Your father is wrong

He couldn't have been more wrong. On the night of your nineteenth birthday, you visited her room and fucked her all night.

"I couldn't sleep," you reply, finally turning away from the gray horizon. You watch her hands, the hands that once tucked you in now smoothing the sheets of the bed you shared just hours ago.

She stops her work and looks at you, a faint, melancholic smile touching her lips. "You have been selfish since you were small, you know. Always taking what wasn't meant for you because you knew no one would stop the 'Spare Prince'."

You walk toward her, the floorboards cold beneath your feet. You stop inches from her, your presence looming over her smaller frame. "I wasn't being selfish, Irmtraud," you correct her, your voice dropping to a rasp. "I simply know what I want. There is a difference."

She tilts her head, her gaze searching yours. "Is that why you did it? Is that why you came to my room that night? Because you wanted to ruin me?"

"I didn't ruin you," you murmur, though the lie tastes like copper. "I claimed you."

You reach out, your hand sliding down the coarse fabric of her maid’s uniform until it rests against the slight, firm curve of her abdomen. Nestled safely inside it is your bastard, one that conceived after your relentless seeding of her womb.

Despite your reputation, it was your only one. You should know, since she was the only woman you've been since that night.

You rub the bump slowly, feeling a sense of accomplishment. In a few months, the secret will be too large to hide.

"You've always wanted everything, haven't you?" she whispers, leaning into your touch despite herself.

"Everything I'm allowed to have," you say, your thumb tracing the arc of her pregnancy. "And since I am allowed nothing of the crown, I am entitled to everything else, including you."