Page 15

CHAPTER 15

THE GIFT

The imperial banquet hall glitters with savage opulence. Gold and obsidian fixtures catch the firelight, casting dancing shadows across walls adorned with battle trophies. Every element of the room—from the towering doorways to the massive banquet tables—feels designed to make me feel small and out of place.

I adjust the formal garment provided for tonight's feast, the silken fabric cut to emphasize my pregnant form like I'm both display and trophy. My hand drifts to the curve of my abdomen in a now-familiar protective gesture. The child growing within me represents so many things—my captivity, my surrender, but also a strange new future I never imagined.

Kazuul sits beside me at the high table, his massive crimson form dwarfing even the oversized imperial furniture. Despite the polite conversation, tension ripples beneath his controlled exterior. His posture shifts whenever Emperor Goran looks our way, his body angling to place himself between me and his half-brother without being obviously defensive.

"The Bloodcrest territories seem to be doing well with their crops," Emperor Goran observes from his elevated position at the center of the high table. His obsidian skin with blood-red markings creates a stark visual contrast to Kazuul's coloration. "Though I hear you've been having... troubles in other areas."

The implication hangs in the air. Every oni official within earshot stiffens slightly, recognizing the political barb. Kazuul's successful breeding of a human omega—me—has elevated his status, but the Emperor clearly intends to undermine that advantage tonight.

"My lands thrive because I pay attention to everything," Kazuul responds, his deep voice vibrating through my chest despite his controlled volume. "Some focus only on appearances, others on what truly matters."

The subtle counter-attack doesn't go unnoticed—several oni officials shift uncomfortably while others hide what might almost be smirks.

I keep my expression neutral even as my mind races. This verbal sparring is merely preamble—the Emperor wouldn't have insisted on our presence for simple diplomatic exchanges.

The meal progresses through traditional oni courses, each dish designed to display imperial abundance. The meat portions would feed four humans, the spices imported from distant territories, the presentation emphasizing dominance over nature itself. I eat the small portions my human stomach can handle, aware that every bite is being observed by dozens of calculating eyes.

When the formal meal concludes, Emperor Goran rises to his full height, towering even over the other oni lords present. The multiple small horns forming his crown-like protrusion catch the firelight as he gestures toward a side entrance with theatrical precision.

"To honor Warlord Bloodcrest's impressive management of his territory," he announces, voice carrying throughout the massive chamber, "I'd like to present a gift that recognizes his achievements while helping ensure his continued success."

The side doors open to reveal a small procession of imperial attendants. In their center walks a female omega who embodies everything I am not. Where I stand nearly six feet tall with a soldier's build, she can't be more than five feet with delicate limbs and soft curves. Her movements display the careful training of someone raised specifically for breeding purposes—each step a display of submission, eyes properly lowered, hands folded before her in perfect imperial etiquette.

My stomach clenches with what I refuse to call jealousy.

"This is Lina, chosen from the imperial breeding program for her excellent compatibility with oni," the Emperor continues, satisfaction evident in his horizontal pupils as they track our reactions. "She's been trained in everything a proper breeding omega should know. She comes from generations of careful selection."

The implications hit like a physical blow. By presenting this "gift," the Emperor forces an impossible choice: reject her and commit a profound diplomatic insult, or accept her and undermine my position despite my pregnancy. It's a cruelly elegant trap, designed to create problems regardless of the outcome.

Kazuul's massive hand tightens on the armrest of his chair, the only visible sign of his tension. "The Emperor is always... thoughtful," he responds, words carefully measured.

The girl—Lina—steps forward, her movements like flowing water compared to my soldier's stride. She performs a formal presentation posture, displaying herself for Kazuul's inspection in a way that makes my teeth clench despite my diplomatic training.

"She'll give you more options for breeding," Emperor Goran explains with false politeness. "Make sure you keep having successful pregnancies."

The imperial court watches with predatory interest. I feel the weight of their stares—assessing, comparing, judging. The whispers have already started at the edges of the hall, speculation about my replacement beginning among those who see omegas as interchangeable breeding vessels.

Something shifts inside me, a clarity cutting through months of adaptation and compromise. I've survived the Conquest, built a community, navigated oni politics, and carried this child against medical expectation. I won't be discarded through political maneuvering.

Before Kazuul can formulate his response, I stand. The movement draws every eye in the hall—omegas simply don't insert themselves into Imperial proceedings uninvited. The protocol violation itself creates momentary silence heavy enough to hear the crackling of the massive fire pits.

"Thank you for your generosity, Emperor," I say, my voice carrying without seeming confrontational. "But our healers have discovered that Warlord Bloodcrest's success with me isn't just about omega qualities. It's about how he and I specifically work together."

I feel Kazuul's surprised attention alongside the shocked stares of the court. An omega speaking on breeding policy—directly addressing implied criticism of territorial management—represents a protocol breach that would normally result in immediate discipline.

"Adding another omega now would disrupt what's making this pregnancy work when others failed," I continue, keeping my focus on practical concerns rather than the obvious political maneuver. "Our healers have found that our specific pairing creates stability that a new omega would threaten. It's too risky."

The Emperor's expression shifts from satisfaction to calculation. My strategic deflection has transformed his "gift" from a simple status play into a potential medical liability. If he insists now, he accepts responsibility for any pregnancy complications that might arise.

"Your omega seems to have quite a lot to say for herself," he observes, his tone making the statement both acknowledgment and challenge.

"In my territory, I listen to smart voices wherever I find them," Kazuul responds, rising to stand beside me. His massive form creates a living barrier between me and the Emperor, a positioning that communicates volumes to everyone present. "That's why my lands produce the most in the Imperium."

The confrontation balances on a knife's edge. I maintain my composed expression despite the tension vibrating through the chamber, aware that every oni official is recalculating political alignments based on this unexpected development. I've effectively transformed myself from breeding trophy to administrative asset in the eyes of the court, a category shift the imperial hierarchy doesn't accommodate.

Emperor Goran's multiple small horns catch the firelight as he inclines his head slightly. "You certainly do things differently, don't you," he says with cold calculation. "Perhaps Lina would be better placed elsewhere until we can look more closely at your... medical situation."

The retreat is tactical rather than genuine—I can see the calculation behind his blood-red eyes—but it provides the necessary diplomatic framework to resolve the immediate crisis. Lina is escorted from the chamber with the same ceremonial precision that introduced her, though the whispers following her exit contain significantly different speculation than those that accompanied her entrance.

As we return to our assigned positions at the banquet table, I feel Kazuul's massive hand brush briefly against my lower back—a gesture concealed from most observers by our relative positions, but unmistakable in its meaning. The touch contains none of the possessive dominance that characterized our early interactions, instead conveying something closer to appreciation.

The remainder of the banquet proceeds with renewed attention to diplomatic protocol, the confrontation submerged beneath layers of formal courtesy. Yet beneath the surface, something fundamental has shifted. My voice has entered the political calculation in a way previously unimaginable, the pregnancy I once viewed primarily as biological capture now transforming into unexpected leverage.

Later, in the relative privacy of our assigned chambers, the tension that has built throughout the evening finds physical expression. Kazuul secures the massive doors before turning to me, his golden eyes glowing with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. The carefully controlled restraint he's maintained throughout the imperial visit evaporates like morning mist.

"No one speaks up in the Emperor's court without being asked," he says, his deep voice rumbling through the chamber as he approaches. "Especially not an omega."

"You said you listen to smart voices," I reply, throwing his own words back at him with a hint of challenge. My body responds to his approach with embarrassing eagerness, slick already gathering between my thighs despite the public confrontation we've just navigated. Months of conditioning have created associations I can't control—his proximity alone triggers physical responses beyond my conscious control.

"You put yourself at risk tonight." His massive form towers over me, radiating heat that seems to penetrate my formal garments. "Goran doesn't forget challenges."

"He also doesn't forget being outsmarted," I counter, refusing to lower my gaze despite the dominance display his posture communicates. "I'm not just some breeding omega he can use to control you."

Something shifts in his expression—pride mingled with possession in a combination that would have enraged me months ago but now creates a confusing warmth alongside the physical response. His massive hand cups my face with surprising gentleness.

"No," he agrees, "you never were."

His lips find mine with unexpected tenderness, the kiss deepening as his hands work to remove the formal garments that separate us. My own fingers fumble with the ceremonial clasps of his attire, the task made difficult by the size difference and my growing eagerness. When my hands brush against his exposed skin, the heat radiating from him feels like standing too close to a fire.

"Mine," he growls against my throat, the word vibrating through my skin and settling deep in my core.

My back meets the massive bed as he lowers me onto the furs, his crimson form looming above me in the dim light. The contrast between our bodies has never seemed more stark—his massive frame could crush me without effort, yet his touch remains controlled despite the desire evident in his golden eyes.

He spreads my thighs with careful purpose, exposing the slick already gathering there in humiliating abundance. The scent of my arousal fills the space between us, my omega biology broadcasting a readiness I once fought but now embrace with confusing eagerness.

"Already wet for me," he observes, one massive finger tracing the sensitive folds with deliberate slowness. "Your body knows what it wants."

The touch sends sparks racing along my nerves, pleasure building with embarrassing speed. When that massive finger pushes inside me, my back arches off the bed involuntarily, a gasp escaping before I can contain it.

"Please," I whisper, the word falling from my lips without conscious permission. The negotiator who once faced down oni officials without flinching now reduced to begging by a simple touch. "I need you."

His chest rumbles with satisfied growl as he positions himself between my spread thighs, the massive head of his cock pressing against my entrance with purpose that brokers no refusal. The first stretch burns despite my body's abundant preparation—his size still overwhelming despite months of regular claiming.

I bite my lip to contain the cry that threatens to escape as he pushes inside, the impossible fullness creating pressure that hovers on the edge between pleasure and pain. My body yields to his invasion with practiced adaptation, internal muscles relaxing to accommodate dimensions that once seemed impossible but now feel necessary.

"Look at me," he commands, golden eyes fixed on my face as he seats himself fully inside me.

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze as the visible bulge in my abdomen confirms the depth of his penetration. The vibrating nodule at the base of his cock makes contact with my clit, the specialized oni anatomy beginning its maddening rhythm that guarantees my pleasure regardless of my will.

The vibrations spread through my core like liquid fire, transforming the stretch into undeniable pleasure that crashes through my rational thoughts. My hands clutch at his massive arms, fingernails digging into crimson skin that yields to pressure like warm stone.

"That's it," he encourages as my body responds to the vibrations with instinctive movement, hips rising to increase contact with the nodule that sends waves of pleasure through me. "Show me how much you need this."

The taunting words would have enraged me once, but now they feel like permission to embrace the response I can't control anyway. My body moves in counterpoint to his thrusts, the vibrations against my clit building pressure that tightens low in my abdomen with increasing urgency.

When he shifts angle slightly, the head of his massive cock presses against a spot deep inside that makes stars explode behind my eyes. The combination of internal pressure and external vibration pushes me toward climax with unstoppable momentum.

"Please," I gasp again, the word barely coherent as pleasure builds beyond my capacity to process. "Please don't stop."

His rhythm intensifies, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge while golden eyes watch my face with fascination that transcends simple dominance. The vibrating nodule increases its rhythm against my overstimulated clit, guaranteeing my pleasure whether I want it or not.

The orgasm breaks over me like a storm, muscles clenching around the massive intrusion as waves of pleasure crash through me with overwhelming intensity. My vision narrows to pinpoints of light as my body convulses beneath his, the surrender complete and undeniable.

Before the first climax fully subsides, the vibrations trigger a second wave that tears a sob from my throat—pleasure so intense it borders on pain washing through me in relentless pulses. My fingers dig into his arms hard enough to leave marks even on oni skin, anchor points in a sea of sensation threatening to drown my conscious mind.

"Mine," Kazuul growls again, his thrusts becoming more forceful as his own pleasure builds. The vibrating nodule continues its merciless stimulation against my oversensitive clit, forcing my body toward a third climax that seems impossible yet approaches with unavoidable certainty.

When his knot begins to swell, the additional stretch creates burning pressure that somehow transforms into another dimension of pleasure. The knot locks us together as his release floods my womb with burning heat, quantity so great it distends my abdomen further.

The third orgasm shatters what remains of my conscious control, my body arching beneath him as pleasure whites out rational thought entirely. His name escapes my lips as a desperate cry, acknowledgment of connection I once rejected but now embrace with my entire being.

We remain locked together by biology, his massive form curved protectively around mine as our breathing gradually steadies. His hand spreads across my distended abdomen where our child grows, the gesture possessive yet somehow protective in a way that would have seemed impossible months ago.

"The Emperor will try again," I murmur against his chest, strategic assessment automatic despite post-claiming lethargy.

"Yes," Kazuul agrees, his voice a rumble I feel through my skin. "But he won't succeed."

The simple declaration contains acknowledgment of both immediate victory and ongoing challenge. We've survived today's confrontation, but the political landscape continues evolving around us. What remains uncertain is exactly what we're fighting to protect—my position, his authority, our child's future, or something more fundamental.

What I know with uncomfortable certainty is that I would make the same choice again—stepping forward to defend this strange connection that began through force but has evolved into something neither of us expected. The realization shifts my understanding of myself in ways my resistance training never prepared me for, the strategic leader I once was merging with the claimed omega I've become to create someone new I'm only beginning to recognize.