Our New Empress

Chapter 16

Today was the third consecutive week Cinder had to skip a meeting because of intense nausea.

Peony, now almost three, was on another escapade around the castle with Torin and Kai. She loved exploring the different parts of the castle that would one day become hers.

Cinder and Kai had been trying for a baby for almost half a year now. Nearly 7 weeks ago, they received the happy news that Cinder was in fact pregnant. However, the nausea she felt was more than just pregnancy-induced sickness.

That morning, while Peony was with Kai, Cinder went to the doctor. She was due for a checkup, anyway. Nonetheless, Cinder needed to know what had caused her sickness to start up. There was always something when it came to her cyborg body, but this felt like something more.

The nurse took her vitals before sending the information to the royal doctor via her new portscreen. Every tap, click, and whoosh put Cinder on edge. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and was glad to not have to see the flood of vitals that once used to flood her retina.

"Come in, Your Majesty," the doctor said.

Cinder stepped into the room and took the first seat she saw. She was too nervous to stand. She came into the appointment thinking she'd be fine, and here she was stricken with paranoia.

"Based on your initial vitals, nothing seems abnormal. Any irregularities here I'd expect from a cyborg."

So far, good news.

"You said you've been experiencing muscle spasms, yes?"

"In my human hand, doctor. It's started to spread to my human leg as well."

"I see," the doctor said, carefully examining the many other papers in his hand.

"Your Majesty, I regret to inform your blood work shows you tested positive for marrationitis."

Time stopped still. Cinder had no idea what marrationitis was, but she didn't think it was good.

"Marrationitis, also known as marra, is sometimes referred to as 'the constricting disease,' as it reduces the amount of oxygen you receive and thus constricts your lungs, causing a slew of painful symptoms. It can also cause internal bleeding, which it appears you do not have."

Cinder was stunned.

"Will this affect my pregnancy?"

"I'm afraid so," the doctor says, sitting down beside Cinder. "Being pregnant is a danger not only to your child, but to yourself. If I may, Your Majesty, this is a somewhat rare disease. Even so, 56% of pregnant women with marrationitis die during childbirth. Only a handful of those survive postpartum, and the ones who do make it could be permanently damaged or disfigured.

"In addition, marrationitis can stunt the growth of a developing fetus because it limits oxygen and gets into the bloodstream. In that way, it is a very dangerous affliction. It's quite a tragedy that you've caught it, Your Majesty."

It was all too much for Cinder to take in. She could feel the air slipping away from her, though that was partly due to her ailment. Just when life seemed to be going right, the odds turned out to be stacked against her.

The doctor must have sensed her concern, for he tried to bring some positivity into the room.

"Now, marra is treatable, but the treatment is very intense. It would not be possible to support a child and undergo treatment simultaneously."

"Are you asking me to give up my child? I can't do that. After all, you were the one to tell me that it would be nearly impossible for me to ever get pregnant again. This is my only chance."

"I understand you have a difficult decision to make. I don't mean to step out of line, Your Majesty, but your life is at stake. I was there throughout your first pregnancy and I know it was a wonderful thing for you. Just...think about what you're risking here."

Just like that, the doctor stepped out. Cinder buried her head in her hands and let out a dry sob. Even with no tears streaming down her face, Cinder felt a heightened sense of sadness. Her whole life had been spent making the lives of those around her better. From her time with the Linhs to the revolution and her brief period as Queen, nothing was ever about her. Now, she had to choose whether to risk her life and someone else's or give up hope entirely.

She was a revolutionary. There was only one thing she could do.