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She would be a good mother, that much was for sure, Doom thought. Susan adored her young nieces, loving when Johnny permitted them to stay with her in the castle. It had been her idea to begin an annual tradition of hosting a special Christmas celebration for the Doomstadt orphans. She also fretted over the boy, Kristoff — even daring to criticize Doom’s parenting abilities.
Doom never felt the need to use any preventives with her, assuming she’d easily conceive and then cloister herself off in her chambers to tend to their children.
But so far, nothing. No heir had been produced despite their five years of marriage.
Susan somewhat foolishly, but quite admirably tried to keep most of her emotional whims away from his presence. Despite her powers and past adventures, he knew she was a rather sensitive woman. It pleased him, then, that she tried to put on a strong face — the kind befitting a consort of Doom.
And still, it was easy for him to see the sadness, the longing in her dark blue eyes whenever she rocked a new godchild in her arms. He had learned from the castle physician instead of her that she had missed a cycle — her hopes had dashed when it returned a few days later.
His poor queen, though. It was not enough that she simply harbored unfulfilled innate maternal desires, but that some degenerates had begun questioning their validity of their relationship, as well as doubting Susan’s ability to carry a child to term. Doom did not suffer insults lightly and that included anything that dishonored Susan. His spies had collected the names of disloyal subjects who dared to disparage the queen with their baseless gossip.
One visit from Doom quickly ended such crass commentary.
Being that he considered his position as an earned one, not an inherited role, Doom possessed little desire to produce a heir at first; however, something about seeing Susan eagerly awaiting the arrival of her nieces for their stay had made him…feel something foreign inside. Although Jonathan Storm’s children and Kristoff sometimes made him want to flee his own abode, he did start to grow fond of the idea of having a child with Susan. If anything, it would strengthen their power over Latveria, as well as make her happy, satisfying that deep desire.
Doom had suspected about a year into their relationship that perhaps her exposure to cosmic waves had seriously diminished her chances to conceive. He had never felt the need to use any…precautions with her. Being a man of logic and science, it was not hard to deduce that after five years, Susan‘s womb would remain empty.
Mere obstacles did not stop Doom, however. Consulting both his ancient grimoires and scientific know-how, Doom found a solution: he would secretly give Susan an agent to induce ovulation, then he would ensure his seed ‘took’ with the help of a fertility spell he discovered after she drifted off to sleep. The incantation would also ward off any of her body’s attempts to reject the fertilization.
He could not tell her of his breakthrough for two reasons. First, she could refuse his assistance. Secondly, even if she did agree to ploy, her happiness would be diminished by the unnatural means of conception.
Doom folded his arms as a mental audience scrutinized his plan. Yes, it was sneaky, possibly unethical, and, yet, it was for Susan’s happiness! Not to mention the massive breakthrough for reproductive science!
Yes, he decided, nodding to himself. Tonight, he would put his plan into motion.
Doom laid beside her sleeping form until he could ascertain with a projected 97.8% chance she would not awaken as he summoned his spell. Even without the spell, the odds were good she conceived with the ovulation inducer — as well as his personal intimate efforts. She had given him a confused look when he placed a pillow under her to raise her hips up, which he explained away as a way to maximize her satisfaction. Such satisfaction left her speechless, Doom bragged to himself mentally. He had made sure to reach his climax with her third finish, spurting deep within her heat. The careful timing would cause the contractions to bring his semen closer to her womb. Even then, he waited a long moment to pull out, fretting the loss of any of his essence. Tonight, he would give her his child, he had to. Slowly and with much care, he disentangled himself away from her warmth and out under from the covers. Through the light of the moon, Doom studied her sleeping body — long blonde hair cascaded onto her pillow, the peaceful expression of her soft features, a look of a woman well loved, the wedding band with his insignia on her delicate hand. He lowered his eyes, reaching out to tug the covers down so he could place his right palm on her flat stomach. In that very moment, he had a vision of his queen with a huge smile and warm eyes as her hands cradled the rounded stomach where their child grew. A brief tightness grew in his chest at the sight. Perhaps she had not been the only one desiring a child? But the flash of a child — his child — in the near future had him beginning the conjuring. He could not fail this!
Keeping his right hand on her womb, Doom began tracing the appropriate sigils with the left. He spoke the words needed lowly as his eyes remained on her sleeping face.
He had married her and made her his consort. It had been his own authority to grant her a Latverian citizenship during the weeks she stayed in the castle as she debated his proposal. This woman had been successful in her own right — now, she was his second-in-command. And while she got to see him in a much different light than any other, Doom disliked the idea of needing anyone.
But he did like her. He could admit that. And certainly respected her. She was quite a lovely woman, a beautiful queen.
And he wanted to make her happy even if she didn’t need to know the specifics.
She would be the mother of his child. He could honor no woman more than that.
Finishing the spell, Doom spread his fingers out on her stomach as if to reach the forming child. In a few weeks, she would learn of their child-to-be. Doom allowed himself the curiosity to wonder what the son or daughter he just sired would look like, which parent he or she would resemble more both physically and personality wise.
He made a mental note to instruct his Doombots in the arranging of a royal nursery.