Continue to seed the forbidden garden

Over the following weeks, you return to the miller’s cottage time allows you. Each time, you find the door unbarred.

She has become accustomed to your arrival and your intent to ravish her, with or without her consent. The once proper wife is reduced to the vessel of your lust and desire, and you are certainly made that clear to her by fucking her again and again.

"I am sowing my wild oats in you," you woule whisper in her ear. "Deep into the garden of a man who didn't care to toil it."

She doesn't know your name or your title, only that you are handsome, younger than her, and carry the unmistakable scent of high-born status. She doesn't mind the "sin" anymore; she craves the vitality you bring into her dull, grey life.

By the third month, the change is undeniable.

She stands by the hearth one evening as you slip inside. She doesn't reach for your cloak this time. Instead, she places her hand over her abdomen, where the fabric of her shift is beginning to pull tight. Her eyes meet yours, glowing with a mix of fear and a strange, triumphant pride.

"It’s done," she says softly. "The seed has taken. My husband... he’s over the moon. He thinks his virility has finally returned after years of barrenness. He’s out at the tavern right now, bragging to the village that he’s finally put a child in me."

You look at her belly with pride, knowing that nature has rewarded your relentless toiling of the miller's wife. Your seed has taken hold in her and she is conceiving your bastard.