Ursula conceives your bastard

The news arrives via a discreet courier, tucked away in a report that deals with mundane provincial matters. But the hidden message is clear: Ursula is pregnant. She hasn't named the father, but there wasn't a need to.

You sit at your desk, the heavy parchment in your hands. There is a sharp, biting irony in the situation. Here you are, a king without a queen, yet you have managed to plant your seed in the most unexpected of territories.

You pull a fresh sheet of vellum toward you and begin to write.

"The news of your current state has reached the capital," you write, your pen moving with a steady, confident hand. "In a world full of complications and fading lines, such a development is nothing short of a triumph. I find myself thinking of our last conversation, and I am certain that the father, whoever the lucky man might be, would be immensely proud to know that his seed has taken such firm root in so beautiful a garden."

You pause, dipping the quill into the inkwell.

"Nature has a way of providing exactly what is needed. If it is a son, he will not just be a child; he will be the answer to the very questions that plagued your house. He will be a legacy of a secret worth keeping. Take care of yourself, Ursula. I look forward to seeing how well motherhood suits a woman of your standing."

You blow on the ink to dry it, a faint smirk playing on your lips. You're proud of what you did.

"I shall return soon," you add in a final, smaller script. "I find I have a sudden, vested interest in the health of the Muller estate."

As you seal the letter with your personal signet, the weight of the achievement settles in. You aren't married, but you're going to be a father in a few months time.

A bastard, yes. But a bastard born of a woman who knows exactly what she wants, and a king who wasn't afraid to give it to her. If it’s a boy, the succession crisis that threatened to tear her family apart won't matter as you’ve provided the solution in the most "naughty" and effective way possible.

You lean back in your chair, feeling so proud of yourself.