Princess Laecia was in hysterics sobbing and pointing at Ambrose’s unconscious body and screaming. “Kill that monster! Behead it! Destroy it!” she shrieked, continuing to try and scoot away from the Beastiary as she shouted orders. But the guards were insensate or too injured to move, Brandr was tending his wounded arm waving away the healers to tend to himself, Olferig was trying to get the teachers and students who were rushing to the gate to see what was going on to leave, and the Heiress of the Advelhein Empire and her Bodyguard hovered over Ambrose, protecting her.

  Lyssandrea would never have attacked Ambrose while she was down and unconscious either, leaving the princess to rave and scramble away, her wobbling legs refusing to allow the woman to her feet. Laecia was obviously out of her element. She had never suffered such a crushing defeat before, never been shown so soundly that she could be bested by someone she thought was her lesser. Lyss felt it would be a good lesson for her in the long run. In the immediate, though, she was fairly sure the woman would be a pain in the neck.

  “We will do no such thing,” the Heiress of Advelhein said, gently pulling Ambrose’s head into her lap, a potion appearing in her hand. She unstopped the drink and placed it to Ambrose’s lips. Lyss glanced at it, tensing, she didn’t particularly trust anyone feeding the girl something in her sleep, but the Heiress seemed to notice her discomfort and paused. “Be at ease, Scion of light. This is but a mild healing potion. It will help her recover from her injuries.”

  Lyss paused and then nodded.

  “Healing it?! You’re healing it?! It will kill us! That beast is insane, it's too dangerous to be left alive! Slaughter it while it is weak!”

  “She is obviously not the insane one here,” the Heiress commented.

  “And you are a coward for even proposing the option,” Margaux taunted a light chuckle on her voice even as she looked down at Ambrose through her visor. “She is a font of power that you don’t deserve.”

  “Kill her! Someone fucking kill he-!” Laecia began again before Brandr wheeled on her.

  “Shut! Up!” he spat, his muscular body almost doubling in size as he bulked with his anger, his fists clenched, one hand still dripping blood as his eyes locked with Laecia’s and the woman hugged herself, trembling in fear of what he would do.

  “B-brother, I…”

  “You enraged this creature! Threatened her home using the backing of the family and now you would dishonor us in front of guests by trying to slay her in her sleep!?” he asked, stepping toward the woman in a way that threatened terrifying violence. “You would disgrace me!?”

  “N-no, brother, I would neve-” she pleaded.

  “SILENCE!” he roared, his bellow cutting through the noise of the teachers, the students, and even the panicking towns folk as a weight of dangerous, murderous intent flowed off of him in waves. “You have done enough, Laecia! You will do no more to embarrass me this day, or I am certain that we have enough princesses for one to go missing.”

  The threat was so potent, so palpable on the air that Laecia succumbed to her fear and fainted under his gaze.

  “M-my prince,” Lyssandrea said, her aura of light warding away the fear such anger would have caused in even the staunchest of warriors. “Surely you wouldn’t…”

  “Of course I wouldn’t,” the man growled, turning away from Laecia and seeming groused, but much less angry than he had been a moment before. “But there is only so much shrieking and screaming a man will tolerate, Scion. Please tend to her while I fix my arm. Whatever attack Ambrose used is still damaging the flesh, and it’s countering my regeneration,” he said.

  Lyssandrea smiled and moved over to the woman. Laecia was out almost as deeply as Ambrose when the warrior closed in to check on her, breathing faintly but evenly. She hadn't been physically harmed in the fighting, but Lyss was confident in her own mind that if Ambrose had been allowed to reach her, there would be one less princess of Diestol. Summoners were not known for a high constitution.

  Olferig finally managed to disentangle himself from the student body, convincing the instructors to send the students back to the dorms. He looked between the groups of injured, the medical staff who had come out already moving to tend to the soldiers. One of them tried to approach Ambrose, but was shooed off by Margaux, who prowled protectively around Ambrose and her mistress.

  “Heiress,” Olferig called, stepping toward the three of them, but stopping when Margaux interposed herself between them. He gave the woman a frustrated glance that she returned with a playful grin, fingers playing with the handle of her weapon. “We should get Ambrose to the medical wing. We can make sure she is cared for there.”

  “No,” Beatrix said, speaking firmly, though the words took Olferig aback.

  “No? Surely you jest,” he said, confused. “She was injured during the fighting and looked exhausted before it started. She needs to see medical.”

  “I made no joke, second prince. After you allowed her to be attacked and pressured into fighting in this condition, and the utter insanity on display in this Kingdom, I have no confidence that she'll be safe with you or your people,” the Heiress said, speaking with a clear official air. “Until she is awake and able to defend herself from you and your persistent incompetence, she will remain in the care of myself and my guard.”

  Olferig winced at that. He couldn't blame her for the lack of faith. He honestly felt like he had failed his family in his initial treatment of Ambrose. Her distrust for him was obvious, and the more she felt like she was being treated as an asset rather than a person, the more she railed against them. He had been part of what had invited the rage in Ambrose by using her, by not fighting for her freedom to turn down his sister's challenge, by showing her that he couldn't be relied on to shield her as her headmaster.

  “I… I see,” Olferig said, his words heavy and contemplative.

  “Come now, Heiress,” Brandr said, turning to where they were, his face a mask, not revealing even a hint of his thoughts. “How is my brother to make up for our sister's transgressions if he is not allowed to aid in the young lady's recovery?”

  “By ensuring this doesn't happen to her again and putting forth an effort when she is awake,” the Heiress stated plainly. “You have not met Blessed Lady Di. She is a shrewd, independent woman with strong values and a sense of her own worth. You will not earn her favor by healing her. That is simply repairing damage that you caused in the first place. It is what she deserves after the abuse she's been out through. Not a favor, and certainly not something she would feel ingratiated about.”

  Brandr's mask cracked and he scowled, though at his unconscious sister, rather than at the Heiress. “You are quite discerning yourself, Heiress, and more knowledgeable than I on the young woman. How do we fix this? Truly? Our kingdom cannot afford the wrath this young woman is capable of.”

  Olferig looked between his brother, and the woman who would one day rule an empire set to conquer the north as a whole and felt defeated.

  For a long time, there was silence. So long that whatever hopes Olferig was fighting to maintain began to suffocate in his chest. Then Beatrix spoke. “You begin paying her in favors and kindness. You don't pressure her any more and treat her like an equal. And when she needs you, you show her that you will support her, rather than stab her in the back like she expects you to,” the woman said, her hand gently stroking the bangs away from Ambrose's face and she pillowed the other woman's head in her lap.

  “White lashes… just like me, you are royalty,” she purred, placing a gentle hand on the forehead of the sleeping M rank.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Very well,” Brandr said, turning and beginning to approach Olferig. “Come, brother! We have much to discuss.”

  —

  Dernia wandered the long halls of her own dreamscape. For the longest time, her dreams had simply been a space of temporary reprieve, another layer of the lie in which she could deepen her rest until her weary body woke. Yet this time when her eyes had closed, she had not been able to drift off into the deeper sleep. The dreamscape felt charged, like the air under a thunderstorm, fit to burst with potential.

  So she had roamed marble hallways, past stone statues of the legends gone before Dernia which stood in archways lined with satin curtains. As she searched for the source of the strange energy, she looked upon the stone faces, some with snouts or mighty muzzles, some with yawning maws and forked tongues, prepared to scorch the very world to ash. These were the halls of her mentors, her idol, and her predecessors, and she could only walk them because she had earned that right through years of fighting, of scrounging, of being smarter and more cunning than the others.

  Ever before, the halls of the old ones seemed to have no true end, no rooms or deviation. They simply branched and turned, past each ancestor and down into families. So when Dernia found an open doorway leading into a room unrelated to the hall, the manticore entered with curious caution. It was an unknown situation. And in unknown situations, the best practice was caution.

  The “room” turned out to be outside, a patio to the halls of legend, and paved in simple, warm stones. Pillars like the ones spacing the walls within held up angled glass plates that tinted the stone in oranges, greens and pinks, even as the afternoon sun laid sweet kisses down on the space. Large red curtains hung to the pillars, ready to be drawn and enclose the space from the rocky cliffs and the open sea beyond.

  There were tables set in lanes across the space, with vases and arranged flowers set upon them amongst bouquets of radiant drinks in clear, glass pitchers. The simple wooden chairs made the area seem like the perfect space in which to bask under the muted light of the sun, or to cuddle with a lover.

  All of that hit Dernia, but none of it stuck as she found herself entranced, enraptured by something she found far more beautiful. “Wild Flower…” she whispered under her breath. She didn't know how, she couldn't tell why, but the young flower she'd met while striking at the kingdom of Diestol was here, in the halls. She wasn't the same as she had been when Dernia had found her in the night, but the manticore couldn't possibly mistake that she was the same, tantalizing wildflower.

  She faced the sea, looking away from Dernia as the Manticore stepped onto the warm stones. Her long, wild, white hair flowed with the gentle breezes passing through the open area. Her tail was long, wide, and a pearly white that tinged green at its edges where thick fur lined the ridges of the hard structure. The way it was plated and spiked made Dernia think of a pangolin, or the old stone dragons, yet the fur seemed soft. The base of that tail was set in the small of a powerfully muscular back that stood defined even as its owner relaxed and gazed out onto the world. Dernia smiled as her eyes took in wide, powerful hips that led to mighty thighs and the haunches of a beast meant for pouncing and shredding prey.

  The flower she had met in the city seemed so delicate compared to what was in front of her, still, everything about this new form made her just as hungry as that other one had before it. She licked her lips and then stalked closer. She had promised to pluck this flower when they next met. While this was no real meeting, Dernia didn't care. If she could play the woman of her dreams, it would only make plucking her in the flesh all the more simple.

  She slipped her hand around the tight waist of the other woman and the girl jumped, tensing as Dernia successfully snuck up and against her. Her musculature was mighty indeed, with a physicality that could rival Dernia's own. Dernia felt an immediate and immense surge of power and deadly intent as the flower turned, and prepared to attack, only for it all to flow away, as the girl saw her. The manticore smiled knowingly at her soon to be conquest, and something shifted.

  Specifically, the girl shifted. Her cheeks turned a pretty, rich red tint as she lost height and became softer, curvier in Dernia's arms. In an instant, Dernia went from holding a war queen ready to conquer the world, to holding a shy, flustered cow, who couldn't manage words in front of the woman who would soon be her mate. The girl in her arms was a busty beauty with round cheeks and long, ivory horns that only made her look cuter with the soft floppy ears beneath them.

  Dernia smiled and licked her lips again, her eyes roaming smooth, soft, creamy flesh with even more hunger than before. This was yet another side of her wildflower. A more docile side of her that begged to be taken, guided, and claimed. Her horns were long and curled in that dangerous way all young powerful herd mothers’ horns did, like an ivory halo with deadly points. Her lips were the same, delectable pouts with a little beauty spot at the corner. They parted as the wildflower gasped. “Oh! Y-you. I… hello,” she said, making the manticore purr. She was adorable.

  Leaning in, Dernia pressed her own lips firmly to the girl's throat, delivering a passionate kiss to the sensitive skin before teasing the flesh with her teeth, feeling the flower tremble in response, her pulse quickening as Dernia got her excited. The girl had a deceptively slender neck, though it still held her head with no problem. Her rounded shoulders led down to arms that held the masked strength all holstaurus girls had. The manticore felt her conquest nervously place a hand against her powerful abs, lingering there. Dernia couldn't help but chuckle at that, reaching down and placing her hand on top of the other woman's, encouraging her to keep touching.

  “Go ahead,” she purred, her eyes peeking through the curtain of bangs the other woman used to shield her eyes. “A wife should be familiar with her lover's body.”

  The cow's fingers roamed her abdominal muscles, stroking slowly and steadily as if the girl was trying to memorize her by touch. Dernia let her own hands roam, running down the girl's back to a sizable, shapely ass and squeeze, pulling their hips together. Dernia's ears perked as her lovely little flower gasped at the groping. The way her tail swished and her hands moved to Dernia's waist to try and keep herself steady was just too cute. It made Dernia hungry, lustful to the point that her mouth watered.

  She kissed the cow again, this time taking her soft, full lips and walking the other woman back until the backs of her thighs met one of the long tables. The heated moans she received in response to her affections were taken as the tacit consent they were. So Dernia continued with her advances eagerly. The manticore lifted her prize by handfuls of her bubble butt, setting the girl down on the table and moving her hands around to cup the wide hips before her. For long moments she lost them both in the sensual fog of long, slow, pleasurable kisses, letting her hands play and squeeze as she tasted and sampled greedily.

  Finally Dernia slowed her advance, if only for a moment. Slipping her own hips between the luscious thighs of the cow girl, Dernia squeezed the wide, curvy hips of her conquest as she broke the kiss and let the other girl breathe. She took the woman in, eyes roaming over bountiful, fertile hills and valleys before her, searing this new form into her memory, lest the Wildflower change again. “Mmm… such a tempting prize… perhaps I should have swept you up and dragged you off with me when I had the chance,” the Manticore murmured.

  “I… I haven't stopped thinking about you…,” the wildflower admitted, her cheeks turning red with bashful beauty. Dernia could almost see the girl averting her eyes past the long bangs she used to shield those eyes from the rest of the world. “It's like my body can't forget you. Can't forget the moment we had on the roof. I can't forget how you taste, how you feel.”

  Dernia chucked and smiled, brushing her white bangs away from the girl's eyes and cupping her cheek, leaning close as though she would kiss the cow again. She watched the pretty girl close her eyes, ready to be kissed and silenced. She was perfect, so cute, so ready to be taken and embraced.

  “You won't ever forget me,” the manticore murmured, putting her forehead to the horned girls and letting their noses brush against one another's. “Your body understands already what it wants, what it needs. Deep down you know I can satisfy that need. You know that I will, when the opportunity arises. You are already claimed, little Wildflower.”

  The cow shivered from her crown down to her hooves, trembling deliciously at the raw truth of Dernia's words. There was no denying the connection already solidifying between them. By the time Dernia found this flower again, the magnetic desire between them would be far too much for either of them to reasonably deny. She longed for that moment, when they would touch and their bodies would speak like old friends, they would mingle and play. Yet, for the moment, the manticore could wait.

  “I've… I've never felt like this for anyone. I didn't think I could,” the girl said, her own hand running up Dernia's side, traveling over the smooth skin of her back. The light pressure made Dernia lean forward, pressing her chest to the cow, who didn't pull away from her, longing for more contact.

  “Tell me your name, wildflower. I want to know the name of my wife,” the manticore declared.

  “I… I'm Ambrose,” the cow said, separating their foreheads and opening her beautiful rainbow colored eyes. Their shifting hues locked with the equally unique coloration of Dernia's eyes again, and for another long moment, the two remained locked into one another.

  Then, Dernia leaned in again and kissed Ambrose keeping the contact heated and sweet, letting the other woman's hands roam her back as Dernia worked her lips against Ambrose's. She kept her tongue to herself, though she hadn't been so chaste earlier. This kiss wasn't meant to entangle them more. It was simply a reward for good behavior.

  “Ambrose. You are the wife of Dernia, the manticore. When next I find you, I will put that name to your memory by having you scream it repeatedly,” she purred, giving a firm slap to Ambrose's rump that made the girl jump a little and squeak in response. “Be prepared.”

  While Dernia felt her body gradually preparing to wake up outside of the halls of legend, the manticore still had time. And as her hands began to slip the shoulders of the blouse off of her flower and down her arms to expose more of her body she smiled to herself. She would wake soon, but before that, she'd give her beautiful little Ambrose a sample of what she was in for when next they met…