Page 42 of Warlord’s Prize

The choice before me is impossible. Return to the resistance, help save omegas from the fate I've endured, end this pregnancy that began with force—or remain in my new position, continue improving life for humans in Kazuul's territory, and protect the child that, despite everything, I've grown to love.

"System assessment complete," he announces at normal volume, closing the control panel. "Pressure regulation is functioning within parameters."

His eyes meet mine briefly, waiting for my answer. I keep my face composed, though my heart pounds so hard I'm amazed he can't hear it.

"Continue regular monitoring," I say evenly. "I'll check the complete metrics next quarter."

Disappointment flickers across his face before his professional mask returns. He understands what I'm not saying—I'm neither accepting nor rejecting, just delaying. He nods and steps back, maintaining our cover despite the complication I've become to his mission.

I rejoin the administrative group, walking with measured steps despite the trembling I feel inside. The baby moves again, pressing against my ribs. The fierce protectiveness that sweeps through me is like nothing I've felt before. This child—created through force but now cherished—has become more important than ideologies or old loyalties.

I finish the inspection on autopilot, giving recommendations and reviewing protocols while my mind churns with the weight of the choice I'm facing. Administrator Chen and her staff bow deeply as I depart, promising to implement every suggestion I've made—changes that will genuinely improve life for the humans living here.

As my carriage rolls back toward Crimson Fortress, the full weight of what's happened finally hits me. The resistance I once led now represents a threat to what I hold most dear. Their "solution" to my pregnancy—offered with the best intentions—fills me not with hope but with dread.

I spread my hand across my belly, feeling the strong movements beneath. Whatever the circumstances of conception, this child is mine. The choice crystallizes with sudden clarity—I will not sacrifice this life, not even for the cause I once lived for.

The realization should feel like betrayal, and in some ways it does. I've become what I once scorned—a claimed omega accepting her place, protecting her half-oni child, choosing stability over freedom.

Yet I can't deny that my position in Kazuul's administration has created real improvements for human settlements that years of resistance activities never achieved. Food reaches hungry mouths. Medicine saves lives that would have been lost. Protection exists where there once was only exploitation.

And most unsettling of all, Kazuul himself has become someone I never expected—not just a captor but a partner whose approach, while still built on conquest, creates better conditions than what I saw in the Emperor's domains.

As Crimson Fortress appears on the horizon, its massive structure glowing red in the sunset, I face the truth of what I've become. The resistance leader who once saw these walls as the ultimate symbol of oppression now returns to them with something close to relief. The omega who began as a sacrifice now wields influence she never thought possible.

The baby kicks again, strong and determined. My path forward seems suddenly clear. I will protect this child. I will use my position to help those I can. I will find a middle way between resistance ideals and conquest reality.

It feels like both betrayal and growth, uncomfortable yet necessary. As we pass through the massive gates of the fortress, I straighten my back and prepare to tell Kazuul about the security breach. The conversation ahead will test the partnership we've built, but I no longer dread facing him as I once did.

The warlord who claimed me as his prize has become an ally in protecting something neither of us expected—a future that doesn't fit neatly into the categories of conqueror and conquered, but offers something new that neither side imagined possible.

CHAPTER18

HEART'S SURRENDER

Morning sunlight streamsthrough my windows, casting golden patterns across the bed where I've been stuck for the past twenty minutes. Not because anyone's forcing me to stay here, but because my own body has decided that basic movement is now a tactical operation. Six months pregnant, and my once athletic frame has transformed into an awkward vessel that needs a strategic plan just to roll from my side to my back.

"Enough," I mutter, bracing one hand against the headboard while using the other to support my rounded belly. The baby inside immediately responds to my voice with a series of kicks and turns that ripple across my stretched skin. "Settle down. We're just getting up."

My feet find the floor as I finally manage a sitting position, the cool stone sending a pleasant shock up my legs. Even this simple feeling has changed—my body runs several degrees hotter than normal now, adapting to accommodate the oni baby growing inside me. The medical officers watch these changes with fascination during my weekly check-ups, treating every new adaptation like it's groundbreaking data they need to record obsessively.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror as I stand, and the image still startles me despite months of gradual change. My belly sticks out in a perfect half-moon, skin stretched tight over the growing baby. The doctors keep telling me the size is normal for a hybrid, though much larger than a human baby would be at this stage. What's stranger are the faint shadowy lines appearing beneath my skin—they follow my veins and darken slightly when the baby moves, like its oni heritage is trying to show through my human flesh.

The changes go beyond just my belly. My breasts have swelled to feed a baby that will need more than a human infant would, and my hips have widened for a birth that will require both oni strength and human adaptability. Even my scent has changed—Kazuul mentions it more and more often—becoming richer and triggering protective responses from oni guards who used to treat me with mere formal respect.

I pick out a garment from the special wardrobe Vora arranged once my regular clothes stopped fitting. The fabric feels impossibly soft against my oversensitive skin, another change the medical team has noted with scientific excitement—apparently increased touch sensitivity helps protect both mother and baby. Everything about my body now serves the life growing inside me, my biology completely reconfigured for this child that began as a violation but has become something else entirely.

A knock interrupts my morning routine, the pattern telling me it's Vora before she enters with a tray holding my special breakfast. Standard human food stopped being enough somewhere around month four.

"The doctors tweaked your morning formula," she says, setting the tray on the small table by the window. "Added some extra minerals for bone development based on yesterday's scan."

I eye the thick, reddish liquid with dread. "Does it still taste like dirt mixed with copper?"

Vora's carefully maintained composure cracks a little, the hint of a smile touching her lips. "They swear they've improved the flavor. Though their idea of 'improvement' is questionable at best."

This unexpected bit of humor creates a moment of connection between us that goes beyond our formal roles—senior omega and territorial consort sharing the experience of medical oversight that treats our bodies like fascinating lab specimens rather than actual people. I take the glass and drink the mixture in practiced gulps that minimize contact with my taste buds.

"Dirt mixed with copper and now a hint of... tree bark?" I say, suppressing a shudder as I finish.

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