Chapter Text
“Bloody hell, Stolas!” The swans screeched at the owl. “First, you let yourself go, then you humiliate yourself by vomiting in front of Lord Solomon, and now you're too ‘tired’ to even get up?” Her voice rose to a furious pitch. “How much more of an embarrassment do you want to be?” Stella’s rage boiled over as she grabbed one of Stolas' books and hurled it across the room.
Stolas remains unfazed by her tantrums, his gaze steady and unblinking as he waits for her to leave. "Fine, stay here and rot in your bed," she huffs, storming toward the door. Just before exiting, she stops abruptly and fixes Stolas with a smoldering gaze. "Maybe you should stop eating. Maybe then you'll lose weight and stop being an embarrassment to me and my reputation." She spits out the words with venom, then slams the door behind her. Stolas flinches, his body shaking as the echo of the thud echoes throughout the room.
He stares at his claws, acutely aware of his weight gain and the exhaustion that's been plaguing him more than usual. Social events and parties have become increasingly draining, and his recent bouts of sickness haven't helped.
Stolas rubs his eyes and slowly rises from the bed. He reaches for his tattered red robe, its bottom frayed with rips and holes, but it remains his favorite. He heads to the bathroom and starts preparing a bath, hoping to find some peace. Adding lilac-scented oil and bubble bath, he tries to drown out Stella's relentless yelling.
Stolas hums gently to himself as he slips into the warm water, relieved for the moment. His thoughts turn to Vassago, the only person who truly cares about him. It has been a week since their last rendezvous, which was full of passion and connection. Despite the stress, the recollection of Vassago brings a little, comfortable smile to his face.
Stolas hummed softly in the bath, but the peace was broken by an unbearable ache in his stomach. Relentless waves of agony caused him to stumble out of the tub, almost falling as he attempted to reach his bed. He gasped, holding his stomach, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew the pain was unbearable, ripping through him with a force he had never felt before.
He collapsed onto his bed, not caring that his wet body soaked the sheets. Groaning, he felt his anguish worsen. His breathing became labored, and a bubble of fear erupted in his chest. The walls seemed to close in on him, and another contraction slammed through his body, resulting in a scream that rang throughout the room. The pain was overwhelming, leaving him feeling helpless and afraid. Desperately, he interlocked his hands, pretending he was holding Vassago's, imagining he wasn’t alone.
Tears streamed down his face as he struggled to comprehend the agony. He shifted, trying to find a position that might bring some relief, but nothing worked.
Minutes felt like hours as the contractions grew closer together, each one more excruciating than the last. He felt something shift inside him. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he knew he had to push. Unprepared and scared, he needed the pain to end.
His thoughts spiraled in a haze of pain and desperation. He clung to the hope that Vassago might come, might help him through this, but deep down he knew he was alone. No one came to reassure him or to tell him it would be okay. He held his hands tightly together and screamed.
With each push, his screams grew louder, raw, and crucial. His feathers were drenched in sweat and tears, his muscles straining with the effort. He fought through the pain, determined to put an end to this agony. He felt like he was breaking apart.
Finally, with a final, piercing scream, it was over. Panting and exhausted, he looked between his legs to see a shiny, glossy egg, pure white and large. Ignoring the traces of blood, he carefully held the egg, a smile breaking through his exhaustion. This was his egg. He had made this. Holding it close, he began humming a lullaby his mother used to sing to him when he was little.
He was exhausted and wanted to sleep. He closed his eyes, clutching his egg tightly, but was startled awake as the door burst open. "Your Highness, I heard screaming from your room. Is everything alright?" A frantic imp butler rushed in, eyes wide. He observed the scene: the prince holding an egg, the bed sheets covered in blood and other fluids, and Stolas himself, feathers disordered and eyes drowsy. "Pringles, wait—" Stolas began, but the imp spun on his heel and bolted, screaming, "I'll get Lord Paimon here immediately!”
Stolas stood up from his bed, his eyes wide with fear. He had known from the start that what he was doing was wrong. He and Vassago were only meant to be friends, but one thing had led to another, and soon they were seeing each other in secret. Though he was aware Stella was seeing other people behind his back, she never got herself pregnant. Vassago was his love, the only person who truly cared for him. It had all happened so fast—one night, both teens were drunk, sitting on a bench in Stolas's garden. One kiss led to another, and now here he was, sitting on his bed, holding their egg and afraid it might be for the last time.
He grabbed the egg and wrapped it with a blanket. He tried standing up but his leg wobbled and sat back down, crandaling it in his arms. He wanted to make an escape, get away from this palace forever with his egg but he couldn't. He wanted Vassago, he needed Vassago. Tears gathered around his eyes and he sobbed quietly while hugging the egg.
There was a knock on his door, and this time Pringles opened it gently. He cleared his throat, "Your Highness, Lord Paimon is calling for you and the egg." Stolas didn't respond but simply nodded. He placed the egg carefully on his bed before picking up some clothes to wear. He dressed in his black royal attire, reflecting his goth style. After dusting himself off, he took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. He gently picked up the egg, holding it securely.
As he walked down the hallway, he avoided looking at the paintings—portraits of himself with his father, him as a little owlet, and him and Stella together. His pace quickened, holding the egg close to his body. Finally, he stopped in front of the large gold door. He didn't want to do this; he didn't want to go inside. He wanted to return to his room and cry.
He opened the doors, and there behold was his father sitting on his throne in his owl form. He walked towards his father in silence. The egg in his hands, sweat forming down his forehead, his heart beating fast in his chest that he could hear, and his legs quivering. He stops and makes a small bow in front of his father. His father raises a brow before looking at Pringles who usually looks professional is now nervous and shaking. His father whispered to the imp. “What was his name again?” Stolas rolled his eyes, of course his father would forget his name. “S-Stolas your highness.” Pringles said nervously.
“Stolas, my boy, did you produce the heir already? You and your fiance haven't even gotten married yet!”
“It's not.. It's not Stella's egg father. I laid the egg.”
“So, you're the bottom in the relationship, huh?”
“No father, it's not Stella's.”
Stolas was prepared to be yelled at, to Paimon taking the gf and smashing it, or something worse but never his father nodding.
"Honestly, it doesn’t surprise me at all that you’re gay. Who’s the father?”
“Prince Vassago is the father.” Stolas mumbled quietly.
Paimon nodded. “Hand me the egg.” Stolas carefully went towards his father and handed him the egg, afraid of what he'll do. He moved the egg around, examining it before quietly saying. “That'll be all. You will cut off contact with Prince Vassago and won't say anything about this.” He points at the egg. “You're dismissed.” Stolas' eyes went wide. “Wait, Father please give me my child back, I will do anything please father.” Stolas pleaded, he went on his knees. “I'll keep the egg a secret from everyone just please give me back my baby.” Paimon stayed quiet before looking at Pringles. “Take him to his room before I have your head as a wall decoration.” Pringles bowed before grabbing Stolas hand, dragging him away from the room. “No! Stop, please . I just want my baby back. Father please!” His pleades were soon muffled as he left the room.
He pleaded and struggled to break free from Pringles, screaming and crying like a child in a tantrum, but finally stopped when he was back in his room. His ears were ringing, drowning out the sound of the door closing behind him. He stared at his hands, the same hands that had held his precious egg, and sobbed. He just wanted his baby back.
.
.
.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Paimon said, his voice with an undertone of urgency. "Of course, father. Is there a reason you've summoned us?” The peacock, his plumes gleaming in the faint light, took a measured sip of tea. His gaze wandered between his father and his wife, a serene snowy owl perched gracefully beside him.
"Do you remember our discussion about your struggle to conceive?" Paimon's voice softened as he searched for something hidden within a bundle. With a graceful flourish, he unveiled an egg nestled under a cozy blanket. "I believe I've found a solution.”
Eyes widening with a mixture of hope and disbelief, the peacock and his wife exchanged a glance fraught with unspoken emotion.
"What shall we name the child, my son?" Paimon's question hung in the air, full of anticipation.
Meeting his wife's gaze, the peacock saw her silent agreement reflected in her eyes as she gently cradled the egg.
"Aries," he said quietly.
.
.
.
Stolas stood in front of the mirror, his reflection dressed in a wedding tuxedo, a mask of celebration hiding the struggle within. His weary face had dark circles under his eyes, a result of sleepless evenings filled with doubt and regret. Unnoticed, the door creaked open behind him. "Stolas?" The voice cut through the silence, clearly Vassago's. Stolas flinched and slowly turned to face him. "Vassago? "What are you doing here?" His voice was barely above a whisper, full of longing and resignation.
Vassago approached silently, his eyes searching Stolas' concerned face. Despite his smaller figure, he met Stolas' stare directly. "Why aren't you responding to my letters? Why are you avoiding me?” His voice was soft, yet concerned, as he reached for Stolas' hand, only to have it withdrawn.
Stolas avoided his gaze, the weight of approaching words pressing on him. "Vassago, I think we should end this.”
"What?"
"Our relationship—it has to stop, Vassago."
"But Stolas, I can fix this. We can talk, work it out..."
"It's not that, Vass. I have duties, responsibilities to my family. You have yours as the guardian of time. We can't continue like this."
Vassago blinked, stunned. "I still want to be with you, Stolas. Even if it has to be a secret. Please..."
Tears welled in Stolas's eyes, his heart breaking with every word. "I'm sorry, Vassago. It's over. We can't be together anymore."
Vassago's eyes widened in surprise as Stolas turned away, the weight of his decision resting heavily on him. As he stood at the altar with Stella, exchanging vows he didn't actually believe, he looked around at the guests. Among them was Vassago, his eyes tired and filled with unshed tears. Stolas's heart ached with the realization that he was about to marry someone he didn't love while the one he did love stood silently witnessing his fall.
"Do you, Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia, take Lady Stella as your bride?"
"I do.”