CHAPTER 542: TWO TREES FOR ONE (END)

"Ease up on the left," he said, his breath warm against her neck. "He’ll turn smoother if you ask, not pull." She adjusted, and Nightshade responded, his stride fluid. She smiled, a small triumph, and felt Lyan’s chest rumble with a quiet laugh. "You’re a natural," he said, and the praise landed like a spark, warming her from the inside.

Tara rode ahead, her fair skin flushed with the morning’s coolness, her bow slung across her back. Lara flanked the group, her red hair a beacon as she scanned the underbrush, her spear balanced like an extension of her arm. Sigrid brought up the rear, her blonde ponytail swinging with each step of her sturdy mare, her axe glinting in its saddle sheath. Their ease was a language Arielle didn’t speak—warriors who moved like the wind itself, their laughter carrying a wild edge. She felt a pang of awe and inadequacy, her scholar’s hands soft compared to their callused ones, but she squared her shoulders, determined to hold her own.

A rustle broke the rhythm of hooves. From the thicket to their left, a pair of goblins scuttled out, their eyes glinting like polished coins, their claws scraping the earth. Before Arielle could tense, Lara was off her horse, her spear a blur. She moved like a flame, precise and untouchable, pinning one goblin to the ground with a thrust that didn’t even stir her braid. Tara’s bow sang, an arrow slicing through the air to catch the second goblin mid-leap, its body crumpling without a sound. Sigrid dismounted with a grin, her axe swinging in a lazy arc to scatter a third goblin that had dared to peek from the bushes. The mountain women worked in sync, their movements a dance of strength and grace, not a single drop of blood or dirt marring their clothes.

Arielle stared, her breath caught in her throat. "They’re... incredible," she whispered, her voice a mix of awe and envy. Lyan’s chuckle vibrated against her back. "They’re showing off," he said, his tone fond. "But they’re always this good."

A low grunt echoed from the right, and a magic beast boar crashed through the undergrowth, its tusks glowing faintly with runes, its hide bristling with arcane energy. Arielle’s heart jumped, but the mountain women were already moving. Lara vaulted over a fallen log, her spear arcing to strike the boar’s flank, forcing it to turn. Tara loosed two arrows in quick succession, each hitting a glowing rune and dimming its light. Sigrid charged, her axe cleaving through the air with a hum, severing a tusk with a crack that echoed like thunder. The boar staggered, then fell, its magic fizzling out like a snuffed candle. The women laughed, their voices bright, and remounted without a single stain or tear on their gear.

Arielle’s mouth hung open, her spectacles slipping slightly down her nose. "I... I’d need a ledger to track that," she managed, and Lyan’s laugh was warm, his arms tightening briefly around her as if to say, You’re enough as you are.

As they rode on, the road curved through a valley where the stream glinted like liquid silver, its banks lined with rushes that swayed in the breeze. Arielle’s mind turned to the control site, her excitement bubbling up. "The merchants we met," she said, her voice steadier now, "they’ll buy into the farm site if we show them yield projections. I calculated a baseline—barley at ten bushels per acre, rye at eight, legumes to fix the soil. If we rotate crops and use the gravity cistern, we could see a twenty percent increase in two seasons. The profit could fund three more sites by next spring."

Lyan’s hands tightened on the reins, his voice warm with approval. "You’ve thought of everything, Arielle. That’s brilliant." The praise sent a flush through her, and she ducked her head, her braid brushing his chest. Inside, her thoughts spun. He’s too perfect, she thought. A lord, strong and battle-tested, yet he knew rivers and tariffs and how to make her ideas feel like victories. She imagined telling her parents about him, their eyes wide as she described a man who balanced a city’s future as easily as he balanced a sword. But then a quieter thought slipped in—he had so many women, each one bright and vital in her own way. Josephine’s laughter, Wilhelmina’s steel, Belle’s charm, and now these warrior women who hunted boars like they were picking flowers. Her heart twisted, not with jealousy but with a wistful hope. The master room is huge, she thought, blushing furiously as the image of that oversized bed flashed in her mind, and the bed could fit... more. She shook her head, mortified at her own thoughts, her cheeks burning as she tried to focus on the road.

The landscape shifted, the hills giving way to open fields where the soil smelled rich and ready. Arielle’s fingers itched for her auger wand, imagining the neat rows they’d plant, the chalkboard filled with farmers’ tricks. Lyan’s warmth behind her was a constant, his breath steady as he guided Nightshade around a bend. She felt safe, small in the best way, like a girl in a story who’d found her prince but also her purpose.

Then, as the road dipped into a shaded grove, she felt it—a firm pressure against her lower back, slipping lower as Nightshade’s gait shifted. It pressed between her thighs, warm and unmistakable, and her breath caught, her body tensing as heat flooded her face. Her mind blanked, then raced, her scholarly precision scrambling to make sense of the sensation. Is that... Her heart pounded, her hands gripping the reins too tightly, and Nightshade snorted in protest. Lyan’s arms tightened slightly, steadying her, but he didn’t speak, as if waiting for her to decide what came next.

She turned her head just enough to catch his profile, the scar at his temple catching the dappled light through the trees. Her voice came out softer than she meant, a mix of shock and curiosity. "T-This is...?"

The rhythm of the horses’ hooves was a steady drumbeat beneath Arielle, but it was Lyan’s presence—his warmth, his solidity—that consumed her thoughts. As the black stallion moved, the pressure she’d felt earlier intensified, slipping deeper, pressing right between her thighs. The heat of it, the thickness, the unyielding hardness, sent a jolt through her core. It’s the same... she thought, her breath catching as memories of the past few nights in the keep flooded her mind—nights where that same heat had filled her, stretched her, made her gasp and tremble. Her long riding skirt, practical and weighted with lead beads, did little to dull the sensation; if anything, the fabric’s subtle friction heightened it, teasing her skin as the horse’s gait rocked them together. Her breath grew ragged, her chest tight as she tried to focus on the road ahead, the wildflowers swaying in the breeze, anything but the pulse of desire pooling low in her belly.

Focus, Arielle, she scolded herself, gripping the reins tighter, her knuckles paling. The landscape was breathtaking—golden fields stretching toward a forest of dark pines, a stream glinting like a spilled coin under the midday sun. But her mind betrayed her, circling back to the heat pressing against her, the way it seemed to know her body better than she did. She shifted slightly, and the motion only made it worse—or better—rubbing against her in a way that sent a shiver up her spine. This is too much, she thought, her inner voice a mix of panic and longing. She was drenched, her silk undergarments clinging to her skin, the dampness undeniable as her body responded with a need she couldn’t suppress.

A low grunt broke her reverie, and her head snapped up as another magic beast boar charged from the underbrush, its tusks glowing with faint runes. Before she could tense, Lara was already moving, her red hair a fiery streak as she leaped from her horse, spear flashing. Tara’s bow sang, arrows piercing the boar’s glowing runes with precision, and Sigrid’s axe cleaved through the air, felling the beast with a single swing. The mountain women were a whirlwind of strength, their laughter wild and unmarred by even a speck of dirt. Arielle’s awe was tinged with envy—They’re so effortless, she thought, her hands trembling on the reins. She knew Lyan’s shadow servants patrolled the perimeter, unseen but vigilant, yet their presence did little to distract her from the heat between her thighs, the way it pulsed with every step of the horse.

She tried to focus on the road, on the distant hills, on the soil samples she’d take at the site. Think of ledgers, yields, crop rotations, she urged herself, but the rubbing was relentless, each movement sending a spark through her core. A soft moan escaped her lips before she could stop it, barely audible over the hoofbeats, but it felt like a shout in her mind. No one heard, no one heard, she thought frantically, her face burning. But the sensation was overwhelming, the rough pressure too intense against the silk barrier of her undergarments. In a moment of reckless need, she shifted her hips, subtly sliding the silk aside, letting the hardness press directly against her sensitive flesh. The contact was electric, raw, the roughness of it against her cave sending a wave of pleasure so intense she bit her lip to stifle another moan. Oh, gods, it’s too much, she thought, her body trembling as the horse’s motion turned every rub into a torment of delight.

"I... I cannot stand anymore,"