I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 32: The Investigation

For a long moment, nobody in the herb garden spoke. The only sound was the distant clatter of pans from the kitchen and that persistent, buzzing bee.

Abel’s question hung in the air like a thundercloud.

Does that mean Orion already has a baby in his stomach? Right now?

Millie’s eyes went as wide as saucers. ”Abel, you dummy,” she breathed, her bossy tone vanishing into pure shock. ”What if there is a baby seed in there already?”

Abel’s mind, once sparked, caught fire with frantic logic. If kisses and hugs put babies inside... then he had to count. How many times had they done it?

He held up his big hands, fingers splayed. He started counting, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. ”One...” he mumbled, thinking of their first shy kiss after the wedding. ”Two...” the goodnight kiss after the horrible reception. ”Three...” a comforting kiss when Orion had a nightmare about falling. His fingers curled down as he counted.

”Four, five, six...” He lost track of his fingers. He started using his other hand. ”Seven, eight, nine, ten...” He was whispering now, counting every single time he could remember pressing his lips to Orion’s cheek, his forehead, his mouth. Every hug in bed. Every time he’d held Orion close after a bad day.

The children watched, mesmerized, as Abel’s counting became a soft, relentless stream. ”...twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three...”

Toben’s jaw was hanging open. Willem had taken out his notebook but was just staring, pencil frozen. Lissy clutched Lady Rag so tightly the stitching strained.

”...thirty-seven, thirty-eight...”

”Th-that many times?” Millie finally squeaked, interrupting the flow.

Abel paused, looking at them with desperate sincerity. ”Maybe more. I lose count sometimes. I like kissing him. It makes the sad-worry go away for a minute.”

The implications crashed over the little group.

Willem found his voice first, his analytical mind seizing on the data. ”Statistically... with that many... exposures to the angelic seed-delivery mechanism... the probability of at least one successful implantation is extremely high.”

”What if there’s more than one baby?” Toben blurted out, his imagination soaring. ”Like... twins! Or triplets!”

Abel’s jaw dropped. His hands fell to his sides. ”M-more than one?”

”You kissed many, many times,” Millie said, her earlier shock hardening into a grim, practical assessment. ”Hugged a lot. What if there’s a whole bunch? Like Mrs. Higgins’ grumpy cat. She had six kittens all at once.”

Abel’s mind conjured the image instantly. Not kittens. Babies. Tiny, squirming babies with Orion’s dark hair and his own silly smile. He saw himself holding two, one in each massive arm, while Orion sat nearby, looking tired but happy, holding another. Then, in his mind’s eye, he saw Orion’s stomach round again... and again. A never-ending stream of babies, because he couldn’t stop kissing his husband.

A wave of pure, unadulterated panic washed over him, followed immediately by a strange, giddy burst of joy. His babies. Orion’s babies. A whole crowd of them. The joy was bright and warm. The panic was cold and sharp. They fought inside his chest, making him feel like he might float away or be sick.

”How do you know?” Abel asked, his voice hoarse with horror and wonder. ”How do you know if he’s... pregnant? How do we know how many babies are inside?”

This was a question for the council. They huddled closer in the dirt, ignoring the stains on their trousers.

”My aunt,” Millie began, authority returning. ”When she was having my cousin, she ate less. Picked at her food. Said everything tasted like metal.”

Willem nodded, tapping his notebook. ”Nausea and vomiting are common early symptoms. Also fatigue. Increased urinary frequency.”

Toben added, ”My mama ate sour pickles with all of us. And she cried at songs about ducks.”

Lissy whispered, barely audible, ”Her feet swell. And she gets very tired and sleeps a lot. Or sometimes can’t sleep at all.”

Abel absorbed it all, his brain filing away the clues. Eating less. Sour things. Throwing up. Tired. Sad-crying. Bathroom a lot.

He looked at them, his eyes huge. ”We have to check. We have to follow him. We have to... observe.”

It was a mission. The most important mission they’d ever undertaken.

The investigation began immediately.

They were a scrappy, stealthy little unit. Millie took point, using her knowledge of servant passages and blind spots. Willem was the recorder, his pencil flying across his notebook. Toben was the distraction, ready to cause a commotion if they were about to be spotted. Lissy was the lookout, her large, quiet eyes missing nothing.

Abel was the worried shadow, trailing behind, his heart hammering against his ribs.

They observed Orion for the rest of the day and into the evening.

Clue One: The Lunch Tray.

Orion was sitting in his chair by the window, a tray on his lap. Abel usually had to remind him to eat. Today, Orion just pushed the roasted chicken and potatoes around with his fork. He ate exactly three bites of bread. He drank all the water.

Abel, watching from a crack in the slightly open door (Millie had jammed it with a pebble earlier), felt his heart stop. Eating less. Check.

Clue Two: The Walk.

Orion got up to stretch his legs in their sitting room. He walked slowly to the bookshelf and back. Halfway, he swayed. Just a tiny, almost invisible stagger. He put a hand on the back of a chair to steady himself.

Fatigue. Unsteadiness. Willem scribbled furiously. Abel’s palms grew sweaty.

Clue Three: The Sadness.

Orion stood by the window for a long time, not reading, not sewing, just staring out. His shoulders were slumped. He brought a hand up and quickly wiped at one eye. He wasn’t sobbing. It was a quiet, exhausted leak of sadness.

Emotional lability. Crying. Toben nudged Abel and pointed, his face solemn.

Clue Four: The Suspicious Bathroom Visit.

It was late. Abel was in bed, pretending to be asleep. Orion had been lying still for an hour. Then, carefully, he slipped out of bed. He padded silently to the private bathing chamber attached to their room. He closed the door.

Abel held his breath. He heard the soft click of the lock. Then the sound of running water. A lot of water. It ran for a long, long time. Much longer than just washing hands or getting a drink.

Abel’s mind raced. Was he being sick? Was he... checking for something? Hiding something?

The water stopped. There was a long silence. Then the door unlocked and Orion crept back to bed, his skin cool and damp when he slid under the covers. He sighed, a deep, heavy sound that hurt Abel’s heart.

The next morning, the council convened in a dusty storage closet near the laundry. Sunlight sliced through a high, dirty window, illuminating motes of dust and their serious faces.

”Report,” Millie said, her arms crossed.

Willem read from his notes in a hushed monotone. ”Subject exhibited marked decrease in appetite. Evidence of physical instability and fatigue. Observed solitary emotional distress. Engaged in prolonged, secretive nocturnal activity in the water-closet with auditory evidence of sustained water flow.”

”He didn’t eat his peas,” Toben translated helpfully. ”He wobbled. He cried by the window. And he ran the bath tap forever in the middle of the night.”

Lissy just hugged Lady Rag and nodded, her eyes sad.

All heads turned to Abel. The evidence was overwhelming. It painted a clear, terrifying picture.

Millie glared at him, her small face fierce. ”Look what you did,” she hissed, poking a finger at his chest. ”You put too many babies inside him! All that kissing! Now he’s sick with a whole litter!”

Abel began to pace in the small space, his big body turning in frantic circles. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, a nervous energy he couldn’t contain. Panic won the battle inside him, crushing the brief joy completely.

”No, no, no, no,” he chanted, running his hands through his messy hair. ”What should I do? What should I do? I didn’t mean to make him sick! I didn’t mean to put so many! I just liked kissing him!”

The reality was horrifying. His love, his comfort, his favorite thing in the world, was making Orion ill. Was filling him with too many babies. Orion was sad and tired and hiding in the bathroom because of him.

”We have to fix it!” Abel said, stopping his pacing to look at them with desperate eyes. ”We have to... to get some of the babies out! So he’s not so full!”

The children stared at him, aghast.

”You can’t just get them out!” Millie exclaimed. ”They’re in there! For months! Unless...” Her face paled. ”Unless he loses them. That happens sometimes. It’s very sad and there’s lots of blood.”

Abel felt the world tilt. Blood? Losing babies? That sounded even worse.

”Preventing further... seed implantation is the logical first step,” Willem offered cautiously, adjusting his glasses. ”You must cease the kissing and hugging. Immediately. To avoid exacerbating the condition.”

Stop kissing Orion.

The solution was a different kind of torture. Kissing Orion was like breathing. It was how he said hello, goodbye, I’m here, I’m sorry, I love you. How could he stop?

But the sight of Orion pushing away his food, swaying on his feet, crying silently by the window... that was worse.

Abel swallowed hard, a lump of misery stuck in his throat. He nodded, a slow, miserable movement. ”Okay,” he whispered, his voice breaking. ”No more kissing. No more hugging close. I have to... I have to protect him. From the babies. From me.”

He looked at the children, his allies, his co-conspirators in this terrifying discovery. His face was a mask of grim, heartbroken determination. ”We keep observing. We make sure he’s okay. And I... I won’t touch him.”

It was the hardest decision he’d ever made.