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Paul felt like throwing up. The world slowly shrinking down to the tips of Dr. Yueh’s fingers pressed to his temple and down low on his side.
“You have to be joking,” he almost hissed, switching his language to match Yueh, who had changed to a dialect most people in the palace didn't know when he first spoke. The whisper ringing in Paul’s ears even as the Dr spoke again,
“I am not,” he whispered, eyebrows furrowed, “you are pregnant.”
Paul’s hand involuntarily came up, resting on his lower belly. It was flat, as it had been this morning.
“Who helped you with your last heat,” Yueh asked, continuing as though Paul wasn’t reevaluating everything he had been feeling over the last few weeks.
Paul shook his head, but whispered,
“Officially, no one. But I broke out of my rooms and found a partner. Not even the Duke knows.”
He said it around his tongue, almost numb to his toes.
It wasn’t the whole truth: he had somehow, even in his venerable state, picked the lock on the rooms set aside for his heats. He’d been a sorry state when Duncan finally found him nesting in his bed late at night, horrible softly pitched distressed noises coming from him. Duncan had taken it upon himself to take care of him, but he didn’t fuck Paul until the third day, when he’d snuck Paul back into the heat room. They had had a talk after, how Paul had not forced Duncan, but it shouldn’t happen again. Paul might be of age, but it wasn’t right for the Duke’s weapon’s master to help the Duke’s son with his heats.
Yueh stilled, almost to the point of not breathing.
Paul shook his head, hand coming up to his mouth as Yueh dropped his hands, ”But that was almost three months ago.” his breath was coming faster now, “ I would know by now, right?”
Yueh shook his head, a 'not always' uttered but it sounded far off. And the last of Paul’s hope dwindled with it.
Yueh walked him back to his rooms, bidding him a good morning, as he walked away.
Paul paced around his room, unsure how he was just supposed to continue his day after his whole world started to crumble around him.
He knew he should probably be resting. If he was stressed he should at least sit. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, really.
He pressed his hands to his face, trying to hide from the world around him as he stopped in front of his desk.
He had gone to Yueh because something had felt wrong with him. He hadn’t known how to place a finger on it. The idea that he was with child hadn’t crossed his mind.
Being a child of the Duke meant he had different roles to abide by. It meant that he would have to tell his father, or Yueh would with or without his blessing. A child of one their people, wouldn’t be held to such obligations, such old fashioned rules. They would get to choose what they did, if they kept it or not, who they told.
He didn’t even know what he wanted, but he would have to inform his father, and mother, before he would even be given the option of deciding what he wanted. It might not even matter what he wanted, if his father decided this was too much of a scandal. He wouldn’t be the one to tell Duncan, It wouldn’t even be his choice if they told Duncan, though he doubted his father wouldn’t. He’d never be able to look him in the eyes again, if his father decided for him to get rid of it, a baby, and not tell him.
He kept his eyes closed but dropped his hands; one found the back of his desk chair, while the other rested against his stomach.
It wasn’t as flat as he had first thought. A small bump was there, only when he felt for it. His shirts had been hiding it perfectly, and he hadn’t been looking closely in the mornings as he dressed, unconcerned with checking for muscles anymore these days.
His eyes were shut so tightly, his stomach revolting, as his future was laid out before him. A young father, his secondary gender revealed the kingdoms against his will, or the secret shame of the family.
It wasn’t even that he felt he had anything to be ashamed of, but he knew how politics worked.
It wasn’t shame to himself he has brought, but to his family. The son of the Duke, pregnant by the weapons master. His hand clenched in his shirt. He shoved the chair into the desk and left the room.
He stood in front of his father’s office door.
He had wondered the castle halls after he had felt sorry for himself, trying to clear his head, and also wasting time until he knew his parents would be in the his fathers office. His mother met him there after the morning meetings.
He knew when he arrived she had been there for at least long enough that he wouldn’t be interrupting their talks of anything important.
He knocked on the door. It was soft, but he still heard his father’s raised voice, letting him enter.
Walking in was the hardest thing he had done since he told them he broke the very expensive and irreplaceable statue of an ancestor in the great hall.
He opened the door, turning to shut it, to put his back to the room. He knew it was his own sheepish tell, and when he turned he could see the set to his mother’s brow, a look like she knew he was about to tell on himself.
His father’s face was more passive.
It made him feel all the more guilty, to know his father was expecting more of him.
He walked over to the empty chair, his father and mother sitting on the couch together. He placed a hand on it, eyes looking to his father for permission, which was granted with a raised brow and motion of his hand.
He sat, fighting the urge to bring his legs up, knees to chest and arms wrapped around them. He sat upright, hands rubbing his legs before he forced them to settle near his knees.
His mother reached forward, taking the empty cup on the coffee table and filling it with tea from a pot. They had started having three cups brought in, when Paul was old enough to disturb them more. He took it with a soft thanks, though he didn’t bring it to his mouth.
His father folded his hands, as his mother sat back against the couch. She had her feet pulled up under her, her arm across the back of the couch. They where the perfect image of comfort with each other.
He sat the cup back on the table, as his father spoke,
“What brings you here today Paul? Another complaint about Thufir’s lessons?”
There was a hint of affectionate laughter to his voice, but Paul picked the tea back up and took a sip as his throat dried up.
“No,” he said, voice hoarse, and then took another sip to try and clear it.
He coughed into his fist, setting the cup back down again. He looked up at them, and then found he couldn’t as he looked down to his hands. His fingers where shaking.
“I went to see Dr. Yueh this morning.” He said, finding comfort in that his voice steady, though soft, “I was feeling weird.”
“Weird?” His mother’s gentle tone rang out, “Weird how?”
Paul shook his head, blowing hot air out of his mouth, his hair moving from his forehead,
“I didn’t know, I just knew something was,” He trailed off, and then choking up he said, ”I fucked up. I’m pregnant.”
There was silence. He pressed his eyes closed, and then looked up, like pulling a tooth. His father hadn’t moved, a thoughtful look on his face, but his mother had brought a hand over her mouth.
He couldn’t help it anymore, he brought his knees up to his chest. Lady Jessica made a soft sound, and then said, in a strained voice, like she was trying to use The Voice and failing,
“How far along are you?”
He sighed into his knees,
“I haven’t counted back the days, almost three months according to Yueh.”
She nodded, connecting the dots in her mind,
"Your last heat then," She said, her voice muttered under her breath.
His father finally moved, getting up and pacing in front of the desk, his hands held behind his back. He made three passes, before he spoke,
“Who?”
Paul shook his head, his shoulders shrinking, and his father dropped into the chair beside his own, one hand coming up to grip his knee,
“Paul, who broke into your rooms?”
Paul blinked hard, and then laughed, harder then he meant to, his whole body shaking with,
“I picked the lock myself, actually.”
The Duke sighed, bringing his other hand up to rub his brow,
“How?”
“There was a wire in the curtain.”
His mother laughed then, a wet sound, but it was still a laugh, and it made his father scoff under his breath.
Paul’s fingers twisted in his pants legs.
“I claim full responsibility for my actions. I did not force myself on the father, but I did go to him.”
His father nodded once. Hand squeezing in encouragement. Paul hesitantly reached up, gripping the sleeve of his father’s shirt for a moment, and then let go. His lips pursed for a second, his eyes flickering from his mother to his father, and then settled on the tea pot.
“Duncan.” He said softly, finally. It was out and there was no taking it back.
Duncan Idaho was a patient man. He knew how to wait for the right moment to strike, he knew how to hunt, and he knew when to lead. But when a messenger sent for him from the Duke, saying urgent, he ran.
Urgent meant an attack. It meant he was needed for strategy, and his way of thinking.
It didn’t mean this. It didn’t mean the door opening on an almost empty office, just the Duke, standing at attention, looking out the window behind his desk.
His head turned, and Duncan saluted, head bowed, but the Duke just motioned to the chairs in front of his desk, commanding Duncan to sit.
And so he did. It was silent for a long moment. The Duke turned and sat in his chair, his elbows on the desk, a smile, strange and struggling, on is lips.
“You called me for, my lord?”
The Duke nodded once. And then asked, in a similarly strained as his smile way,
“How has your day been Duncan? Tell me everything.”
Duncan’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he talked about his day with the Duke, trying to think if maybe he need to report anything out of the ordinary, but there was nothing.
When he had finished, his thoughts raced in circles. The Duke nodded once, while Duncan had been speaking he had picked up a small cube on his desk, turning it over and over in his hands. He dropped it, and Duncan’s back straightened.
“Duncan, you are,” the Duke hesitated, “one of my best men.”
Duncan bowed his head again, “Thank you, my lord.”
The Duke nodded again, sitting back, “Duty dictates that I tell you this, though it shouldn’t be me.”
Duncan frowned, but before he could even open his mouth the Duke spoke again,
“I know you shared Paul’s last heat.”
His stomach dropped, and he bowed his head further, an apology on his lips, but the Duke cut him off, ”I’m not going to pretend to not be mad at you, but it’s not going to cost you your position, if that's what you’re thinking. I still value you, Duncan.”
“Thank you.”
His voice was strained. And the Duke commanded him to sit up. He did so, his shoulders stiff.
“I am telling you this, because this morning Paul found out he’s pregnant. It can only be yours.”
Paul almost jumped to stand as his father opened the door of his sitting room. The fire was going and he had almost fallen asleep. He stood in front of the door for a moment and then held it open as Duncan walked in behind him. His father turned to leave the room, pausing to put his hand on Duncan’s shoulder before he left.