Jakira was not entirely sure what had possessed her to sign her name down as one of the “volunteers” to become the swarm queen’s girlfriend.

It wasn’t prestige. She didn’t give a damn about lording titles over anyone, and she wasn’t the kind of orc who wanted to rub elbows with nobles and politicians. Power didn’t tempt her either—power usually meant obligations, and Jakira had plenty of her own already.

And relationships? Hells, she hadn’t been chasing those either. She’d never had the time or the patience.

…Okay, maybe that last part was a bit of a lie.

Orcs weren’t exactly common in the city. Their reputation preceded them—too wild, too violent, too much muscle in places that preferred soft hands and softer voices. Not that orcs were all rampaging lunatics, it was just… when you were built with this much strength, it ate at you if you didn’t use it. A restless energy that demanded an outlet.

Most of her kin in the cities joined the army or sold their axes to mercenary bands. Fighting monsters was a good way to quiet the itch in your bones.

Jakira? She got her urges out in the forge. Hammer in hand, sweat on her brow, iron screaming beneath every blow. Smashing metal until it sang into shape was honest work, and it left her arms loose and her head clear. Not to mention, people paid obscene amounts of coin for orcish weapons. Prestige without politics. Strength without the battlefield.

So why, exactly, was she now sitting in an eerily empty restaurant she was pretty sure only nobles visited, across from one of the most powerful women alive?

Ah. Right. Sparring.

That was the realisation that clamped down on her like a vice. Somewhere in her brain, past all the talk of “romance volunteers,” she had signed up because some primal part of her wanted to cross blades—or claws—with Queen Chrysanthemum herself.

“So,” the queen asked suddenly, her voice a strange mix of chirping resonance and that lofty tone she liked to put on, “have you done the romance before?”

Jakira blinked. “Uh… not really. I’m mostly only interested in people stronger than me, and I haven’t found anyone like that yet.”

The queen’s antennae flicked, her many eyes narrowing with something that might have been amusement—or smugness. “Oh! Then not problem! This one is the strongest, so we can do the romance.”

The sheer confidence radiating off Queen Chrysanthemum was awe-inspiring. It was also, on some deep, instinctive level, infuriating. Jakira felt her hackles rise, her muscles tense. Every instinct in her blood screamed challenge her.

Oh yes. She wanted to spar with the queen. More than she wanted the wine on the table, more than she wanted whatever this “romance” was supposed to look like.

But also… was it weird to ask a queen for a fight? Surely there was some protocol against that.

Her hand twitched on the stem of her glass anyway.

“Would you prove it?” Jakira asked, deciding—foolishly, perhaps—to push her luck.

The queen’s mandibles flexed, clicking together in sharp rhythm. Her antennae twitched, and her chittering voice rose with a tone Jakira couldn’t immediately place. “The green hyoomee dares to challenge the queen?”

Jakira swallowed hard. “...Yes?” Her pulse pounded in her throat. Great. Brilliant. Fantastic. I’ve just asked the swarm queen to fight me. I am absolutely about to die.

But hells, if she was about to be torn in half, she’d at least make it difficult. That was a better end than most orcs could hope for.

The massive insectoid shuddered, all six limbs tightening and loosening in a ripple that shook her whole carapace. “Yesss, yesss, good, good,” she rasped, voice buzzing with delight. “This one is pleased. Yesss, this one will accept the challenge—for the dominance, and then the romance.”

Jakira blinked. “…Wait. Really?”

That was it? No court official to consult, no ritual duel ceremony, no lengthy explanation of how badly Jakira had just insulted royal dignity?

The queen’s head tilted, and her mandibles spread in what might have been her version of a grin. “Yes. The rules are simple. If you strike true, you prove your worth. If you fall, you are still pleasing, because this one will catch you.”

Jakira wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or horrified.

Queen Chrysanthemum reached across the table, plucking one of the ornate plates toward herself with the casualness of someone who had already decided the duel was a formality. She clicked her mandibles again and tore into the delicate roasted pheasant meant for Jakira’s dinner, juices running down her chitin.

“Do not have the worry,” she added between bites. “This one will not kill you. This one will finish the hyoomee food plate though. It is very tasty.”

Jakira stared at the empty spot where her meal had been. She wasn’t sure if she should be angry, nervous, or impressed. Probably all three.

The food was better than anything Jakira had eaten in her life. The steak she’d ordered was cooked to perfection, tender enough that it practically melted on her tongue, its juices rich and smoky. Even the vegetables—usually just an afterthought for her—were so flavorful that she kept reaching for more between bites. Each taste exploded with spices she couldn’t even name.

She had to stop herself from groaning aloud at the table like some tavern drunk who’d just had her first real meal in weeks. Gods above, if this is how nobles eat all the time, maybe I should’ve signed up for this girlfriend thing earlier.

Across from her, Queen Chrysanthemum cradled her own plate delicately, four hands working in concert with unnerving precision. Her mandibles clicked happily as she sampled everything on the table. “Hyoomee food is very, very good,” she declared. Her antennae twitched in satisfaction. Then she paused, tilting her head with a thoughtful hum. “Not best this one has had, though.”

Jakira raised a brow, pausing mid-bite. “Not the best? What does the swarm usually eat?”

“Food balls!” the queen answered immediately, her mandibles clacking with enthusiasm. “They are pressed chitin and fungus, rolled tight with nutrient jelly. Very chewy, very filling. All sisters eat them every day. They are tasty, but not as good as hyoomee food.”

Jakira blinked, trying to imagine a lifetime of eating… bug balls. She swallowed her bite slowly, suddenly more grateful for her steak. “Right. Food balls. Sounds… hearty.”

Queen Chrysanthemum leaned closer, lowering her voice, her many eyes glittering with mischief. “This one has… secrets.”

Jakira froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. “...Secrets?”

“Yessss,” the queen chittered, mandibles flexing in what Jakira suspected was her version of a grin. “This one has sacred artefacts. Will not say more. No no, need to be in the romance forever for the secrets. After the real romance.”

Jakira blinked. “I… see.”

“This one would hope so. Would be cursed to not have the sight.” The Queen of the Swarm nodded with solemn finality, as though she had just declared some great universal law.

Then, without warning, she tore into her steak like a beast loosed from its tether. She didn’t cut, didn’t savor, didn’t even seem to chew much—just shredded it apart with mandibles and devoured it whole in a wet, tearing rush.

Jakira froze, fork halfway to her mouth. Well. She might be royalty, but their version of ceremony was clearly different. Honestly… it made Jakira relax a little. At least she didn’t have to worry about holding her pinky straight or whatever nonsense nobles here did. Maybe the swarm had their own forms of propriety. Or maybe they just didn’t bother with it at all.

By the time Jakira swallowed the last bite of her steak, Chrysanthemum was already leaning back in her seat, satisfied. With eerie precision, she raised her upper arms and delicately wiped the juices clinging to the edges of her chitinous mouth. The sight of her cleaning herself so carefully after eating like an animal was… oddly endearing. Almost like a child mimicking courtly manners they’d seen, doing their best even when they didn’t quite understand.

“Good. The food is done. We do the fight for the dominance!” Chrysanthemum announced, shoving herself up from the stool with surprising grace for something so massive. Her large abdomen swayed and bobbed behind her as though eager for the bout.

Jakira set down her fork slowly. Right. Straight to it, then.

“Uh, should we move outside? So we don’t break anything in here?” she offered, already glancing at the priceless silken drapes and polished wood walls. She had no idea how much this place cost to repair, but she knew it was more than she’d ever make in her life.

Not to mention, she didn’t want some nobleman breathing down her neck afterward. Sure, she could probably blame the destruction on the Swarm Queen herself and get away with it… but best not to risk it.

Chrysanthemum’s mandibles clicked together in a staccato burst that Jakira was beginning to recognize as pleasure. “Oh yess yess, good idea. You are very well brained.”

Jakira gave a half-snort. “Well, I try.”

Already, the queen was striding toward the door, her claws tapping against the floor like hammers.

Jakira followed, heart hammering in her chest. Part of her was already weighing the odds. Could she even land a hit on something that size? Could her muscles and training measure up to raw swarm might?

And the other part—larger, hotter—was thrilled at the thought of finding out.

The queen had to practically crawl through the doorway, her enormous bulk barely fitting, wings scraping the top of the frame. Jakira ducked as she followed, heart hammering in her chest. Outside, the sun reflected off the polished stones of the courtyard, glinting off Chrysanthemum’s iridescent chitin like a warning flash of color.

They stopped in the center, the world suddenly feeling much smaller compared to the queen looming over her. Skittering lightly, Chrysanthemum tapped her claws on the ground, a staccato rhythm that somehow felt like anticipation.

“Mm, yess, rules,” she clicked, her multiple mandibles moving in what Jakira was learning was her version of a grin. “No stabby, no disemboweling. None of the limb tearing, yes?”

Jakira swallowed, her own muscles tensing. “I’d rather keep my limbs. I need them to work,” she said, raising her fists instinctively. The words felt almost comical against the queen’s sheer scale, but they were serious. One misstep here could end very badly for her.

Chrysanthemum’s wings twitched, a soft hum vibrating through the courtyard. “Yess, good! This one likes safe fight. Can still test strength… can still see who is more powerful.” She leaned forward slightly, enough that Jakira could feel the faint scent of pheromones in the air. That’s… intimidating, Jakira thought, shivering even as her pulse raced.

“Then… shall we begin?” Jakira asked, squaring her shoulders, the orc in her ready to meet the challenge.

Chrysanthemum gave a rapid series of clicks, which Jakira was pretty sure meant excitement. “Yes! This one is ready! Show this one your power, tiny but strong one!”

Jakira’s heart pounded in her chest, blood roaring in her ears. It had been far too long since she’d had a proper fight, one where every muscle, every reflex, mattered. And yet… how had she ended up flat on her back, limbs pinned?

Above her loomed Chrysanthemum, impossibly massive, her wings twitching like a coiled spring ready to strike again. The sheer scale of her was overwhelming—the queen’s pendulous, bare breasts swaying just above Jakira’s line of sight, glinting faintly in the sunlight. Jakira couldn’t help but notice the iridescent shimmer of chitin along the queen’s torso, the way her claws flexed with a grace that made her feel both terrified and… intrigued.

“This one is most dominant,” Chrysanthemum chittered triumphantly, mandibles clicking as if laughing. “None are stronger than this one!”

Jakira’s body reacted instinctively. Her orcish instincts—the drive for combat, the need to test herself—were still screaming, yet something else had ignited. The sheer dominance of the swarm queen, the physicality, the confident display… it stirred a heat within her she’d never expected.

Jakira swallowed hard, awareness of every nerve in her body sharp and buzzing. She had never felt quite like this before—every part of her alive with tension, excitement, and desire. She had come here to spar, to test her strength, and yet now, pinned beneath this gargantuan, mesmerizing queen, she realized her mind wasn’t entirely on fighting anymore.

…Jakira had never been more aroused in her life.

Her gaze flicked to Chrysanthemum’s eyes—two sets of multifaceted, gleaming orbs—and for the first time, she understood what the swarm queen meant by dominance. Not just strength. Not just size. Control. Command. Presence. And, somehow, the queen’s confidence radiated straight into her core.

The fight was over almost before it had begun. Jakira had barely had time to register the swarm queen’s movement before she found herself flat on the ground, limbs pinned beneath the weight of Chrysanthemum’s chitinous grasp. Her muscles screamed in protest, but no matter how hard she strained, she couldn’t budge an inch.

“Do you yield?” Chrysanthemum hissed, mandibles clicking in excitement, her multifaceted eyes glittering with triumph.

“Uh… didn’t even see how I got downed so fast,” Jakira muttered, frustration and adrenaline mixing. “Round two?”

“Unconventional. Yes. This one accepts.” The queen released her, stepping back with a fluid grace that made her massive frame seem almost light. “This one will go easy. Will not move. Yes? Make fair.”

Jakira’s pride took a minor hit—being granted a handicap felt a little insulting—but she shrugged, forcing a smirk. “Yeah. Sure. Fair enough.”

“Attack this one when ready.” Chrysanthemum lowered herself slightly, wings flexing, claws poised but immobile, as if daring Jakira to make the first move.

Jakira took a deep breath, heart hammering. She adopted a proper stance, fists raised, shoulders coiled with tension. She could feel the heat of the sun on her back, the slight scrape of her boots against the stone courtyard, the anticipation in the air.

A small crowd had gathered around them—not too close, careful to give the combatants room, but near enough to whisper and murmur at the display. The sound of their chatter mixed with the faint buzz of Chrysanthemum’s wings, adding an almost surreal soundtrack to the duel.

Jakira’s eyes locked on the massive queen before her. Every instinct screamed to strike, to test herself against this incredible force, but she had to remember—she wasn’t just fighting for pride. She was testing the strength and control of one of the most powerful beings on the continent. One misstep, one overreach, and the lesson would be brutal.

Jakira lunged, throwing her fist forward with everything she had. In a heartbeat, it was caught in midair, held firm by an unseen grip. She barely had time to register the movement—like the world had slowed and the swarm queen’s reflexes had sped up. She tugged, twisted, tried to wrench her arm free, but it was as if it had been frozen in place.

Panic flickered for a moment. Thinking fast, she threw her other fist in a desperate counterattack—but that too was snatched from her grasp just as easily, her momentum stopped cold.

“This one does the retaliate now,” Chrysanthemum’s voice chittered, almost gleeful.

Before Jakira could react, the queen’s lower pair of arms shot out, grabbing her ankles. With a fluid motion that seemed effortless for a creature of her size, she lifted Jakira off the ground, hoisting her upside-down. The courtyard tilted in her vision, stones spinning beneath her as her stomach lurched.

“This one wins, yes?” Chrysanthemum asked, her mandibles clicking in triumph, the wings on her back flicking with excitement.

Jakira dangled there for a moment, her mind racing, cheeks burning—not just from exertion, but from awe. “Y-yeah… yeah, you win. I never even stood a chance.” Her voice was shaky, both from the fight and from the sheer intimidation of the queen’s presence.

The swarm queen gave a soft, approving chirr. “It is okay. Hyoomee’s are weak. Is not your fault.” She set Jakira down gently, but the weight of her gaze made Jakira feel like a child being graded on a test she could never pass.

Jakira rubbed her arms and legs, adrenaline still spiking through her veins. Somehow, despite losing in record time, she couldn’t help the flicker of exhilaration—the fight had been terrifying, yes, but it had also been incredible, and she couldn’t deny the thrill of testing herself against the queen of the swarm.

“That was crazy. You are strong. I like that,” Jakira said, grinning wide enough for her tusks to gleam in the courtyard light. Her chest heaved, not from exhaustion—she hadn’t even had the chance to fight properly—but from the rush of adrenaline that hadn’t faded yet.

“Yes, this one is entertained! Bask in this one’s strength! Bask in this one’s glory!” Chrysanthemum chittered proudly, her mandibles flexing in what Jakira swore had to be the insectoid equivalent of a smug smile. She struck a pose, wings flaring briefly, towering over the crowd that had gathered. For a heartbeat, Jakira thought the queen might demand the entire courtyard bow to her triumph.

But then the swarm queen relaxed, her massive abdomen lowering to the ground again as she straightened. “Glory time over. This one is enjoyed with the romance that has happened. This one wishes to engage in face smushing.”

Jakira blinked. “Uh… kissing?”

“Yes!” Chrysanthemum bobbed her head so fast her antennae wobbled, clicking in delight. “This is the thing the repulsively attractive reptile hyoomee called it. It is imperative for the romance.” She said it as though it were a sacred rite, a ritual that sealed victory, her tone brimming with eager certainty.

Jakira had much to think about. Too many things. Her brain was trying to put together what had just happened—the sudden fight, the even more sudden defeat, the queen’s bizarre but oddly sincere declarations—and it all tangled into one giant knot.

That being said, about forty percent of her thoughts were devoted to just how turned on she was from being so utterly bested. Fifty-five percent were entirely occupied with Chrysanthemum’s breasts. Why did she even have them? Why were they so enormous, heavy, and impossible to ignore? Could Jakira bury her face between them? Could she survive doing so?

And of course, the last five percent was the creeping, sobering realization that she was utterly, spectacularly fucked—whether she wanted to be or not.

She swallowed hard, staring up at the towering queen as her mandibles clicked in anticipation. Somewhere deep down, Jakira found herself hoping she would be picked.