They were wandering the library. ‘Wandering’ was a big word for their exploration of the two-room complex. One was entirely filled with shelves containing all manner of books on the history of the Troyk empire, the other was a reading room with a smaller assembly of shelves that were meant to hold only what was currently being read. The smell of rich oak and leather filled the air, magical lamps spread gold, cold light, an important fact around paper.

Rykard scanned the assortment of books once more. A terribly one-sided retelling of his home’s history, the kind that would only further accelerate the downfall of the empire. Much like the painting of the house’s history spanning the corridor ceilings of the white-gold walls of the estate, to depict the history of the Troyk house and empire as entirely glorious and without hiccups was to rob future generations of the tools used to deal with any problems.

“Given where we ended, my estrangement with my family may be a blessing.” Rykard’s finger glided down the Regalia Historia, a work penned by his great-grandfather. It was widely acclaimed to be the definitive history of the dynasty. Of course, all naysayers had long since been silenced. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have sought out alternate recollections of the past.”

“A broad profile is advisable, when researching what has transpired,” Miyo agreed and explored the segments of the library about other topics.

Although the parts about the Troyk Empire’s rise were embellished to the point of uselessness, many of the other nations had a neutral retelling worthy of study. This was particularly true when it came to those that had entered vassalage willingly or after a respectable amount of diplomatic or armed resistance. Those enemies that had been utterly crushed were presented in the kind of negative light that made them appear as demons and uncivilized savages.

To be fair to Rykard’s home, many of the enemies that the empire had crushed had been demons or uncivilized savages - neither of the fun and sexy kind. The Troyk Empire had won not because it was the most cruel of all nations around, but because it remembered enough about cruelty while taking care of enemies of life itself. A typical ascendance story, for a world-spanning nation.

Miyo pulled a book out of the orderly assortment and gestured to Rykard to come over. Once he had, she wordlessly placed it in his arms to hold. A second was soon stacked on top. The pale pair walked like that, one grabbing various books on military history and the other carrying them for her.

“Do you remember the tradition of the Oju-Sensu, Rykard?” the redheaded fox woman suddenly asked.

The name translated to ‘lady’s folding fan’. Like most traditions properly translated, its meaning was evident immediately. In Miyo’s home, it was common for ladies of the court to own at least one hand fan. It had started as a convenient accessory to cope with the often hot, humid summers of her homeland and swiftly transformed into a way ladies could compete with each other. Fans became a tool to create pleasantly cooling gusts second and elaborately decorated showcases of wealth first. A finely crafted fan was worth as much as an expertly tailored dress and a whole class of proper motions with the fan existed, typically revolving around hiding one’s smile from the male gaze to invoke mystique and allure.

“I remember it quite well,” Rykard responded. Miyo had been an expert at the social dance of the Oju-Sensu and that had always managed to envelop her in an air of exotic eroticism that made her just irresistible. “I assume you’d like a new fan?”

Miyo nodded, it was somewhat expected she would broach the subject eventually. “I lost my favourite in the transport and I lack the means and skills to make them myself for the time being.” The redhead pulled another book out of the shelves. “It isn’t a project of pure vanity. I believe the gods would approve. The Oju-Sensu were of important esoteric value.” A long time, she lingered on her beloved. “It would lend more power to my prayers for your success.”

The strength of the divine was tangibly proven across all worlds. Direct intervention was rare, but having their favour to nudge probability one way or another was a fortune best courted. Rykard, personally, lacked the reverence for the gods to send a proper plea, but Miyo might just manage to convince a few of her gods. Especially if she retained a touch with the culture that had been in veneration of them for so long. The myth was that Miyo’s family could trace their line back to the sun goddess Amaterasu. A certain degree of divine favour could certainly be attributed to them. They had been the oldest surviving lineage in the old world.

Plus, they were the only fox people that ever manifested multiple tails.

“I will see what I can do,” Rykard promised her.

Miyo nodded deeply. “A single fan would do for now. It need not be particularly fancy.” She said that, but her still lingering gaze spelled that she meant ‘not particularly by court standards’. Anything short of splendid quality would not do.

There were two ways to find what she desired. One was to stumble upon it by pure luck. Folding fans were something Rykard expected to be of the rarer kind of item. It required a particular climate for them to be popular and a particular culture to cultivate crafters of them. Still, it could happen. Alternatively, he could make a specific plea to the gods. ‘A folding fan that will satisfy my Miyo’s desires completely’, would be a 10 word phrase that would virtually guarantee he got what she wanted, albeit he would have no idea what else he would find.

“Do not feel hurried on this. Craftsmen can be trained, but the land you acquire is finite,” Miyo reminded her pondering man.

Rykard gave her a wry smile. “I will decide whatever I think is best,” he kept it vague.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“So much empty space,” Miyo remarked, her calm voice swinging with a mixture of approval and annoyance. Her fingers trailed over the top of a small table, clicking her tongue when even a few specks of dust stuck to them. She elegantly brushed it off. “We need to fill it with servants.”

“We need to fill it with haremettes that are also servants,” Rykard corrected her. His will on the matter was certain: the only two kinds of people he would accept in and around his living quarters were his women and his progeny. Everyone else was either a guest or unwelcome.

Miyo opened a closet and let out a surprised, pleased hum. It was filled to the brim with maid outfits of varying sizes and designs. All of them had the proper colouration in common, black and white, with a few shades of grey thrown into the mixture. Differences came about through manifold design decisions when it came to skirts, corsets, and the kind of chest covering used. Maid outfits were a truly versatile set of design principles. 

“There will be no difficulty clothing them,” the redhead remarked, testing the quality of the cloth by running her hand down a sleeve. Afterwards, she hung it back into the closet. As a noble lady, it was beneath her to put on a servant’s outfit for anything besides Rykard asking for it. Nudity, however, was certainly court appropriate. “A worthwhile question, then, is the hierarchy of your harem. Shall it be rigid?”

“You will all be equals under me, but you will doubtlessly find a balance amongst each other.” Rykard grabbed the redhead’s white butt and squeezed. Six tails folded into one, to give him easier access to his property. “One where I trust you will assert your rightful place at the top.”

“I would not want to be a harem queen, were I not confident in that fact,” Miyo chuckled cooly. “A simple separation would be between ladies and maids, then. Those of us that provide specialized services and those that maintain the ease of living. There will be plenty of chores, as the household grows.” She ran a hand over her stomach. Flat and taut as her nubile skin was, the fact that there was a life growing within had been established.

“That sounds like a fine basic separation,” Rykard agreed. The idea of filling his estate with finely dressed ladies, properly dressed maids, and undressed women of any persuasion was one to be pursued. “Perhaps I should find you a kimono as well?”

“I much prefer the noble clothes of your culture,” Miyo disagreed quickly. “Kimonos are ever so difficult to wear correctly. A corset is comparatively pleasant.”

They continued through the backrooms of the estate. Although remaining of high quality, there was a stark difference between the gold-decorated main corridors of the main areas and the quarters servants were supposed to occupy and use. Art made room for tools, luxury was exchanged for practicality, and all was subservient to the estate meant to be served.

The system was impressive. Rykard called them backrooms, but core rooms was perhaps more accurate. Of course, daylight was reserved primarily for the quarters and corridors to be used by the nobility, putting the servant quarters and facilities into the second and third layer of the mansion. Passages connected the innermost rooms, housing cooking and cleaning facilities, directly with the outer corridors.

While nobles could take slow strolls down the splendid paths along the rows or tall mirrors and crystal glass windows, servants could take the most efficient paths through the centre of the mansion. They even had their own set of staircases. Wherever a servant was needed, they could appear in a flash, using the kind of ‘camouflaged’ doors that nobles usually ignored.

Then there were the actual secret passages that not even Rykard had found all of yet.

“It’s like living in a puzzle box,” Miyo hummed.

“You should find plenty to enjoy then,” Rykard hummed.

They spent the rest of the day cuddling, talking, and generally celebrating their relationship.