Page 30 of Taken By the Barbarian King

Thundar

one year later

Turns out, I didn't just get a pet dog. I got pet dogs. Plural. Because Thing wasn't just any old dog rescued from Earth. It was a female dog. And somehow she'd managed to get pregnant.

How?

We've yet to find out. Although her puppies came out looking normal, so there were definitely no interspecies shenanigans with her and Hailmak. That we know of.

If the puppies start chittering or walking on the ceiling we'll probably have a more definitive answer.

"Oh, Thingiemabob broke something. I heard it," Lottie says from the armchair where one of the maids is giving her a foot massage.

It should be me doing that, but since I'm the only Aysgarthian that Thing won't growl or bark at, I'm on dog-sitting duty.

"How do you know it was Thingiemabob? Maybe it was Thingamajig," I inform her, although when I walk up to the dresser I find Thingiemabob and his zone of destruction around it. Perfume bottles, jewelry, and all kinds of hair paraphernalia are scattered on the floor, becoming toys for the scoundrel puppy, who yaps at me just like his mom used to.

"Because! Thingamajig is a perfect little angel," Lottie calls out from the armchair and even the maid laughs.

Especially when Thingamajig struts over to all the destruction her brother has caused and squats for a little pee, as if she's trying to prove her queen-mama wrong.

"How long is a dog's life span? And can we shorten it?" I grumble and shoo both naughty bastards away so I can clean up their mess.

"Too long, and no we can't." She laughs and my heart warms at the sound.

It's the perfect soundtrack to my life since I met her. Since I "liberated" her. And I don’t ever want to listen to any other song.

I look toward her, the way she's leaning on the arm of the comfy chair, staring at me with reddened, plump cheeks and the biggest smile on her wonderful face.

She looks more radiant, more beautiful than she's ever looked, if that's even possible. Deny it as she may, being pregnant has given her some...some kind of glow that reaches far beyond the physical. It's almost spiritual.

The royal council would call it the virility of Aysgarthian blood running through her body. In fact, that's what they do call it when I’m not around. But none would dare speak such drak in our presence. Not anymore.

Aysgarthians are no better than Earthlings. And just because she’s pregnant with my child doesn’t mean she’s any more special than she was before it. Our child is going to be equal parts Aysgarthian and Earthling, no matter their features, characteristics, or skills. And I for one can’t wait to welcome our child into this world and figure out what kind of person they are going to be. What kind of prince or princess to their people they will be.

"Do you need any help, husband?" Lottie's brow lifts and her smirk causes my insides to alight. Both with irritation and admiration.

This woman knows all the ways to push my buttons, all types of buttons in all kinds of sequences. It's been an illuminating and confusing experience, to say the least.

I've found parts of myself I never would have known were there if I hadn't met her. And with every passing day, I discover new likes and dislikes, new feelings and emotions. And it's all thanks to her.

Thanks to my beautiful, wonderful, divine queen.

"No, I don't need any help, wife. You sit your ass down and enjoy your massage. I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up our pet kids' mess."

She gives me a single, sarcastic nod and I glower at her. I know she's messing with me, but I can't help myself. I get irritated nonetheless and I'm even more determined to prove myself to her.

So I shepherd the puppies back to their play area where their destruction zone is limited to blankets and toys fit for purpose and tidy up the dresser items that have fallen to the floor before I clean up Thingamajig's mess. And I do it all under the watchful eye of my wife, whose stare I feel on the back of my head like the heat of the Aysgarthian sun on a hot winter day.

It does something to my stomach, my gut, knowing she's watching me, she's monitoring my every move, taking pleasure in my domestication and servitude to her and our pet children. It makes me hard and happy. It makes my heart beat faster and my head spins out of control with desire and ecstasy.

I love being her king but I love being her husband more.

I turn around and catch her gaze with performative frustration. "Happy?"

She shrugs and I have to bite my lip to stop my growl. I am not successful in the slightest.

"I'll still have to clean all the jewelry before they can be worn, and sanitize the dresser too. Unless you want my things to smell of dog piss."

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