“I refuse,” Shasen said, standing opposite the Lady, with Konarot beside him, Gangak and Shagek with the remaining triplets.

“I’m sure you would, but you have a price, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You need not be so shy, tell me, how much do you-,”

“One hundred thousand gold,” Shasen said, letting out a bored sigh. “A yearly salary of ten thousand.”

The Lady fell silent. ‘What?’ “I don’t need a savage who knows no manners, daring to interrupt m-,”

“Okay,” Shasen said, turning and stepping away with Konarot.

Konarot looked up towards the older Iyrman, who was her grandmother’s uncle, in the same way Jaygak was her aunt, from a different family, but raised together. She blinked. Someone wanted Shasen because he was…

‘Strong.’

The Lady remained silent, stunned from the blatant disrespect of the Iyrman. She glanced towards her knight, who was as grateful as she was confused. “That’s why you can’t speak with these savages.”

“Why are you getting so worked up?” Jaygak asked, noting how tense Adam had become.

“…” Adam remained focused on the noblewoman. ‘Yeah, that’s how it always is. I’m surprised she didn’t pick a fight.’

“Leave it to we Iyrmen,” Jaygak said, sipping her milk, barely able to contain her smile.

“It seems she is not leaving,” Sonarot said, glancing between the other Iyrmen. She needed to figure out who she should send. She couldn’t send anyone from the Jin or Gak family, since the Aldishmen would be even more audacious. ‘Should I send Jurot or Kitool? No. They were introduced to the Countess as Executives, so she might decide to trouble us that way.’

“Should I go?” a voice called, his lips curling upwards.

“No,” Sonarot replied, far too quickly. “Jirot, you must tell your babo he cannot.”

“Babo! You cannot!” Jirot said, pausing from her meal to listen to her grandmother, who reached out to rub her head. The girl smirked.

“Aunt,” Sonarot called, glancing towards Otkan, before looking towards the other Iyrmen. She thought about sending Shasen, but realised that could be used against them. “Uncle.”

Sonarot approached the Lady, while Shagek and Otkan followed. “If you do not leave now while you have the chance to, we will consider that you have thoughts against our children.”

“Who are you to demand something of me? Do you know who I am?”

“Lady Alice Crimsonash, daughter of Baron Edward Crimsonash,” Sonarot replied. “The last time your family held any relevancy was during the time of your greatuncle, the Crimson Sword. Was he still alive, I would have shown you respect still undeserving for an Aldishman child.”

The Lady stood, her face flooding red. “How utterly incorrigible. You Iyrmen, you always think you are so mighty! The recent war has shown you for what you are. Cowards, the lot of you. I didn’t want your Bloodblade anyway, he’d just cower in the corner while our knights spill their blood to keep you safe behind your walls.”

Sonarot’s lips twitched into a smile. For her to hear those words from an Aldishman, it meant Red Oak had long forgotten how it had managed to remain relevant for so long, even though the reforms of generations past which had forced so many people into the largest towns and cities. “Even with your Crimson Sword, I would not need to worry of your family.”

The Lady reached up to slap the woman, but Sonarot caught her wrist with ease, feeling how thin it was, how she could have snapped it should she had wanted.

“My Lady!” the knight called, reaching for her blade, though found a blade against her wrist from the one armed woman, while the silver blade gleamed in the air, keeping the escorts at bay.

However, Sonarot turned back, having heard some commotion from behind them, and just in case, she forced the woman down with her great might, a hand around the axe at her side. She understood if the Lady was even slightly more Aldish, it would have been hard to control him.

Adam could feel a hand at each of his elbows, one from Jaygak, the other from Jurot. His entire body was tense, like an arrow knocked, ready to loose.

“Mother is not so easily struck,” Jurot said, disappointed he hadn’t seen his mother catch the Lady’s hand from his view.

“Mommy!” Lanarot exclaimed, her fists in the air, the girl ready to shout and scream, though found Jurot’s hand covering her eyes for a moment. She squirmed, trying to pull away, distracted from the fight.

“Uncle. Just one.”

“Okay,” Shagek replied. The silver blade arced through the air.

“Stop!” came a shout. There were many who could have shouted stop, but there were few that would have caused the Iyrman to stop. Any Iyrman could have stopped him. The Countess? Perhaps. However, there was one more he needed to listen to, for the sake of respect. “Lady Crimsonash, you must leave.”

“How dare you!” the Lady snapped, her eyes glued to the innkeeper, a woman who was roughly her age, and though not a noble, was extremely well kept, from her trimmed nails, to her hair, which was styled three times throughout the day to keep her fresh.

“The Lady has drunk too much, and should return home,” the innkeeper said, her eyes glued to the knight’s, sending as much of her thoughts as she could. ‘Are you insane? Do you think you can accept the consequences once the Iyrmen complete their punishments?’

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Sir Isabelle! Show these-,”

“It seems the Lady has drunk too much,” Sir Isabelle said, feeling the way the Iyrmen were gazing at her. It was a look she hadn’t seen before. She, who had completed the training of nobles, not just reading and writing, but swordplay, horsemanship, even how to wear armour and fight within it properly, and all such privileges afforded to her as one who was born above her lessers.

Yet, was there ever a time any warrior could look at her with such a look? A look of such… boredom? That she, a warrior who had reached Expert so many years ago, was not even considered prey? It was not just the look which had caused her to pause, but the person who was giving her such a look. If it had been the older man in the heavy armour, wielding a blade, which glowed florescent purple in the evening sun, but her opponent was a crippled old woman, whose blade against her shoulder was frozen still, completely relaxed.

“I have only guaranteed the life of the Lady,” Sonarot warned.

The sweat which poured down the back of the knight’s back had revealed all she needed to for the situation, and she couldn’t even hear the Lady’s complaints, deafened by the throbbing of her ears as she commanded the other escorts, unable to even hear her own words. It wasn’t until they had walked around the corner that the knight realised her fists had been shaking, and even as the Lady’s words began to prickle her ear, she ignored them.

Lucy exchanged a look with Mara, raising her brows towards her maid turned best friend. ‘See? Didn’t I tell you?’

Mara hadn’t realised the way Jurot and the others acted in front of the Aldish was so… reserved. Their behaviour earlier in the year seemed to be youthful exuberance, but upon seeing the Iyrmen act, going to extreme lengths even when nothing had dared to threaten their children, it reminded her of the previous Demon Lords she had served. Except, whereas the Demon Lord himself held such arrogance, or perhaps confidence was a better term, it seemed all Iyrmen were raised to hold such audacity.

Mara wasn’t sure which was scarier. The fact that the Iyr was willing to display this much strength to the nobles, or that they were holding more of their strength hidden, even when it was out in the open. She glanced to the side, towards one particular one armed and one legged Iyrmen whose name would have resolved the situation with ease.

“Do you want to eat potatoes?”

Jirot gasped, her head snapping from the scene to her greatfather, her large amber eyes full of greed. “Yes! I want to eat potato!”

“Potato or potatoes?”

“Potatoes! I want all the potatoes!”

“Then I will buy them,” Jarot said, reaching into his furs, pulling out a small pouch, undoing the latch with his thumb before pouring out the gold coins. “Penelope, all your potatoes.”

The innkeeper glanced towards the Iyrman, an Iyrman who had seen the Mad Dog several times, mostly as a little girl, but she still recalled the aura he gave off. “As you wish.” The woman reached out a hand towards the coins, but the old man kept a finger upon a group of the coins.

“All your potatoes,” Jarot repeated.

“As you wish,” the innkeeper stated once more, before sweeping the coins. “Is there a way you wish for them to be prepared?”

“In all the ways.”

“As you wish.”

“Don’t do that,” Adam said. “You can’t spoil my kids like that, they’ll grow up like… like…” Adam glanced away towards the exit of the inn. “Like civilised folk.”

“They will grow up properly, for they will grow within the Iyr,” Jarot said, before noting the awkward look within Adam’s eyes. “Will you take my greatchildren from me?”

“They’re my children!”

“Eggs, meat, milk,” Sonarot said, placing down a gem, one which held streaks of copper and bronze, a tiger eye, a favourite of the Iyr, for some people, it was half a year’s worth of wages.

“As you wish,” a servant replied, taking the gem, knowing it to be real.

Jirot reached out for a fresh hot potato, though the old one armed Iyrman grabbed her wrist. “Babo!”

“You must wait for it to cool.”

“I so hungry, babo, so hungry,” the girl said, pouting, her eyes growing wide as she tried to convince him.

‘Do you think I will give up just like that?’ Jarot asked, though he was glad the girl was holding his hand, otherwise he might have grabbed the potato. “Your father can cool it down.”

“Daddy! Cool potato!”

“No, it’s very hot,” Adam replied.

Jirot blinked. “Yes.”

“Oh, you want me to cool it?” Adam asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s the magic word?”

Jirot blinked. She smirked, exchanging a look with her babo, before cackling with delight.

“Hmph! Then daddy will not.”

“Daddy! No! Daddy!”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please, daddy! Please!”

“Okay, okay,” Adam said, waving his hand, speaking the words of magic for his Trick, cooling the potato enough for the girl.

“Soht please.”

“Of course, my dear.”

“Bu’ah.”

“Butter?” the old Jarot asked.

“That’s what she said,” Adam replied. “Bu’ah, innit.”

Jarot stared at the young half elf, who was almost bursting with pride, his tears brimming with joy.

“That’s right! You want some bu’ah, don’t you? Daddy will give you all the butter!” Adam pulled his daughter onto his lap, peppering her with kisses. “I’m the luckiest father alive! Whose children are as wonderful as mine?”

Jaygak smiled, glad Adam had finally relaxed. She hadn’t realised Adam could still fear the Iyr more than he already did, but upon recalling how many times he acted up, she realised perhaps Adam didn’t understand just how terrifying the Iyr could be. Her eyes fell to her grandaunt, then to Mad Dog, and finally Otkan. ‘None of us truly know how terrifying the Iyr truly is…’

Adam scooped some mash potato to his youngest son’s lips, though the boy pulled away, reaching for the spoon himself. “Alright, alright…” Adam poured the boy a glass of milk, before reaching for his own meal, taking his first bite once all of his children had already begun eating.

Once dinner was finished, Adam assisted his children with their baths and brushed their teeth, allowing the youngest three to chew on the teethleaf while he rubbed the cloth against his triplets’ scales. He had already applied the lotion, but he needed to make sure the children’s scales were dried properly, and that they had been polished. Not only did it keep their scales so vibrant and healthy, but it kept his twins distracted by how shiny they were.

“Here,” Adam said, placing the second necklace over them, their skins instantly turning red, their tails invisible once more. Adam had almost taken off the tiny gem necklaces, but Jurot had grabbed his arm, stopping the half elf.

‘You cannot,’ Jurot stated, with a tone of voice that was bordering a threat. ‘The necklace protects them.’

‘Even during their bath?’

‘You cannot.’

Adam smiled slightly, glad that his brother was protecting his children with such fervour. ‘Truly, I am the luckiest brother alive.’

It was later in the evening, when the children had begun yawning, that they were finally called for to sleep alongside their guardians.

Jirot blinked, glancing up towards her greatfather. She looked back to her father and then back to her greatfather. “I sleep with daddy?”

“You must stay with us,” Jarot said, while Rajin waited for the girl to step out.

Jirot smiled, though it was a smile Jarot had only ever seen in another context. “I sleeping with Daddy…”

‘Is she…’ Jarot thought, feeling his heart stir slightly. He wanted to take her, but the nervous smile upon the girl’s lips caused a deeper wound than any blade he had felt before. “Okay.”

Rajin glanced towards Jarot, who watched the squealing girl rush up to her father, embracing him tight.

“Will you take it from her?”

“I will assign Uwajin nearby,” Rajin replied.

Jirot clutched at her father’s shirt tightly in hand, sucking her thumb lightly. She kept glancing to the side in the darkness to see whether her father was still there. Her father continued to pretend to be asleep, not wanting her to take the opportunity to speak when their eyes met. He heard her breath begin to fall into a gentle rhythm, but her hand refused to let up. Even little Jarot did not grip his father so tightly.

‘Damn it! Aren’t my kids too cute?’

Rajin walked around the courtyard, letting out a soft sigh. ‘If this is how much trouble the Mad Dog is causing, then it will be fine.’