Chapter 75: Ass Up on the Table (1)
"Come in," Kane says, swinging the door open.
Following him to the study, Lyssel steps into a waking manor.
Brak’s loud voice echoes from the kitchen, demanding to know what Thessaly is cooking for breakfast.
Kessa’s foot clicks sharply on the courtyard stone, blending with the distant sound of Bloodfang warriors running early morning drills.
Sitting at the main table, Caelindra doesn’t even bother looking up from her open portfolio.
Her forty years of palace knowledge process the blonde noblewoman’s sudden presence in three seconds flat.
"Lord Varenthal," Caelindra notes crisply, her quill scratching across parchment.
"Third largest landholding in the Sylvandar district. Sixteen thousand acres of managed forest with three active lumber contracts to the Imperial shipyard. Current political position, reassessing."
Lyssel stares at the secretary.
"You already knew he was coming."
"I knew he was going to come," Caelindra corrects her, turning a page.
"The timing was the only variable."
Taking a seat across from the noblewoman, Kane crosses his arms.
"What does your father want?"
Placing a small document on the wood between them, Lyssel displays the Varenthal house crest pressed in green wax.
"He wants to offer you the sixteen thousand acres. A formal land grant with zero purchase price. In exchange for..." She pauses, choosing her words carefully.
"...formal acknowledgment of his house as a primary ally in whatever comes next."
Kane stares at the wax seal without reaching for it.
"Your father’s not offering land," Kane states bluntly.
"He wants to be first among the noble houses that accepted the new order rather than last among the houses that resisted it."
Meeting his gaze, Lyssel nods.
"Yes."
"He sent you instead of coming himself."
"He thought you would be considerably more receptive to me." She offers a faint, knowing smile.
"He is probably right."
Picking up the parchment, Kane flips it over, then drops it back onto the table.
"Tell your father I don’t need his land. This manor is enough space for now. What I actually need are his shipyard contracts."
Blinking in genuine surprise, Lyssel frowns.
"The lumber contracts?"
"He supplies timber to the Imperial shipyard," Kane explains smoothly.
"Which means he has established relationships with the shipyard’s upper management. Which means he can quietly redirect specific shipments without raising annoying questions." Leaning forward, he meets her eyes.
"Menual is marching for Milfheim’s harbor. I need three things built before they arrive. Your father’s shipyard connections get me the raw materials without going through official Imperial procurement. Royal channels are slow, highly documented, and Menual has spies inside them."
Lyssel stares at the warlord.
"You want to use my father’s black market network."
"I want to use his legitimate business relationships in a slightly non-standard way," Kane corrects her.
Silence stretches over the table.
"What three things?" Lyssel asks softly.
"Siege-breaking devices," Kane answers.
"Specifically designed to counter the twelve siege engines Menual is dragging through the western pass. I ripped their exact specifications from the scouting camp commander. I need counter-structures built and in position before that cavalry force arrives."
Glancing down at the green wax seal, Lyssel considers the proposal.
"If I tell my father this, he becomes a primary conspirator in the war planning before the war is even official. If your trap goes wrong—"
"If it goes wrong, your father’s timber contracts are the least of his problems," Kane interrupts.
"If it goes right, he becomes the sole noble who helped shatter a continental invasion before it even started. That kind of leverage is worth considerably more than some trees."
Snatching the document, Lyssel shoves it back into her leather bag.
"I will tell him. But I want something in return."
"What?" Kane asks.
"I’m coming with you to Milfheim," she demands, her tone shifting into pure ambition.
"I know the Empress’s royal court intimately. I know which of her senior advisors respond to her. I possess secrets about the Millenia Empire."
’She’s betting everything she has on me,’ Kane realizes, admiring her ruthless survival instincts.
"I’ll think about it," Kane agrees.
Something in her tight composure finally releases.
"There is one more thing," Lyssel murmurs.
"What?" Kane prompts.
"My father’s going to ask me tonight what I had to offer you to get this agreement," she says evenly.
She pauses, her eyes dropping to his lips.
"He’s going to assume something happened."
"And?" Kane says.
"And I would rather not be assumed to have traded something I have not actually traded," Lyssel states.
The study falls completely quiet.
Caelindra suddenly becomes intensely focused on rearranging her blank parchment.
Looking at Kane steadily, Lyssel gives a subtle nod.
"Close the door."
Standing up so fast her chair scrapes the floor, Caelindra clears her throat.
"I will go check on the departure preparations."
The secretary is through the threshold before she even finishes her sentence.
Lyssel stood from her chair.
She shrugged her riding jacket off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as she stepped straight into his personal space.
"My father thinks I’m negotiating," she whispered, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw with hunger.
"You were negotiating," Kane murmured, his large hands sliding around her waist, pulling her closer.
"That part is finished."
He captured her mouth in a deep kiss.
Their lips crushed together, tongues sliding hot and insistent, tasting and devouring.
Lyssel moaned softly into his mouth, kissing him back with open need.
The kiss turned wet and filthy, her tongue stroking his as she pressed her body flush against him.
Kane lifted her effortlessly and set her on the edge of the study table, sweeping the sprawling war map aside with one arm.
Papers fluttered to the floor as he stepped between her thighs.
She removed his belt, yanking it open and shoving his trousers down just enough to free his hard cock.
He pushed her skirts up around her waist, found her already soaked, and dragged the thick head of his cock along her slick folds.
"Fuck, you’re dripping," he growled against her lips.
"Then stop talking and fuck me," Lyssel breathed, nipping his bottom lip.
