NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

"Yes," Kane said.

"It was just a shadow. Much like a ten percent manifestation. Remote. It didn’t have enough presence to do more than talk and look through the corpse. I cut the projection apart before it finished its sentence."

Misha was already half-standing, white hair sliding over one shoulder, eyes filled with the particular focus she reserved for threats that could not be negotiated with.

"Then we should really do a cleansing ritual. Signatures that old don’t just evaporate because you swung an axe through them. If anything clung—"

Kane reached out with his good arm, caught her wrist, and pulled her back down onto the bed.

At the same time, he hooked Thora closer by the waist so both women ended up against his uninjured side.

The brace made the movement awkward; the ribs protested.

"It’s okay. We’re fine. My body would have flagged active corruption if anything had taken root. It didn’t. What we do have is another place to visit."

Both faces scowled in near-perfect unison.

Thora spoke first, voice flat.

"It’s the Giants, isn’t it?"

Kane nodded once.

"Strictly business. Their neutrality is a hole in the line big enough to lose the whole coalition through. I need them bound or at least not hostile when the sky starts cracking. You two are coming with me. Not immediately. I report to the Queen first, we stage properly, and we move when the sky clears the brace, and the ribs stop feeling like broken glass."

Misha’s scowl did not ease, but the tension in her shoulders shifted from panic to planning.

"The Giants don’t respect coalitions. They respect mass, precedent, and the kind of strength that makes arguing look expensive. You’ll need more than Berakamon’s pledge and a good story about yellow eyes."

"Everyone’s the same."

"Not when they are thrice the size of you."

"I know. That’s why you’re both coming. Thora for the part that only understands a fist through a table. You for everything that happens before the fist becomes necessary."

Kane’s hand settled at the back of Misha’s neck, thumb brushing once.

"Reluctantly is still yes. I’ll take it."

Thora exhaled through her nose and pushed him carefully back against the pillows, palm flat on his good shoulder.

"Yes. Reluctantly. Now you stay horizontal. You already used up today’s allowance of dramatic revelations and long-term travel planning. Sleep. Eat again when the tray comes back. If I find you on the walls before the body heals, I will break the other arm myself and tell the Queen you slipped on a soap dish."

Misha leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth once, short, proprietary, and then joined Thora in the practical work of making sure the brace was still properly set and the bandages hadn’t shifted.

They left him with water, the rest of the broth, and strict orders that Sira was not allowed to "help" without supervision.

Kane closed his eyes.

The ache and the heavier knowledge of yellow eyes settled into the same quiet space.

For the first time since the arena, the next step was clear even if it was still days away.

Afternoon light had turned the pale stone of the capital warm by the time Kane made the slow walk from the guest halls to the main palace.

The brace was hidden under a loose sleeve. The ribs were bound tight enough that deeper breaths stayed shallow on purpose.

Firlia was at the outer writing desk of the Queen’s antechamber, green hair neatly bound, ledger open, pen moving in precise lines.

She looked up at the sound of his boots. Her eyes brightened immediately, then she forced the expression back into professional composure so fast it was almost funny.

"You’re back."

Kane stopped beside the desk and rested his good hand briefly on her shoulder.

"How were they? Handful?"

Firlia rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

"A lot. Lady Thora threatened to use three different instructors as practice dummies. Lady Misha reorganized the entire supply schedule for the eastern cohort and made two nobles cry without raising her voice. Sira jumped through four separate windows and claimed it was ’efficiency.’ I have been writing apology notes for days."

She set the pen down and let her gaze flick over the way he held himself.

"You’re injured."

"Not much. Is the Queen inside?"

Firlia’s hand rose almost without permission, fingers tracing the edge of the brace under his sleeve and then the line of his chest where the bandages sat.

The touch lingered a fraction longer than protocol allowed.

Then she nodded once, recovered her pen, and gestured toward the inner doors.

"She’s expecting you. Try not to look like you’re about to fall over. She notices everything."

Kane gave her a small, tired smile and went through.

The Elven Queen received him in the high solar, maps and marker stones already arranged on the long table.

Living vines along the walls cast a green light.

"Report. All of it. Berakamon first."

Kane stood at the edge of the table rather than sitting; the ribs preferred it.

"Grathak is dead. Public challenge, upper arena, no weapons until he mutated mid-fight with refined demon essence and broke his own rules. I finished it. A remote projection of a Supreme Devil, Beelzebub, spoke through the corpse afterward, called Grathak a pawn for refining residue and testing densification, and promised they would come."

"Beelzebub?"

"I cut the projection down. Grathak’s sister Marisa holds the center now under the old circlet. Breeding grounds are being emptied. Essence laboratories are sealed and scheduled for burning. First southern and river contingents are already staging. Berakamon’s strength is formally pledged to the coalition under my command when the threats arrive."

"What about the locked elves?"

"They’ll be released."

The Queen listened without interruption, fingers steepled.

When he finished, she moved one of the marker stones on the map a precise finger-width.

"Two empires effectively bound. Menual through direct control and loyalty. The elven forces through existing alliance and necessity. Berakamon now through blood and a new queen who understands the clock. How many more do you believe are required before the line can hold?"

"Three."

Kane’s voice was steady.

"Three more significant powers and the major gaps close. After that, we are no longer a collection of separate thrones hoping the sky stays quiet. We are a single front with enough mass to make the opening moves of a devil war expensive for the other side."

The Queen’s gaze lifted to his face, then to the brace he had not quite managed to hide.

"You intend to begin with the Giants?"