I snicker. “She is fearsome and unlike Shaza doesn’t wish to marry, so at every opportunity, she plays to her reputation of ferocity.” I pause for effect and quirk an eyebrow. “This new daughter more of a handful than your others, my former Master of Children?” I manage, with great willpower to hold back any inkling of riotous laughter.

Zeb Stone Grim shakes his head as would a dog recently bathed wishing to speak his mind, perhaps issue a petty retort, yet he grimaces and pulls himself back from the brink. His face transforms … a satisfying smile grows ...

“You must marry her, or …” I am certain all the colour drains from my face. “Well at least tame her in bed?” he squeaks and from such a large man his high voice surprises me out of my shock.

“Are you letting your assumed authority run away with our sworn reality?” I retort. I slide my glass to the table. I don’t dare take a sip of my wine in case he floors me with an absurd response.

“The powerful factions in the town know she must wed first, to someone, before they can make offers for Shaza’s hand. Lord Torngul’s gentle flower who scares no one and with whom an alliance of worth can be struck. Marrying Thalgora will raise your status in the town, just for being brave enough to do so.” I sense a genuine pleading in his voice. Is he or the Lord he impersonates, truly in a bind?

I have one ace left to play. I pretend sorrowful eyes, a slight swaying of the head in true disappointment. His eyes narrow.

“I am already betrothed, made a promise to a certain female in front of her father that she would be my first wife, so, therefore, I can’t in all honesty claim your daughter …”

“Who?” he spits out through clenched teeth.

He is really rallying to his new role, I must commend him, although I will save the praise for another time.

“Klaria, daughter of …”

“I know of her,” he growls. At me! I think he forgets who sits before him, yet he is ‘in the moment’ and I can’t help but continue my admiration for his oneness with the role. “How could I not, I see her father every Council Meeting, she even attends some.” He rubs his chin. “Explains her looking about all the time though … she was searching for you possibly.” He chuckles, clearly at ease. “Well, that is an issue isn’t it.” There is mirth in his voice, which I don’t like, not at all. “It could cost me, but I am certain with the correct inducement her father can be convinced to release you from whatever arrangement you declared, in haste, shall we say. As a loyal advisor to Lord Torngul, I am certain he will see reason, to have Thalgora married off before his daughter.” His eyes drift for a moment before returning to fix upon mine. “The only tricky part will be disappointing him twice by denying his son, Kreldak, the hand of Shaza.”

He lounges back into his chair, arms resting upon the armrests somewhat content and deep in thought it would seem given the furrowing of his brow.

This can’t stand. How would my wives deal with a raging Thalgora, and how does she deal with my needing to service them? Then there is the plain fact she isn’t bound to me and the possible complications. I could drown her, yet that means she would follow me through various deaths and rebirths, for … ever. An angry, tall muscular female hobgoblin on the rampage. I shudder. Plus, I have enough bound wives and I suspect given the deaths of the two assassins, throats cut before being dropped over the balcony instead of being kept for me, indicates my wives agree. When I think some more, even the disposal over the balcony was a message of sorts! Could I separate a wife from several bound wives? What would the benefits be? As her husband, stepson of Lord Torngul, I would have more freedom if nothing else to travel about the valley and with that freedom I could explore and start asking discreet questions about Klugites, whereas now I am achieving nothing. ‘Achieving nothing’ the two words rattle around in my head, like buzzing flies.

I slap my hands on the table and rise to my feet. “I will meet her … but no promises, remember you answer to me, not the other way round as our current positions suggest. But!” I hold up a finger. “I see the statecraft in this situation and feel an obligation to see if I can assist.”

“Yes, Lord Hob, although I hope for the best. I am at an impasse in the town and without a desirable daughter to barter with, I have nowhere to strengthen my rule, well Lord Torngul’s rule. I need to marry a daughter into one of the factions and hope she doesn’t give birth to a son, who away from me will be groomed to usurp his father.”

I nod. “Why don’t you marry?”

The dark green of his complexion grows deeper and he clears his throat. “I am beyond the age for siring …”

“Zeb Stone Grim is, but Lord Torngul may have more than a couple of years, possibly several to birth an heir …”

He immediately shakes his head and then props and casts a side glance at me before hanging his head down. “No more children from me Lord Hob, I couldn’t take the heartache when we would need to leave them behind. It would be sudden, yes?”

I can only nod. “You would be able to live out your lives like you want this time though.”

“Would we? Wouldn’t you be keener to return to continue your fight against Rexa? Two hundred years as best we can make out this time, what if only twenty years next time? Would not our bodies spontaneously die to release our spirits back into your service?”

I swipe my glass from the table and throwback the remaining wine. I can’t answer him, not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know. What sort of half-baked leader am I that I don’t know all the rules to this game? He could leave behind an adolescent heir, which would most likely mean his death or at least fought over and then sham marriage and death.

Three loud bangs upon the floor draw me back to the present and I raise my head. Lord Torngul is on his feet, with a sturdy walking stick, or it could be called a stave and hurries, un-lord like, to the double doors. With one last cheeky grin, he is gone. I am certain he knew I didn’t mean immediately …

Thalgora eases her way into the throne room, her hands gripping the door until the last moment. If not Duzsia and Trela I assume Lord Torngul rips the door from her to close it and with nothing hold she slaps her hands to her thighs, rigid and unmoving. Disturbingly I think I catch the clunk of a cross beam being dropped in place – on the outside of the double doors.

She waits beside the door in a long flowing sky-blue dress … which, I gulp, highlights certain bumps, curves, and musculature!  She glances behind herself occasionally, probably hoping for a miracle reprieve. Nervous? I pour a glass of wine and approach her holding the glass out, part sympathy, part apology.

“I … I don’t drink wine,” she stammers while shifting and adjusting in her dress. I suspect the tight comfort of armour more to her liking.

“Trust me, it will help.” I offer the glass again.

She takes the glass and opens her mouth wide. Those tusks of hers, solid, brutal. I recover from considering the intimidation value of them and reach for the bottom of her glass to draw the wine away from her lips.

“Small sips.” I lift my glass to my lips to demonstrate.

She hisses, “I know! I don’t want to be here, the sooner you discard me the better …” She sips lady-like as her green complexion deepens in colour.

“I am certain after some conversation we will discover our differences are too great and your father will then have to release us both,” I suggest.

She shakes her head, stops, and takes another sip.

“What did he tell you?” I manage to refrain from growling, after all, she is simply a victim like me.

“If I don’t embrace you, he will disown me or worse send me off with a merchant like a package of goods to be married off to the first male hobgoblin who can defeat me in combat.”

I place my glass upon the long table and slap my thigh. “How about we start there? One on one combat? You defeat me and then you can petition your father to accept the fact I am not even your equal, let alone your master and therefore an unsuitable husband.” I flash her my broadest smile.

“We have no weapons?” she responds, disappointment lacing her words.

I hold up my hands and shake them. “We have these, don’t we? I would think my chances of survival would be at least slightly better than with real weapons.” I quirk my head deliberately.

A slight smile. “Perhaps.”

“You remove those chairs to the wall, and I will remove the others and then with your help, we will move the table out of harm’s way, yes?”

With easy co-operation, we clear the room and shortly after, face each other. One fight, winner takes all. I met her eager grin with a look of worry.

She charges and as her hands reach out to throttle me, I lower my centre of gravity and dive forward to meet her. Once her hands fly over my head, my shoulder digs in under her rib cage, I allow her momentum to carry her forward while I lift. She flips over on her back and tries to suck air into winded lungs. Taking off my belt I roll her over and tie her hands behind her back. I then take her belt and tie her ankles.

She recovers as I finish my hog tying and growls, “You tricked me!” She struggles without success.

“I apologise.” I release her ankles and then her hands, climbing to my feet when done.

She eyes me from the ground while sitting up effortlessly and refitting her belt. I can see why she intimidates; does she practice abdominal crunches? She offers me her hand and while I suspect a trick to be played, I am nothing but a gentleman and assist her to her feet.

With a casual gait, she circles me. “A second contest then?” she suggests. I assume aiming for a best out of three, win now.

“If you wish to. I apologise for my cheating in the previous round and as such, it won’t count.”

A nod and a smile. Then a scowl. “Are you going to play another trick or fight fair this time?”

I shrug. “I fight to win, I will rely upon you to judge my tactics fair or otherwise,” I say.

Crouching, one foot stepping over another, ready to spring forth she circles her prey. Unfortunately, that is me and I must prepare to receive her instead of admiring the tensing of her biceps and appreciating the steady rise and fall of her chest. She reaches out trying to grab my upper arms, but I skip away. She tries this same tactic several times until every second or third attempt is a feint. Before she unleashes her move, I attack her with mine. Instead of retreating I snap forward, my arms rise and batter away hers, spreading them. Growling at the afront she naturally draws her arms back in and during that moment my fist rabbit punches her throat. Gasping for air, her hands continue inwards going to her throat trying to find a way to help. Using my belt, I tie one hand draw it behind her back and tie the other. Then using her belt, I tie her ankles together and as she falls, I catch her, lowering this gentle flower’s body to the floor.

Clearing her throat to catch a breath she growls, “You cheated again!”

I sigh and untie her – again! Apologising while I do.

After three more bouts in which I cheat to win, she stares at me. Cold, hard, and uncompromising. She reaches for her glass of wine and throws back the dregs. With her eyes upon me, she wipes her lips with the back of her arm. Every bout she has underestimated me and my skills. Now she must decide if she will continue to do so or not.

“One more bout.” She raises an eyebrow. “Cheating is permitted,” she says.

“Are you certain Thalgora, eldest daughter of Torngul Heartsplitter?”

“I am certain young nobody who wishes to marry my name and climb on my shoulders to ascend from the wretched depths he finds himself in,” she snarks.

I yell out a curse pretending her insult strikes at my honour. As she sets back to receive my charge, I stop, reach down, grab her foot and lift it to topple her. The look of shock on her face is glorious, yet she recovers and twists her entire body to release her foot from my grasp. As I release the first foot, her other foot kicks out, catching me in the chest. I feign trying to breathe, dropping to my haunches and she accepts my invite charging at me to take advantage. I play a different game now since she permits cheating. As she tries to bowl me over, I grapple her waist and we both end up sprawling across the floor. She doesn’t expect my quick recovery and with that slight advantage, I slide to reposition myself on top of her and steal a kiss. Her surprise is complete and upon opening her mouth I quickly invade with my tongue and then withdraw.

She flexes her abdominals to buck me off and as I agreeably dislodge, I grab for the thin shoulder strap securing her dress, the thin cord snaps easily. I glimpse her breast wrap, which matches the sky blue of her dress while enduring her scowling at me as she struggles to tie the ends.

“There aren’t two ends, you will need to knot your dress and loop the strap around,” I suggest. I am nothing if not helpful. “I will wait,” I add. I receive a grunt in reply.

We face off once again and I try several times to grab for her right hand. With her looking there I make a grab for her left hand and twist her fingers. She immediately turns her body to relieve the pain and I completely turn her around until her bottom is on the floor. This time while she is trying to work out how she ended up there I release her fingers and with my hands now free grab at each strap and snap them both. I jump back clear.

She swivels about on her bottom to face me, an arm holding her dress up. As she climbs to her feet, she leaves her dress behind. “So be it, no dress.”

As she shapes and circles, I do admire her breasts, the wrap forces a slight bulge at the top, while she doesn’t wrap her loins, instead, wearing pantaloons in matching sky blue. Did someone advise her on dressing for this date? That would mean, she knew in advance and yet she didn’t run, didn’t refuse … How much control does Lord Torngul have over his eldest daughter? More than he leads me to believe or less and she is on some level, agreeable or at a minimum, curious.

I allow her to wrestle me to the ground and as she sits astride my waist her face contorts and she glances behind herself to investigate what assaults her buttocks crack. At that moment, I throw her off and climb up on her waist, my pecker at three-quarter mast and obvious, regardless of the efforts of my pants to contain or control. She gulps for air, and I take that opportunity to release her puppies by slipping the breast wrap down. Now loose the wrapping unfurls with ease. She cups her breasts with her hands and stares at my eyes wide open. My turn to crunch my abdominals to steal a kiss and grab her free wrist. I twist until she can only relieve the agony by rolling off me while I climb upon her back. I don’t release her hand holding it in place between her shoulders for insurance as I shift forward to avoid the worst of her heels slamming into my back. With my free hand, I reach back, grab and rip her pantaloons. Her kicking stops.

“Not like this,” she sniffs. With her head laying to one side, tears roll down her cheek.

I slide off her, handing her breast wrap to her while I do and scramble to retrieve her dress to blanket her loins. Rising to my feet her words are full of disbelief.

“I am humbled, I admit I underestimated you. How can one so scrawny best me, not once but many times? You are right, when you fight the aim should be to win, nothing else truly matters if you don’t dishonour your family while doing so.” She hitches her chest and wipes her arm across her eyes trying to clear away the tears.

I must remind myself she is twenty-two for all her ferocity and I bend over and grab a loose piece of breast wrap to dab her eyes dry and earn a warm smile for my effort. “You are welcome.”

She looks into my eyes. “Is this where you take me? Have your way with me in fact, is that what my father promised you?”

I blush slightly. “You know I have my own wives, several in fact. While I would enjoy exploring your body as I hope you would enjoy exploring mine, there is no need to if you don’t wish to. Your father wishes us to wed, and I have no objections if you don’t, although I must warn you behind closed doors, I must service my many wives and in public be seen with them when with you or not.”

She keeps her own counsel, the silence lengthening between us while I suspect she chews over my words.

“Since you would have many wives, I would be free to do what I do now, without having to service my husband or pay him any day-to-day attention and when we do meet our pent-up desires could be released?” Her eyes sparkle.

“There could be such a convenience in our marriage I am certain,” I say.

“Then I must be totally honest with you. My father needs a male heir and until we conceive, we would need to devote as much time as possible to this. Do you still agree to marry me?”

I place my finger upon her chin. “I do. Although wouldn’t Shaza and her betrothed be more likely in that regard?”

Her face hardens. “If I am married, I am the eldest and my son will follow my father. You must promise me a child, preferably male before my oh so pretty sister. On our wedding night perhaps?”

“How is a marriage conducted here?”

“Lord Torngul Heartsplitter must consent to the match.” She smirks.

I think of a cheeky retort. “Perhaps you should fetch your father immediately so tonight can be our wedding night then?”

Head nodding and smiling she releases her breast wrap and flaps her dress out. I gulp and then shrug. I am certain my words, said or unsaid wouldn’t have saved me from an immediate wedding …

“Allow me.” I wrap her breasts and then offer my shirt for her to wear, a tight fit although serviceable. I remove my loincloth and with the remains of her pantaloons secure her modesty. Finally, the lower half of her dress is held in place by her belt.

“Thank you,” she says.

“I would expect my bride to dress for the ceremony and possibly return my shirt?”

She nods and scampers to the throne room doors, knocking upon them gently yet firmly. Her father, my Zeb Stone Grim, conveniently opens the door for her. She grabs his hand and drags him into the throne room to stand before us while his honour guard closes the double doors behind him.

“Marry us father, we wish to get to making your heir.”

“You have my blessing, my heartfelt blessing, go forth and procreate!”

“May I?” I reach towards his ears and at his nod, I remove matching gold bands. I try one on her marriage finger, needing to close the loop to ensure a snug fit. The gold bands aren’t a complete circle, so anyone can open or close the gap to ensure a fit. It means, for my purpose, the one band can suit many. My band, I also need to close.

“Why do we wear these, husband?”

“They are the symbol of our union. When others see these bands upon our marriage fingers, they know we share a life with another, as equals, in a partnership.”

She hugs me while laughing and smiling. Then all of a sudden, she grabs one of my hands and drags me in unseemly haste out of the throne room. We don’t need to venture far to reach her room and once inside she closes the door and seats the crossbeam.

Her chest rises as she takes in a deep breath. “Take me husband and get me with child!”

---

I manage to exhaust her, with enough strength remaining to still move. I release myself from her room and step into a hallway of shadow, several candles having gone out. In the gloom, a lantern dances towards me.

“Lord, I am glad you survived.” Luda covers her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“This was your father’s idea, so don’t blame me,” I whisper in her ear with conviction.

“We know, the entire manor knows due to your bride’s pleasurable yelping and the entire town knows due to Lord Torngul Heartsplitter issuing a proclamation.” She pretends to shift the lantern into a better position to guide us, yet I know she has another question. “Is she erm, is she one of us?”

I tousle her hair. “No. I will have certain duties to perform until a male heir is born, but largely she wishes to go her own way, allowing me to go mine and ours. What we can do now though is travel since I have standing and the protection of the Lord of the valley.”

“What about me Lord? I assume goblin slavery is still a burden I must endure?”

“I will need to determine how far my new standing will allow me to bend the rules. First things first I must ensure Thalgora gives birth to a boy.”

She smirks. “I am certain with the quantity of seed inside her if she doesn’t then there is something wrong with her.”

When we return to my room, Zoria and Izga are awake and waiting for me on my bed. Luda and I join them, and I embrace them all. Luda lays upon my chest while Zoria and Izga lay on either side.

“Lord, another crept along behind us, eavesdropping upon our chatter I am certain,” whispers Luda.

“Do you know who?” I reply.

“I suspect the beautiful second daughter of Lord Torngul. Perhaps her sister’s pleasurable yelping made her jealous and given Zoria’s chorus for several days previous she may fear she is missing out on something?”

“Go to sleep,” I playfully growl.

---

“Where is he!”

A screeching, piercing voice echoes through, across, up, and down within the manor and probably beyond.

“Lord!” I feel a tap on my arm. “Lord?” I feel a tap on my cheek, yet my eyes remain shut.

Lord Torngul Heartsplitter can intercept the banshee of his advisor. He knew, yet he ignored, so now he must sort out my former betrothed.

“If not him, then you Lord Torngul! I know where you sleep, and my father tells me you ordered him to break my betrothal! You will face me, Lord Torngul! A bride to be jilted cannot be denied, true love!”

In my semi-awake state, I hear the crashing of pots and yelps of pain drawing ever closer.

Without opening my eyes, I mutter, “Zoria, Luda and Izga, hold the door. If the banshee enters my bedroom you will go without servicing until I feel compensated for the anguish, she will most certainly inflict upon me when we are face to face.”

Three bodies spring from my bed. I close my eyes and resume my sleeping in. Or at least try to.

“Stand aside you wanton wenches, or my bodyguards will make you!”

“The Lord is busy with important matters and doesn’t wish to be disturbed, he will see you later today at your father’s house. He promises.” Sounds like Zergoa’s voice yet I can’t be certain due to distance and the walls in between.

The clash of weapons upon shields I do hear. Also, a yelp and a tumble.

“Take your bodyguard and see to her injuries. Lord Torngul will meet with your father today.”

This is the second morning since my marriage, does Lord Torngul have the time? I thought the tournament was due to start today. I yawn. His problem I decide.

“A bride won’t be separated from her true love, and I will fight for what had been promised me and hence, mine,” she screams. I then hear the fading sounds of stomping boots and decide the excitement is over for at least a while.

Shortly after there is a polite knocking on my door. I roll over and nod to my trio, who with excess care slowly open and peek between the door and doorpost. They back away in haste while bowing their heads.

Lord Torngul in full armour sweeps into my room with a flourish. “You three will leave, now,” he commands.

My wives glance at me and I reply with a curt nod. They file out of my room like obedient children and close the door behind them. Without even needing to check I am certain Luda is listening, with her ear hard up against the door.

“Get dressed Lord Hob, in your finest armour and weapons, ensure Zoria is as well, while your prisoner Izga, in suitable chains will also tag along. Luda must stay behind, too soon for a goblin in polite society I am afraid. Do you understand? We leave mid-morning.”

“This humble servant begs a simple question, where to Lord Torngul?”

He props at the door, although his hand remains on the door lever. “With the tournament, all the various factions of this cesspit are conveniently in town, and we must visit them all before visiting Klugak and his brood. And I mean brood, he has more daughters than fingers!”

My jaw drops. “Why must I attend?”

“You must demonstrate to all who don’t believe that you have tamed my daughter.” He almost got away with the serious Lord tone, but at the end, he let slip a slur of devious delight. He was planning something!

He flings open the door and Luda doesn’t fly into the room, much to my relief. Then I notice Thalgora standing there in pleasant company! With my wives … chatting … overly friendly and when they glance at me through the doorway they chuckle in unison?

As Lord Torngul marches off the four enter.

“You are correct Lord Klar, your wives are delightful, and I am certain we can share, after all my visits will have a sole purpose and then once achieved, I will be more of an occasional visitor …” she purrs.

Luda pipes up, “I am certain if in heat you would have been well serviced last night dear first wife.”

Thalgora returns Luda’s sickly-sweet smile with her own. The fact Luda is a goblin, not particularly upsetting to my first wife for some reason.

Zoria claps her hands. “To work. Izga must have chains, but instead of vulgar large and heavy iron ones, we should use silver or better still gold. She is a prisoner because she desires to be, bound by her newfound love, stronger by far than iron.”

Thalgora claps lightly, high energy laughter splitting her lips.  When she draws all our attention, she sobers up. “She will be putty in your hands, my husband, as will I. They will see you have tamed me, as you have tamed every female within your reach. Zoria and I will dress to shock, but we will also adorn ourselves with weapons. Prepared to sacrifice our lives for yours, such is the depth of our love.”

“Not that we expect there to be such a confrontation,” adds Zoria in haste.

Izga slinks across the bedroom towards me, crawling on all fours to cross the bed to reach me and wrap her body around mine. “I will be smitten by you Lord. Your touch will drive me crazy.” She licks my cheek and I have no trouble cupping a breast while snatching a deep kiss.