Transmigrated As The Villainess' Boyfriend With A... SSS Harem System?

Lunchtime had arrived.

My mother set a plate of stew before me. Smoke rising in spirals. Abundant meat. Sweet carrots. A thick broth that reminded me why I missed this kitchen more than any place in Mayorka.

Eating in silence, I watched Garchi jump from the table and curl up at my feet. My mother returned to the stoves.

The D'Tariel castle kitchen was the heart of the service wing. Four skilled cooks working under my mother's orders. Three wood-fired ovens. Two underground pantries where they cured cheeses and smoked meats. A water well in the back courtyard that never froze, even in the bitterest of winters.

It was a modest place. Functional. Nothing like the white marble and chandeliers of Mayorka. But it had two levels of warmth that made it real: that of the fireplace and the kind that hits your heart when you visit your parents.

The service door opened as I went for my second plate of stew.

The door creaked as it swung open.

"Astara?" someone asked behind me. "Has the boy arrived yet?"

It was my father.

Darlan Elcronne entered the kitchen. Tall. A couple of centimeters taller than me. Shoulders as broad as a draft bull's. Black hair cut to the jawline, no gray yet. Enormous hands with knuckles deformed from years of combat. Hard black eyes, the kind that don't blink when death looks at them.

Unlike my mother's Empero, which compressed and decompressed things, his turned everything he touched viscous. He could turn a sword into something as soft and sticky as honey. A suit of armor into something so slippery no one could grip it. The ground into a mire where only he could walk.

His Empero worked through contact. But once it took effect, the object was rendered unusable for hours.

My father carried the Elcronne shield on his back. It was the living representation of our house's function: to live to protect.

A simple rhombus. No adornments, gems, or embroidery. Just well-polished steel. Functional. Like everything in this house.

"Dariel." He saw me. His eyes swept over the bandages, my dark circles, yesterday's bruises, Garchi. "What happened to you?"

"Training. Duty. You know, the usual..."

"Were you training or fighting?"

"Both."

"Hmm."

Sitting across from me, he received a plate of stew from my mother without asking. He ate in silence for a minute. Then he spoke.

"Zaleador is nervous."

"About the wedding?" my mother asked.

"About everything." He set his spoon on the table. "He is not the type of man who scares easily. But there is something keeping him on edge. I've seen it these past few days: he reviews documents, sends messengers to the border, calls midnight meetings."

"What kind of meetings?" I asked, curious.

"With the warlords of the north. The ones who swore loyalty to the D'Tariel." He leaned toward me. "Dariel, have I ever explained to you how Earolden's vassalage system works?"

"Minor nobles swear loyalty to the great houses," I replied. "The D'Tariel have vassals like the Elcronne, House Dahlar, Gaijanuz... The Jahke have houses like the Vane..."

My father nodded.

"That's what they teach you in places like Mayorka. The embellished version. The truth, Dariel, is much dirtier."

My mother placed a cup of tea in front of him. He didn't touch it.

"There are seven great houses in Earolden," he continued. "Jahke, D'Tariel, Garialys, Taint, Analazze, Vereth, and Sandahll. Each rules a territory. Each has vassals. And each has what is called a Blood Seal."

"Blood Seal?"

"A pact. A promise. When a house swears loyalty to another, the lord of the vassal house offers his blood to the lord of the greater house. It might seem like a rite, but our blood is the seal of our promises. If you swear by blood to someone, they will have a certain power over you."

Nodding, I thought about it. Had I done something similar with Lianza two days ago in the infirmary? Only missing the blood part. A half-promise.

Garchi meowed. I petted him.

"And do the Elcronne have a Blood Seal with the D'Tariel?"

"We do. For three generations now. Your great-grandfather offered his blood to Zarian D'Tariel. The seal is kept in the king's chamber, right next to mine."

My father raised a hand to show me his wrist. It bore a scar in the shape of a snowflake.

The seal of the Children of Winter. The seal of House D'Tariel.

"What happens if Zaleador breaks the seal?"

My father looked at me without blinking.

"If Zaleador breaks the seal, the Elcronne will be stripped of our status as a minor noble house. We lose the lands. The title. The right to send one son to Mayorka. We lose everything."

My mother sobbed. My father lowered his gaze.

They had remembered my sister. Adania Elcronne was a year older than me, and had been sent to Ishtanar, the eastern academy.

The reason for the decision had been simple: Princess Lianza D'Tariel needed her bodyguard available to her in Mayorka.

"It still hurts, doesn't it?"

My father took a sip of tea. It was hot, so it must have burned him, but he didn't seem to mind.

"That decision was already made, Dariel," he said, his expression darkening. "It was hard, yes, but at least she comes to visit us every few months."

"Back to the wedding," my mother interrupted. She disliked talking about why her precious daughter was no longer with her. "If Lianza D'Tariel marries Ardwyn, House D'Tariel unites with House Jahke. And when two great houses unite, the blood seals of both merge."

"Do you understand what your mother means, Dariel?"

"The vassals of the D'Tariel would become vassals of the Jahke. That is, you would be under the orders of Varanian IV of Jahke."

"Which means that you, in the future, would be under the orders of Ardwyn V of Jahke."

The idea made me gag. Me, serving directly under that arrogant Ardwyn?

"Is that bad?" I said, feigning indifference to the idea.

"It's worse than bad, Dariel," my mother added, letting my father give the explanation.

"You see, son, the Jahke rule the south. Their laws and customs are... different. They treat vassals like... well, the way the Jahke treat everything that isn't as golden as they are."

"What your father is trying to tell you, Dariel, is that if this wedding takes place, you won't just lose your place in Mayorka. We will lose our home. Our few lands. Everything our house has built in three generations of effort."

Looking at my bandaged hands, I noticed Garchi had fallen asleep on my boots. Human conversations couldn't matter less to him. The stew grew cold on the plate.

Three weeks. The wedding was in three weeks. And it wasn't just Lianza's fate at stake, but also my house's... No. It was much more than that. My parents. My sister, exiled to Ishtanar so I could be in Mayorka. All of them hanging on a ceremony I had sworn to prevent.