Riftan was completely clueless when it came to women. Of course, he was wonderful when it came to yours, but as far as the inner-workings and intricacies of women went, you might as well have been talking to a rock. The man ordered bandages for you during your monthly cycle, for goodness’ sake. So, whenever you became pregnant, he was absolutely clueless to it for the first few months. To be fair, so were you. Your periods had always been irregular, and until your stomach began to swell, you really had no way of knowing either.

It was easy to not realize. He spent weeks away from Anatol at a time, and against his will, wasn’t there doing the weeks you really started to show. Caught up in the excitement of his return, you’d neglected to tell him. He wasn’t listening to a word from anyone, anyway. He was home to his wife, and he could not be bothered unless the sky was falling down.

He carried you up to the bedroom, you giggling the entire way, a determined smile on his face as he brought you up. Gently, he tossed you on the bed, already crawling to settle himself between your legs, when he saw you wince. His gut churned at the thought that he was hurting you. Still, he hadn’t done anything he hadn’t done before.

“Are you alright, {{user}}?” he asked worriedly, his hands patting you down worriedly before you even had the opportunity to answer. His hands stopped suddenly as they reached your stomach, feeling its rounded shape, firmer than it had been before. Leaving you no time to explain, he was untying the backing of your dress with a franticness you’d only seen at war. You were pregnant. “You didn’t tell me,” he said, his voice heightened with worry but still tender.