Page 41 of Warlord’s Prize

The officials greet me with deep bows as I step from the carriage, my rounded belly impossible to hide beneath my formal garments.

"We're honored by your presence," Administrator Chen says, her back ramrod straight as she hands me the first of many reports I'll review today. "The distribution improvements you recommended last quarter have shown remarkable results."

I scan the numbers as we walk. "Transport losses down thirty percent. That's better than expected."

Chen nods, clearly relieved by my approval. "Your security recommendations have been particularly effective for the northern routes."

"What about the western sector? Those numbers still look high."

"We added more oversight last week," she assures me, her fingers tightening on her tablet. "Next month's report should show improvement."

We spend the morning inspecting everything—storage facilities, distribution centers, processing plants. Officials follow me like anxious shadows, carefully noting every suggestion I make. My position as Kazuul's "honored consort" gives me authority over human settlements throughout his territory—power I never imagined a claimed omega could hold.

It's during our midday inspection of the central granary that I see it. Just a simple marking carved into a support beam. To anyone else, it would look like a decorative pattern, but I recognize it instantly—a resistance signal. Contact requested. Operative present. Priority message.

My heart slams against my ribs.

I keep my expression neutral, my eyes moving past without lingering. Years of resistance training kick in automatically. I continue my conversation with Chen while my mind races, scanning for potential contacts among the warehouse workers, noting surveillance blind spots, calculating risks.

What catches me off guard is the sudden twist of fear in my gut. Not fear of discovery, but something more primal. My hand moves to my belly before I can stop myself, a protective gesture that feels completely foreign to the resistance leader I once was.

"Honored consort?" Chen's concerned voice breaks through my thoughts. "Is something wrong?"

I smooth my features. "The baby's just active today," I say, the truth serving as perfect cover. "Please continue."

The rest of the inspection feels endless. Part of me focuses on my official duties, while another part identifies the most likely resistance operative—a maintenance worker with the hard hands and watchful eyes of someone with combat training. But there's a third part of me now, one that keeps evaluating threats not to myself, but to the child growing inside me.

When we reach the water purification facility, I make my move.

"I'd like to examine the filtration controls more closely," I tell Chen. "Continue to the next inspection point. I'll catch up shortly."

Once the administrative group moves ahead, I approach the control panel where the maintenance worker is making adjustments. He looks up, his eyes meeting mine for a split second—just long enough for understanding to pass between us.

"The flow metrics have improved fifteen percent since your last visit," he says at normal volume. "Though the pressure still needs manual adjustment occasionally."

"Show me the control sequence," I say, stepping closer as he opens the access panel.

His body blocks any surveillance cameras as he leans in, his voice dropping to barely a whisper.

"Haven Valley sends regards. We've established extraction tunnels in the north. Three claimed omegas rescued last month."

My chest tightens. Haven Valley—my home, my people—still fighting, still operating despite my absence. I should feel proud. Instead, I feel a strange mix of longing and apprehension.

"Your leadership has been missed," he continues, pretending to adjust controls. "Your replacement keeps things running, but lacks your vision."

I make notes on my tablet, maintaining our cover. "Current focus?"

"Extracting omegas from breeding facilities and forced claims. We've developed medical procedures for pregnancy termination with full omega recovery. Reintegration protocols are working well."

Pregnancy termination.

The words hit me like a physical blow. My hand flies to my belly where the baby kicks, as if sensing my sudden tension. Five months ago, I might have celebrated this development—a way to free omegas from the biological chains of forced breeding. Now, the very thought fills me with horror.

"Transportation window tonight during shift change," he continues, oblivious to my reaction. "Twenty minutes to reach the tunnels. Medical intervention within three hours of arrival. Full reintegration within five days."

He's not just giving me information. He's offering me extraction. A way out. A way back to my old life.

"Haven Valley has kept your position open," he adds, disguising his words as technical data. "Your strategic knowledge of oni territory would be invaluable, especially after your time in captivity."

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