Page 33 of Warlord’s Prize

"I anticipate a healthy delivery," Kazuul responds, keeping his voice even despite the tension I can feel radiating from him. "My healers have been monitoring her progress carefully."

The emperor's horizontal pupils study me with disturbing intensity. "We shall see," is all he says before dismissing us to continue the presentations.

As we return to our position, I catch whispered comments from nearby territorial representatives.

"Four months already..."

"Previous attempts all failed..."

"Emperor won't allow independent power base..."

The political currents swirling around my pregnancy make me instinctively place a protective hand over my abdomen. The child shifts inside me, as though sensing the danger surrounding us.

* * *

The true threat emerges during our private audience following the court session.

We're escorted to imperial chambers scaled for even larger oni forms than the public spaces. The ceilings soar higher, the furniture built for beings of mythic proportions. Emperor Goran reclines on a massive seat constructed from what appears to be the bones of massive creatures—or perhaps defeated rivals.

"Warlord Bloodcrest," he acknowledges as we enter. Only three attendants remain with him—high-ranking officials whose presence suggests this isn't merely informal conversation.

"Emperor," Kazuul responds with a precisely calibrated bow—deep enough for respect, not deep enough to suggest subservience.

The small talk lasts only moments before Emperor Goran reveals the actual purpose behind our ceremonial invitation.

"I believe your omega would be better placed in the imperial breeding center," he states, massive fingers gesturing toward me like I'm already his property. "Pregnant omegas should be in our central facilities where we can properly monitor the offspring's development."

The implication hits me like a physical blow. He wants to take me from Kazuul. To place me in imperial breeding facilities—the horrible places I've heard whispered about where omegas are kept perpetually fertile, claimed by multiple alphas, children removed immediately after birth.

Kazuul's muscles visibly tense despite his diplomatic control. "The pregnancy has been stable because of the specific care she's receiving in my territory," he counters, his massive form subtly shifting to position between me and the emperor. "Moving her now would put the baby at risk."

The implied refusal hangs in the air between them, dangerous as a drawn blade.

"Your concern is noted," Emperor Goran responds, his face unreadable. "But imperial needs come before territorial concerns."

"Of course, Emperor," Kazuul agrees without actually agreeing. "And a healthy child serves the empire best. That's why keeping her in my territory makes sense right now."

The verbal sparring continues, each statement layered with meanings beyond the words themselves. The imperial transfer request carries weight beyond typical administrative adjustment—it's a direct challenge to Kazuul's territorial authority, using reproductive success as political leverage.

I listen to them discussing me as though I'm not present, my mind racing. The emperor sees me as a threat to his control over Kazuul. A successfully bred omega—especially one who also provides strategic value—creates an independent power base that imperial authority cannot easily dominate.

"Let's hear from the omega," Emperor Goran suddenly suggests, those unnerving red eyes shifting to me. "Your medical exam showed some unusual hormone patterns. Why do you think you're carrying successfully when others failed?"

The direct address catches me off guard. I wasn't expecting to be treated as a participant rather than property.

I choose my words with extreme care. "My lord emperor, I believe the specialized care I'm receiving in Warlord Bloodcrest's territory has been key to my pregnancy's success," I say carefully. "The consistent environment, special diet, and personal monitoring have created stability that would be hard to maintain if I were moved now."

My answer balances medical plausibility with subtle reminder that moving me might risk the very success they're fighting over.

"A smart little breeder," Emperor Goran remarks, with something like amusement in his voice. "Your background makes you quite interesting."

The conversation continues its dangerous dance, with Kazuul offering various compromises—regular medical reports sent to imperial healers, visits from imperial specialists to observe development protocols, even future child visitation to imperial court once safely delivered.

When we finally leave the imperial chambers, I feel like I've been holding my breath for hours.

"Will it work?" I ask Kazuul once we're alone in our assigned quarters.

"Perhaps," he answers, massive hand settling protectively over my rounded abdomen. "He has not given a direct order. Yet."

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