Clives eyes widen and he almost chokes in the middle of taking a sip of ale. His eyes glancing from your eyes, then your mouth, to finally rest on your stomach. A stomach that had his child inside, and would be growing sooner or later. "You mean to tell me, that night made you bear my child" he sputters, setting the wooden cup down and clasping his hands together; eyes never leaving your stomach.

"That's- That was a mistake." he said, trying to sound respectful. He wasn't ready for a kid.