Sisters in the Royal Court
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 17: Loss
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 17: Loss - A story of two sisters who both became consorts to the same Joseon prince, both elevated beyond their station, both genuinely loved by a man who chose them for who they were. One brilliant and brief. One quiet and enduring. Both essential to the tapestry of a family built from loss.
Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Romantic Oriental Male Oriental Female
Late 1488 - Jiwon age 21, Hyeon age 23
Labor began on a cool autumn morning, three days after the physician had declared her past the danger point.
Jiwon woke to a wetness between her legs and a deep, cramping pressure in her lower back. For a moment, she lay still, processing. Then understanding flooded through her.
“Hyeon.” She shook his shoulder gently. “It’s time.”
He was awake immediately, all traces of sleep vanishing. “You’re sure?”
“My water broke. The contractions are starting.” She felt another wave of pressure and breathed through it. “It’s time to meet our baby.”
The Beginning
The palace shifted into efficient motion.
Physicians arrived. The birthing room—prepared weeks ago—was readied. Court ladies who specialized in attending royal births assembled. The princesses were notified. Everything proceeded according to careful protocol.
Hyeon refused to leave Jiwon’s side, despite the birthing attendants’ suggestions that royal fathers typically waited elsewhere.
“I’m staying,” he said firmly. “My wife shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
Jiwon was grateful for his presence, his hand in hers, his voice murmuring encouragement as the contractions grew stronger and closer together.
“You’re doing beautifully,” he told her. “So strong. So brave.”
“I don’t feel brave. I feel like I’m being torn apart.”
“That’s because you are creating life. That takes strength beyond anything I could imagine.”
The hours blurred together—pain and breathing and pushing when instructed. The midwives and physicians moved around her with practiced efficiency, checking her progress, offering encouragement, preparing for the moment when the baby would finally arrive.
“You’re doing well,” the head physician assured her. “Everything is proceeding normally. Just keep breathing through the contractions.”
Normal. Everything was normal. Their baby would be born healthy and whole, and this pain would be worth it.
Jiwon held onto that thought through every contraction, every moment of exhaustion, every surge of pain.
The Complication
But then something changed.
The physicians’ expressions shifted from confident to concerned. They exchanged glances Jiwon couldn’t interpret but which sent ice through her veins.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice tight with fear.
“The baby’s position has shifted,” the head physician said carefully. “They’re in distress. We need to deliver them quickly.”
“How quickly?” Hyeon demanded.
“Now. We need to push now.”
The next hour was agony and terror in equal measure. Jiwon pushed until she thought she would break, her body screaming with effort. Hyeon held her hand, his grip so tight it hurt, his face white with fear.
“I can see the head,” one of the midwives announced. “One more push, ma’am. One more big push.”
Jiwon gathered every last reserve of strength and pushed with everything she had.
She felt the baby slide free in a rush of pressure and relief. Heard the midwife catch the tiny body.
But she didn’t hear crying.
“The baby—” she gasped. “Why isn’t the baby crying?”
The silence was terrible. The physicians and midwives moved in urgent but controlled motion, doing something with the baby that Jiwon couldn’t see from where she lay.
“Let me see,” she pleaded. “Let me see my baby.”
“Ma’am, please, we’re doing everything we can—”
“What’s wrong?” Hyeon’s voice broke. “What’s wrong with our child?”
More terrible silence. Then, finally, a thin, weak cry.
Relief flooded through Jiwon so intensely she sobbed. “The baby—is the baby all right?”
The head physician’s face was grave as he approached with the tiny bundle wrapped in cloth. “You have a daughter, Your Highness, Consort Park. But she is ... very weak.”
“Weak how?” Jiwon reached for her baby, needing to hold her, to see her. “Let me hold her. Please.”
They placed the baby in her arms, and Jiwon’s heart broke.
Her daughter was so small, so pale, her breathing rapid and shallow. Her tiny face was scrunched with distress, and her cry was weak, barely more than a whimper.
“She’s beautiful,” Jiwon whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Look, Hyeon. Our daughter.”
He leaned in close, his own face wet with tears, touching their daughter’s impossibly small hand. “She’s perfect.”
But they could both see—their baby was struggling. Every breath seemed like enormous effort. Her color wasn’t right, her movements sluggish.
“What’s wrong with her?” Jiwon asked the physician, even though part of her didn’t want to know the answer.
“Her lungs are not fully developed. The early labor attempt, even though we stopped it—the stress may have affected her development.” His voice was gentle but honest. “We will do everything we can, but, ma’am ... you should prepare yourselves.”
“Prepare ourselves for what?” Hyeon demanded, though his voice shook because he already knew.
“She may not survive the night.”
The Vigil
They named her Soyeon, as they had planned.
It felt important to name her, to give her that small claim to existence even if it would be brief.
The physicians did everything they knew how to do. Herbs to strengthen her breathing. Warmth to keep her tiny body from chilling. A wet nurse standing by in case she could be coaxed to feed.
But Soyeon wouldn’t nurse. She barely had the strength to swallow. Her breathing grew more labored as the hours passed, her tiny chest heaving with effort.
Jiwon held her daughter through the night, refusing to let anyone take her away. Hyeon sat beside them, one hand on Jiwon’s shoulder, the other touching Soyeon’s small head with infinite gentleness.
“Fight,” Jiwon whispered to her daughter. “Please fight. We love you so much. Please stay with us.”
The princesses came to visit, their faces stricken with grief. They gazed at the tiny, struggling infant with heartbreak in their eyes.
“She has your eyes,” Myeonghye said softly.
“And Hyeon’s nose,” Sukhye added, voice breaking.
“She’s beautiful,” Jeongmyeong whispered, tears streaming down her face. Her own pregnancy made the tragedy even more acute—this could be her in a few months, holding her own struggling child.
Jisoo came too, kneeling beside her sister, reaching out to touch the baby’s impossibly small hand.
“Hello, little one,” she murmured. “I’m your aunt Jisoo. I want so much to know you.”
But Soyeon’s breathing continued to weaken. Her tiny face grew more pale. Her movements became less frequent.
“Don’t leave us,” Jiwon begged, holding her daughter close. “Please don’t leave us.”
Hyeon buried his face against Jiwon’s shoulder, his body shaking with silent sobs.
The End
Just before dawn, Soyeon’s breathing changed.
It became even more shallow, more irregular. The pauses between breaths grew longer.
“No,” Jiwon whispered. “No, no, no. Stay with me. Please stay with me.”
The head physician checked the baby’s pulse, his face grave. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing more we can do.”
Soyeon took three more tiny breaths. Then she was still.
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