NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

"Will he bring another wife?"

Thora set her cup down very carefully.

Misha’s eyes narrowed.

Sira kept smiling as she had just poked a sleeping bear on purpose.

Thora spoke first, voice flat.

"If he brings one more woman home, I am going to tie his dick in a knot and then make him explain the knot to every banner he just finished collecting."

Misha pinched the bridge of her nose.

"He can’t keep it inside. That is the actual problem. He can conquer an empire, stand in front of an empress, force a Guardian beast to withdraw, and still somehow end the week with someone new looking at him like he hung the moon. It’s not even always passionate. Sometimes it’s just... available. And he says yes."

Sira rolled onto her back on the couch, orange hair spilling over the edge, and laughed.

"You’re both acting like this is new information. This is Kane. He looks at a battlefield, then he looks at a woman who can hold a weapon without crying, and his brain goes ’mine.’ It’s consistent. It’s almost impressive."

Thora pointed at her with the wine cup.

"You were one of those women."

"And I’m delightful," Sira said without shame.

"But I’m also not blind. If he walks through that door with another set of ears or wings or whatever Berakamon is currently producing, I am going to need a bigger bed and a stronger drink."

"We already have Kessa."

Misha finally sat down hard enough to make the chair creak.

"It wouldn’t even be the number that bothers me. It’s the timing. We are days from the sky possibly cracking open. He is supposed to be locking empires into a coalition, not collecting a personal army of thighs."

Sira sat up, still grinning.

"To be fair, the personal army of thighs is very motivated. And they fight. That’s useful."

Thora snorted.

"You’re only saying that because you’re already in the army of thighs."

"Hey... I’m fit. Unlike your busty body."

"That’s not flattening."

"Correct. I have privileges too. I also have eyes. He left with Kessa and Griselda. Kessa is already claimed and loud about it. Griselda is quieter, but she looks at him like she’s decided. If he comes back with a third one from the beast lands, I am going to start charging gold."

Misha’s voice went dangerously sweet.

"If he brings the emperor’s daughter or someone, I am going to need a private conversation with him that involves fewer clothes and more clarity about what ’alliance’ is supposed to mean."

Sira’s eyebrows shot up.

"You think he fucked the royal blood?"

Thora and Misha answered at the same time.

"Yes."

Sira cackled.

"Oh, this is going to be so good. I hope she’s tall. I hope she has opinions. I hope she tries to sit at the head of the table so I can watch Thora’s face."

Thora reached for the bottle again.

"I am going to need more wine before I can process any of this."

Outside the open window, two elven attendants who had been pretending to prune a completely healthy vine exchanged long-suffering looks.

The older one muttered under her breath.

"Those women of the barbarian started again."

The younger one nodded gravely.

"Gods help above. Every time. It’s always either training, drinking, or arguing about how many more women he’s going to walk through the door with. I don’t know how the hall is still standing."

Inside, the argument had fully escaped any remaining dignity.

Misha gestured with both hands.

"He doesn’t even look particularly passionate about half of them. That’s what gets me. With us it’s... different. With the new ones it’s like he’s checking a box. ’Can fight. Willing. Next.’"

Sira wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

"You’re describing him like a quartermaster taking inventory."

"That is exactly what it feels like sometimes," Thora muttered.

"Except the inventory keeps ending up in the bed and then looking at me like I should be happy about the expansion."

Sira flopped sideways again.

"I say we make a rule. New women have to survive one full training session with the three of us before they get permanent pillow rights. If they cry, they’re out."

Misha actually considered it.

"That is... not the worst idea you’ve ever had."

Thora raised her cup in a short toast.

"Seconded. If they can’t take a hit from me and a verbal dissection from Misha before breakfast, they don’t get to look at him like they own a share."

Sira pumped a fist.

"Policy adopted. We are a functioning government."

The three of them dissolved into a brief, ridiculous argument about enforcement mechanisms, whether Griselda already counted as grandfathered in, and whether Kessa would help them enforce the rule or immediately sabotage it out of pure tiger principle.

The volume climbed without any of them noticing.

Outside, the two elven attendants had given up on the vine entirely and were now just standing there in shared spiritual exhaustion.

"They’re getting louder," the younger one whispered.

"I am requesting a transfer to the eastern watchtowers," the older one replied.

"The monsters are quieter."

Inside, Sira had just started explaining a detailed ranking system for "threat level of new boobs" when the same polite elven maid from earlier appeared in the doorway again, looking like she had aged five years in the last hour.

She cleared her throat once.

None of the three women heard her.

She cleared her throat harder.

"My ladies—"

Thora waved a hand without looking.

"Not now. We are establishing succession policy for the bed."

The maid’s eye twitched.

"My ladies. The barbarian chief has arrived."

The sentence landed like a thrown axe.

All three women froze.

Sira’s mouth was still open mid-sentence. Misha’s golden eyes went wide.

Thora’s cup stopped halfway to her mouth.

Then the hall exploded into motion.

Sira launched off the couch hard enough to flip it.

Misha was already moving toward the door with the focused speed she usually reserved for political assassinations.

Thora set the cup down, stood, and cracked her neck once like she was about to enter an arena.

They hit the threshold at almost the same time.