Page 60 of Warlord’s Prize

Most surprising is how readily the oni leadership accepts my input. Not unanimous enthusiasm—several officers remain clearly skeptical, their vertical pupils narrowing when I speak—but genuine consideration rather than dismissal. My thoughts are weighed on their strategic merits rather than dismissed because they come from a human omega.

By evening, when we finally retire to our chambers, exhaustion weighs on me. Pregnancy combined with the day's emotional intensity leaves me drained in ways my former resistance training never prepared me for. My limbs feel heavy, my head slightly foggy with fatigue.

Kazuul notices immediately, his hand steadying my elbow as we walk. "You've pushed yourself too hard today," he says, concern evident in his voice. The emotion flows through our bond, tinged with protectiveness. "The medical officers warned about overtaxing yourself during early gestation."

"I'm fine," I insist automatically, even as my body betrays me with a slight stumble. "Just tired."

He makes a sound of disagreement but doesn't argue further. Instead, he simply sweeps me into his arms, carrying me effortlessly through the corridors despite my protests. His body radiates comforting heat that seeps into my tired muscles.

"The Honored Consort can maintain her dignity while still accepting support," he rumbles, amusement coloring his tone. "Especially when carrying the clan heir."

In our chambers, he helps me undress with surprising gentleness for hands so large they can span my entire waist. The ceremonial garments fall away, followed by the day's expectations and formalities. Only the collar remains, its weight now familiar against my claiming mark.

His fingers trace the metal with evident satisfaction. "This suits you," he says, voice dropping lower, the rumble sending pleasant vibrations through me where his fingers touch my skin. "Recognizes what you've become while honoring what you were."

The words strike deeper than expected. That's exactly what this unprecedented position represents—acknowledgment of my strategic mind, my leadership abilities, while working within the system that claimed me.

When his fingers trail from the collar to the claiming mark itself, my body responds with immediate heat. Slick gathers between my thighs, my pulse quickening as he traces the permanent scar his teeth left in my flesh. The bond between us pulses with shared arousal, his desire feeding mine in an escalating cycle.

"Even now," he murmurs, golden eyes darkening with desire, pupils dilating as he scents my response. "This makes you wet for me. The bond grows stronger with each passing day."

I don't deny it—can't deny it when the evidence of my arousal perfumes the air between us. What began as forced claiming, as humiliating possession, has transformed through countless repetitions into something my body craves with embarrassing eagerness.

His clothes join mine on the floor, revealing the massive crimson body I've come to know intimately. The tribal markings across his chest and arms seem to shift in the firelight as he moves toward me, predatory grace contained in his enormous frame. His cock stands fully erect, the vibrating nodule at its base already pulsing with anticipation.

"Honored Consort," he says, the formal title carrying new intimacy in this private space. His voice drops to that register that speaks directly to my omega instincts. "Come here."

I go willingly, closing the distance between us. His massive hands lift me easily, positioning me on our bed with careful attention to my comfort. When he joins me, the mattress dips dramatically beneath his weight, his body radiating heat that warms my skin even before he touches me.

The claiming that follows bears little resemblance to that first brutal taking in the combat arena. His massive cock still stretches me beyond what human anatomy could ever achieve, still reshapes me from the inside to fit him perfectly. The vibrating nodule at its base still sends waves of pleasure crashing through me with ruthless efficiency.

But what was once violation has become connection. What was once unwilling submission has transformed into enthusiastic participation. My body responds to his touch with eager hunger, taking his impossible size with practiced ease, finding pleasure in the stretch that once caused only pain.

When his knot locks us together, binding us physically as the claiming mark binds us emotionally, I feel the completion of a circle begun months ago. The echo of his satisfaction flows through our bond, mingling with my own pleasure until it's impossible to separate where one ends and the other begins.

Afterward, as we lie joined by biology and choice, his hand traces patterns across my slightly rounded belly where our child grows. The gesture contains both possession and protection—two aspects of his nature impossible to fully separate despite how far our relationship has evolved beyond simple claiming.

"Mine," he rumbles against my claiming mark, the word vibrating through the bond between us.

"As you are mine," I respond, covering his hand with mine where it rests against our child.

The words would have seemed laughable once—a claimed omega claiming ownership of the warlord who took her freedom. Yet now they hold truth we both recognize. Within the immutable constraints of the conquest system, we've forged something neither resistance ideology nor oni tradition prepared us to navigate.

I think about the journey that brought me here. From desperate negotiations for Haven Valley's survival to strategic advisor valued for my mind. From unwilling captive to willing partner. From resistance fighter to Honored Consort with genuine authority over the very territories I once fought to free.

The scars of my original claiming remain a permanent reminder of the conquest system that brought us together against my will. The fundamental power imbalance—physical, political, biological—cannot be erased by ceremony or sentiment.

Yet within these unchangeable realities, we've created something neither of us anticipated when I first entered the Crimson Fortress. Partnership within hierarchy. Choice within constraint. Connection emerging from captivity.

And as sleep claims me, nestled against the massive body of the oni warlord who now calls me consort rather than possession, I find myself facing a truth my resistance training never prepared me for—sometimes meaningful change comes not from destroying systems but from transforming them from within.

The path forward remains uncharted, the future uncertain. But for the first time since the Conquest, I feel something dangerously close to hope.

CHAPTER25

WHAT REMAINS

The morning aircarries the first hint of autumn—crisp and fresh with possibility. I close my eyes and breathe it in, letting the scents of harvest fill my lungs. From the high balcony of the Crimson Fortress, the world unfolds like a patchwork quilt, stretching to meet the horizon in every direction.

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