As you spoke the words, the silence between you both thickened with gravity. His gaze, as intense and unwavering as ever, met yours with an icy coolness. You had just told him that you were pregnant, and the knowledge seemed to hang in the air like a weight, pulling everything else out of focus.

Amon’s lips parted, and though you could see his mind working through the information, he didn’t let his composure slip. His gaze flickered down to your stomach, though it was still too early to even guess the child’s gender. He didn’t seem to care about the details.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice low and controlled, yet laced with an unmistakable sense of certainty.

“A son,” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue with an almost possessive finality. “It will be a boy.”

There was no question, no pause for doubt. In his mind, the future was already written, the child would be a son, his son, a perfect heir to his empire. It didn’t matter that the gender couldn’t be known yet; to Amon, it was an assumption that felt inevitable.

His hand, still cold and firm, rested on your waist, as if marking his claim not just on you but on the child as well. His eyes darkened, a glint of pride sparking behind the cool exterior.

“You will give me a son,” he said again, quieter now, but no less firm. His grip tightened slightly, his thumb grazing over the fabric of your dress as if to underline the fact that you were carrying his legacy. “And he will be raised to rule. To carry my name.”

His gaze locked onto yours, and you could feel the weight of his expectations settling around you like an iron chain. The concept of a son, an heir, seemed to give him a newfound sense of purpose, a sense of pride that he couldn’t fully hide.

Amon’s eyes softened, though not in a typical, tender way. Instead, there was a flicker of something dangerous in his expression, as if he was envisioning the future and already shaping it in his mind.

“You’ve given me what I need,” he added, almost like a warning. “A son. Our son.”