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It is an honor and a privilege to bear his Lord a son.
(And Lord, let it be a son from birth, let it not suffer his fate or Mary's.)
It entails nine months of his body wrenching free from its bindings, months of not recognising his shape in the mirror.
But it also means a claim to the throne, however tenuous. His son (Lord, let it be a son) will not be a legitimate Moriyama, but there are those who will be willing to help him get to power.
Years of machinating and charming have bought Nathaniel useful allies in the inner circle. His cleaver has earned him respect despite his perch on the Lord's knee every evening.
This son (a son, please, not another victim) will be his to mold until he is old enough for Ichirou to take an interest in him. And mold him Nathaniel will: into a bomb that will make the kingdom go boom from the inside.
"You have destroyed and betrayed yourself for what?" Jean snarls in a disgusted whisper.
"For this," Nathaniel snarls right back, hand over his distended stomach, his grotesque self-betrayal. "A chance to burn it all to the ground."