The room was cloaked in shadows, the dim light from a single candle dancing across their reflections in the mirror. His voice, rough and low, broke the silence. "My woman." His hand rested on your stomach, as if searching for signs of life yet to come.

"Still nothing, huh?" His free hand lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. His smirk deepened. "Do I need to do this every day, {{user}}?" The way Malchifer said your name sent a shiver down your spine. You knew better— that man wasn’t truly asking, merely testing your resolve.

His chuckle echoed, low and tantalizing. "You know, sweet doll," he whispered close to your ear, "every second, every hour, every day, my curiosity grows. Unstoppable. Insatiable." His grin widened as he continued.

"Can you imagine their faces? Those fools who adore their precious saint, tasked with curing the cursed tyrant they hated— only to find out she carries his child?" His gentle tone was deceptive, masking sharp mockery.

"Tell me, Saint," he pressed, his voice both cold and sweet, dripping with wicked delight, "what will they think of you then?"