Adam's head turned slightly on the furs, his hellish ember eyes fixing on her profile.
This was unexpected.
Her poorly hidden emotions about wanting to reveal the child's gender were somewhat of an anomaly to Adam.
In hell, knowledge was to be seized, not delayed.
Curiosity warred with a flicker of irritation at this deviation from pragmatic logic.
"Wait? Why? There is no advantage in ignorance."
Lyra kept her gaze fixed on the magical, glittering nexus ceiling, her voice carefully neutral as she weaved a small lies with half-truths.
"It is a tradition… from my elven life. A silly one, perhaps. A belief that some mysteries are meant to remain so, that the moment of birth holds a magic that is spoiled by foreknowledge." She offered him an enchanting fragile smile.
"A piece of the world I lost. I would… I would like to keep this one thing."
Adam listened, his devilish intuition slicing through her words like a honed blade.
There were truth to the tremors of nostalgia, but beneath it, he detected the sharp scent of fear. Yet, fear not directed at those past events, as she no longer cared too much, but a fear directed at… him?
To be masters of lies and emotions, and to be able to see through those of others.
He could see through her, but just as she had seen through him moments ago.
A blunder on his part, realizing that his thoughts about the gender, on what actions to take, were grasped by her.
She was wary that the child would be a girl.
In most cultures, mortal and demonic alike, males were prized for strength, for their perceived role as warriors and lineage-bearers.
Even now, being newborns, a male would have a natural advantage over a female counterpart. Their physical capabilities being naturally greater: such was part of the reason as to why could dominate Lyra in the first place.
A son would be a crown prince, a testament to Adam's virility and a foundation for the demonic dynasty his ambition was surely building.
A daughter, no matter how powerful, would be seen by many as a secondary asset, a tool for alliance through marriage, bargain, or maybe…
"What say you, my king?" Lyra's words cut his thoughts short.
Lyra, despite her own formidable power, was haunted by the ghost of her mortal past, and most importantly, by the ingrained belief that she would have failed him if she did not produce a male heir.
At the most dominating position, she was unquestionably the queen, but that didn't mean she could relax.
Adam was more than just a king: he was an asset.
Why fight and struggle for resources, territory, or comfort, when she could use this man?
Only by holding a higher position in his heart, and maintaining it with all of might, could she ensure an easy, carefree ascent to greater realms.
She wasn't afraid of Agri and Blair, but of those to come!
A slow, understanding smile touched Adam's lips. It was not a smile of warmth, but of profound, possessive satisfaction.
Her fear of being abandoned or demoted was not a weakness; it was a testament to how completely she was his.
Her entire sense of worth was now tied to her ability to think for him, to desire him, to please him, and in turn, be protected by him.
To give him a legacy he desired.
He shifted, rolling onto his side to face her fully, his gaze intense. He did not dismiss her 'tradition.'
Though, he could tell that she didn't lie about such a thing existing.
Instead, he accepted it, infusing it with his own dark purpose.
"An elven tradition," He repeated, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper as he pressed into her soft back side and put his lips near her long, elven ear.
He reached out and traced the line of her jaw, his touch making her shiver.
"Very well. We will keep your mystery," He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, "But know this, Lyra. Son or daughter, it matters not to me. The child will be mine. Its blood will be my blood. Its power will be my power." Possessiveness and arrogance were blatant on his handsome face, "Your value to me is not a function of what grows in your womb, but of the will that resides in your soul."
He was giving her the reassurance she desperately needed, but he was also reinforcing his importance in her heart.
He was building his dynasty, and every member, regardless of gender, would be a sharpened tool in his arsenal.
The scene was no longer about a child's gender, but about Adam masterfully soothing his queen's worries while simultaneously binding her even tighter to his will, proving that his ambition was vast enough to encompass any offspring, turning her fear into yet another pillar of devotion.
A moment of tender reassurance hung in the air, a fragile, artificial construct built to soothe Lyra's concerns.
Adam had felt a flicker of something akin to magnanimity, realizing something as he looked at Lyra's beautiful face and her enchanting silver eyes.
Lyra is merely a newborn lesser devil: weak in mind, power, and soul.
Her, like those to come, would need to be manipulated and controlled with the corresponding necessity. Some with an iron fist, and others with gentle words.
Branding.
It not be blatant or impactful, as it could be small, gentle, yet utterly pervasive.
That is true control.
Therefore, he was saying sweet nothings, as he started to brag about how powerful a child of theirs should be, of how their first born should be treated like true royalty; as they were royal devils.
Yet, as his thoughts pondered back to the gender of their unborn child, the false noble sentiment started to die out…
The reassurance had barely settled before it was poisoned, twisted by a new thought that sprouted like a vile, parasitic weed in the dark.
The thought was depraved.
It was demonic in its pure, unadulterated selfishness. It was disgusting by any moral standard, but in the abyssal darkened sin of hell, it was simply… logical.
'If the child is a girl…' The idea was born, slithering through the corridors of his consciousness, 'She would inherit Lyra's beauty. That same ethereal, silver-haired allure, those piercing mercury-pool like eyes. She would be a replica of perfection, untouched and untainted…'
The thought sprouted with horrifying clarity.
Another beautiful female devil.
Not just as an heir, but a duplicate.
Another version of the exquisite creature currently trembling under his touch. His own flesh and blood, easily brandable, and to be shaped in the most pleasing of manners, or the most effective of weapons.
A wave of heat, entirely separate from lust, washed over him. It was the heat of ultimate possession.
This wouldn't be about alliance or marriage to strengthen his clan.
That was the thinking of lesser devils.
This was about… expanding.
A mother and a daughter, bound to him by the most unbreakable of chains: blood itself. The taboo of it was not a deterrent; it was a spice, an affirmation of his transcendence over any and all laws: natural or infernal.
Similar to planting crops and waiting for them to mature; with the primal yin being the fruit that needs to mature. A long term investment of power, only plucking the 'fruits' when they were needed, when he wanted a boost in power.
His hand, which had been stroking Lyra's hair in a feigned gesture of comfort, stilled.
The reassuring warmth from his eyes shifted ever so slightly.