisingly warm, the same as the brief kiss he gives her.
Anabella has heard of kingdoms where royal attendants stayed the night to see that the newly-wedded couple copulated.
She's so grateful it's not a custom in Rosaria. It still does not stop her brain from spinning as she lays in bed with Elwin, dressed in a nightgown. They're both sitting up, backs to their pillows, more than a hand-width space between them.
Her first time holding hands with a boy and kissing one all happened at once today. Now she's in bed with one for the first time. Mother didn't instruct her on what to do, just merely stated she didn't expect Anabella to conceive right away.
Don't be shameful and follow whatever your husband says.
How can she follow him when he hasn't told her anything since dinner? Does Elwin want to have sex? Anabella has a basic idea of it, but the only sensual thing she's ever done was touch herself once. The reason it was only one time was because Mother commented at dinner about unsightly behaviors young girls shouldn't do. Anabella had interpreted it as her mother's way of saying she knew what Anabella had done and found it disgusting.
"Anabella." The sound of her name from Elwin startles her, but she quickly regains her posture. "I can tell you have a lot on your mind, but please understand we do not have to do anything."
The pomade in his hair has been washed out, leaving his hair in soft waves. She wants to reach out and brush it but holds back.
"I know there are expectations," he continues. "But we do not have to engage in anything you don't wish to. It's been a long day; I'm content with just talking to you."
Anabella's voice is dry from all the speaking she's had to do earlier, loud enough to be heard over the celebratory music. "What do you wish to talk about?"
It's an awkward question— one her etiquette teacher would cry over. She's been tutored on how to hold conversations, yet she still feels out of her element here. Elwin can't be much better. He merely hums and slides down his pillow more as he faces her fully. If she didn't already know he wasn't interested in anything, she'd interpret it as a seductive move.
"About you," he says, and Anabella frowns. "You never wrote to me, so I feel there is still much to learn."
"What could you possibly want to know?" She's heard plenty of Elwin, and how he was just as admirable as the King. "We're not exactly strangers; I'm sure those around you have told you everything you need to know about me."
"There's a difference between others talking about you, and you speaking of yourself." There's a shine to his eyes she hadn't noticed earlier, brightening the blue of his eyes.
Anabella looks away. "My liege, you understand the only reason we've been placed together is to preserve the duchy line and eventually birth the future Pheonix? No need to pretend, for my sake or yours, that this needs to be anything more."
The moment she was old enough to understand the importance of the ducal line, and then again when she was chosen to help continue it, she knew things like love within marriage couldn't be anything more. Elwin wasn't going to fool her into believing he genuinely wanted a deep connection with her.
If the most she can gain is respect from him, then that's just as good as love.
A hand covers hers and it's only then that Anabella realizes how tightly she’s gripping the blankets. She looks at the way Elwin's hand completely shrouds hers and unclenches her fingers.
"It's been an eventful day," he says. "We should rest, but may I ask something of you first?"
She turns her gaze onto him, questioning what he could want now, or if he's finally going to go through with bedding her. She feels her fingers straining to clench again—
"May I kiss you?"
Caught off-guard, her surprised expression lasts longer than intended before she schools it away. Elwin doesn't ask anything more nor does he elaborate. Is she being given a choice?
He watches her as he waits, and finally, she gives a hesitant nod.
The kiss at their wedding was brief and proper. It was over before Anabella could fully comprehend that someone else's lips were on hers. This time, Elwin is slow to come closer to her, and there's nothing around to distract her from him. The hand on hers travels up her arm, its final resting place on the back of her neck. Anabella closes her eyes when he tilts his head.
His lips are plumper than most men she's seen and softer than skin bathed in milk. This is not the chaste kiss he gave her earlier; he moves his mouth against hers, hot breath reddening her lips, and when she gasps his hand presses against her neck a little firmer, more pressure to ground her. The heat washes down her front, pooling in her stomach, and making her head spin.
A craving starts as a tightly knitted ball in her guts, and when Elwin pulls away he takes the end of the yarn with him. Anabella catches herself trailing after him and digs her fingers into the sheets to anchor herself.
It’s over. Anabella thinks she can go to sleep now. Until Elwin leans over to blow out the candle on her nightstand, his chest barely brushing hers, and Anabella's hand reaches out to grip his arm.
"My Lady?" Up this close, Anabella discovers his eyes resemble the sea during a storm, and the maelstrom within them is quickly pulling her under.
Elwin's gaze studies her face. "You have freckles."
It's such a ridiculous observation. Anabella isn't certain if she's supposed to feel anything from it, but her resolve is faltering, and all she can think of is how she wants to feel his mouth one more time. Just to see if the sensation occurs again.
This time she leans in and Elwin meets her. He places both hands on her waist and guides her down onto the bed.
This is a dream she won’t remember.
Anabella is in the castle gardens and she sees a young man on fire, except there are no screams of pain and his flesh isn’t melting. The fire moves around his body as if water. She feels a sense of fondness, and then anger towards the man, but she can’t figure out why. He has a face but she can’t point out distinctive features like eye color or scars; she only knows he held sadness and then anger.
The shadow attached to him is bigger than his body and the flames. Its outline resembles that of a beast, and the ground trembles as it opens its mouth.
When Anabella wakes up she’s back in her bedroom, naked underneath the sheets, and her head in a haze. It struggles to recall a memory that won’t come back until finally, it gives up. Sunlight peeks out from the curtains and leaves a trail of light across her and Elwin. Back to her, he continues to sleep soundly.
She reaches down and touches her stomach.
It takes two years for her to become pregnant.
Two years might as well have been eight years with the way everyone leered at her. Why isn't she pregnant yet? Surely Lord Elwin is fertile; there must be something wrong with her. If she waits too late she'll be too old to carry and the Phoenix's health will be endangered. Something must be wrong. Perhaps they're not fucking. Perhaps he prefers a concubine instead—
At some point, the whispers blurred together into one loud noise. Then it mixed in with her thoughts to the point Anabella couldn't distinguish what was said by others and what she spat at herself. She knew the voices were wrong but they wouldn't stop. They wouldn't be quiet no matter how many times she spread her legs and let Elwin's cum sit in her long after he had softened.
Then eventually, after two years—
"You are with child, My Lady," the physicker says. Anabella sinks back into her bed and wishes the pillows would swallow her entirely.
The physicker drones on but they become muted in Anabella's ears. She glances down at her nightgown where her hands lay loosely around her waist. She curls her fingers into the fabric until she can press against her stomach.
The voices are happy. The eyes are staring at her with satisfaction.
I'm having a baby, she thinks. A ball of warmth spreads through her chest and she presses her stomach gently again in an attempt to feel them. The fetus is too young to move around, but she knows they're there, content and secure inside her.
For a second she imagines herself as someone else. No one from royalty, but a simple person expecting a child.
Would she still feel this way?
The physicker rouses her from her thoughts and she nods along to their words, pretending to care.
This is my baby. The revelation sits soft and pleasant in her mind, then all too soon it's replaced by another.
This is the Phoenix.
Anabella spends the rest of her pregnancy on bed rest. Around-the-clock care. Not allowed to leave further than the castle gardens. Allowed to do only the bare minimum. Reduced contact with others who aren't her husband or the midwife, lest someone spreads their disease to her and thus the child.
The human body is fragile, they tell her. Anything could harm the baby. Harm the Phoenix.
Today, as she's done every day, Anabella sits at her vanity table. The woman staring back at her from the mirror looks nothing like her; blond curls hanging limp, cheeks no longer child-like, and eyes tired. Behind the woman, Anabella sees a vase of white flowers, but she doesn't remember who they're from.
Immediately behind the flowers, the door to her chambers opens, and in walks Elwin.
Anabella looks over her shoulder. "Your Highness."
"Have you been in here all morning?" He comes up until he's close enough to rest his hands on her shoulders, knees almost to her back. "I'm sorry I've been absent. Discussions took longer today."
She doesn't need to ask what the discussions were about. The King has been growing ill and there's been whispers between the castle walls that he only has a few years left. Elwin is optimistic and fully believes the King will rule until their child is of age. Anabella’s not sure she shares the same sentiment. If it comes down to it, Elwin is more than capable of ruling the throne efficiently until the new Dominant of Phoenix can.
“—Oh.” Her hands spread across her stomach, feeling the light taps against her palms. "The baby is moving."
The first time she felt them move, she thought she was having another round of an upset stomach. But now she can tell the difference between her stomach being bubbly and the baby announcing their presence. They've been moving around a lot more lately as if indicating their due date was fast approaching. Soon she'll be able to see what she and Elwin created. She’ll be able to hold them and feel their skin on hers.
See how perfect they are and witness the Phoenix bless them.
"Do you want to feel?" Elwin rarely lingers his hands on her for long, let alone touch her stomach. During the early weeks of her pregnancy, Anabella had a constant itch for him to have sex with her, which he engaged in before stopping, mumbling that the actions might somehow jostle the baby too much.
Elwin hums in response and lets Anabella guide his hand over the roundest part of her abdomen. A few breaths later, there's a kick to his palm. A smile, proud and gold, stretches over his face.
"Already stronger than my finest soldiers."
Anabella lets him go but continues to massage herself. She wonders what the baby will look like; if they'll be blonde like her or have a scowl like Elwin's.
"When's the last time you've been out?" A brief fog passes through Anabella's head and she realizes she'd already forgotten Elwin was there. "Shall I escort you to the gardens?"
Sitting in the gardens used to be her favorite pastime when she first came to Rosalith. Letting the flowers’ scents lull her and ignoring the traces of envy she’d get from watching the butterflies come and go as they pleased.
She thinks about doing that now, and imagines falling down the stairs, or one of the Bearers losing control, turning their curse against her, and harming the baby.
"I'm too tired," she tells Elwin. "Perhaps another day."
His gaze lingers on her but her attention is focused elsewhere. He sighs. "Allow me to open the window so fresh air can flow in, at least."
She doesn't argue as he goes to the single window and opens its shutters. He bids her goodbye with a final squeeze to her shoulder, telling her he'll come back in a few. She watches through the mirror as his figure retreats, and when he closes the door, behind it appears a rugged creature with bloodied large fangs.
Burning, scaled skin, and orange eyes. A scream lodges itself in her throat and Anabella jerks around to see— nothing. She looks back at the mirror and the wall remains empty. Then she spins around, thinking the monster is hiding somewhere else, but the only one in her room is herself.
A shaky breath escapes her and it takes another moment for her heart to calm. After rubbing her eyes and nothing appearing again, Anabella concludes it was a trick of the light. Fatigue causing her to see things. Unwarranted anxiety from Elwin's visit. She won't tell anyone about it. She doesn't need someone to label her unwell and say that her mind troubles will spread to the baby.
She heads to bed and rearranges the pillows until she's comfortable enough to lie on her side.
"Get some rest . . .," she says, leaving a space for the baby's name. Curling into herself as best as she can, she hugs her stomach and pets her navel. A heightened sense of protectiveness lures her to sleep.
In her dream, she sees a small child, and their face is blurred, but her heart says this is the son she'll give birth to. A ring of dark fire surrounds him, comforting him like a blanket. In the distance, she hears a muffled roar.
This must be a vision, and the creature she hears must be the Phoenix blessing her son. Claiming him as worthy. Anabella tries to reach out toward the boy but she can't tell where her body is.
This is it— she's done it. What her parents had slight doubts about, what the snide villagers thought she couldn't do, what she felt uncertain of— she's given birth to a beautiful boy who will continue the Phoenix legacy.
The ground rumbles as a clawed hand reaches from the flames and grabs the child's ankles, dragging him from Anabella's view.
She can't scream because a white light blinds her, and when it disappears she's in a chamber, sitting on what she recognizes as a birthing chair. Anabella can see her body again, legs spread, while one midwife wipes her forehead and another sits between her thighs. The midwife mouths words she can't hear, and then the physicker appears at her side, studying her like they would a specimen. Anabella's head is heavy, a dull ache in her temple like she's woken up from a deep, long dream, but she can't recall what the dream was about.
Heat slowly rises until it becomes unbearable, sweat making her hair stick to her forehead and her skin to the chair. The noise begins softly and finishes loudly; all she can hear are people yelling at her to push and her sobs from the pain ripping down below. She can't tell how much more time passes, if it's minutes or hours, but just before she thinks her body might give out, a different sound breaks through the others.
The shrill of a baby's cry and then the midwife saying, "Here is your son."
The cord connecting them is severed, yet Anabella feels no loss as a baby swaddled in linen is placed in her arms. Teardrops fall on his forehead, cleaning him, but she can't stop crying as she smiles.
It's over.
Anabella is confined to her chambers for the next few weeks as she recovers her strength. "You're very blessed, My Lady," the midwife had told her. “You’ve given birth to a lovely one.”
Anabella knew that, but was too tired to do anything but remain quiet as they stitched her up and fed her medicine. Everyone briefly leaves to retrieve food and clean up what's not needed. For at least a few minutes, Anabella is finally alone with her child.
They've placed his basin next to hers and she reaches over to pick him up. He's been thoroughly cleaned, olive skin no longer stained red, and now she sees he has a stock of fluffy, dark hair. He'll be handsome like his father, she muses.
Stroking a finger down his left cheek, the baby purses his lips before peeking up at her. She sees a silver of blue before he closes them again.
Rosfield children are named by their godparents or fathers, but Anabella was given the privilege to name her firstborn. For months, she's kept his name to herself, not even daring to tell Elwin. She wanted time alone with the name to make sure it felt right; that it was something she could see herself calling him for years to come. A memorable name everyone will be proud to say.
She brushes the baby's hair back and he lets out a soft coo. The heat from earlier appears but this time it's soothing.
"I will name you Clive," Anabella says, cradling him to her chest. "The Phoenix will love you just as much as I do."
Clive breathes gently, falling back into his deep slumber. Anabella continues to stare at him. Despite the midwives and Elwin venturing back inside to surround her, she only has eyes for Clive.
Silently, as if it can only be a secret between mother and son, she says, "I know you won’t let me down.”