Keep your 'hostage' happy

The following two months are a study in duality. During the day, you are the king, while at night you submit to the whie the architect of a new frontier; at night, you moved between two very different fires.

There is Elka, Kaelen’s wife, whose fire and warrior’s spirit make every encounter in the tent a grappling match of wills. She is fun, fierce, and loud. But when the weight of the crown feels too heavy, you seek out Dobra. With her, there is no performance, only the quiet, steady peace of a woman who understands the soul behind the title.

When you finally return Elka to Kaelen, well past the agreed month, the air between the two men is not one of resentment, but of a deepened, grim respect. Elka stands tall, her hand resting on a belly that is swollen with the bastard you sowed in her.

"Raise the child as your own," you tell Kaelen, your voice carrying across the gathered tribal elders. "The child is of the tribe. He will learn your ways, take your discipline, and serve your tent. The child is a gift of blood to bind our peoples."

Kaelen put a fist over his heart and nod. In their culture, for a King to trust a subordinate to discipline and mold his own flesh and blood is the ultimate recognition of that man’s worth.

Later, as the sun dips below the jagged mountain peaks, you find Dobra sitting near the hearth of your private quarters. Her pregnancy is far more advanced than Elka’s; her gown stretches tight over a prominent, rounded mound.

"Dobra," you say, settling beside her. "I’ve been wondering. Vetrix was a powerful leader. Why did he never use this thing. He could have given your daughters to them to raise, or take the wife."

Dobra looks up, her eyes soft in the firelight. "It's not simple. When you do it, you're sharing the power and authority with the other man. For him, it makes him look weak, an affront to his pride." She takes your hand and presses it against her warm skin.

The wind howls outside, but inside the tent, the air is thick with the scent of cedar and oil. You stand, pulling Dobra up with you. She rises slowly, her movements heavy and graceful, her hand anchoring herself against your chest.

You look down at her belly, the physical evidence of that first night of conquest turned into something far more permanent. You don't say a word; you simply hook your arm around her waist, supporting her weight, and lead her toward the back of the tent where the thick furs are piled high.