100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids

Chapter 889: Chapter 888- Millbrook Town’s Expansion is Online

Lyssa did not move.

Her hand stayed on the door handle long after the latch had clicked shut behind her. Her eyes moved across the bed the way a person’s eyes move across a carriage accident, unable to stop, unable to settle.

She had heard everything from Elena. Every filthy fragment of it. And she had believed perhaps half, because Elena was a wounded animal and wounded animals exaggerate.

But this was not rumor. This was the professor’s own dormitory, lit by two candles and the moon, and Yuki was impaled on him to the root, frozen mid bounce, her juices shining on his lap, her breasts heaving with each frightened breath.

And the horned girl was pinned beneath his mouth, leaking milk down his chin, her legs wrapped around a tail that was very clearly still inside her.

’He is a pervert. The man who rebuilt the lost history of the continent in one lecture is lying in a puddle of his students’ fluids. It does not fit. It does not fit at all.’

That was the thing scraping at her insides like a burr. It was not the sight of a man fucking a woman. She had seen that. She had been that, more times than she would admit over wine, face down in the prince’s guest quarters while Leo took his pleasure and she performed hers. She was, by her own private accounting, a bitch on a leash, and she had made peace with the arrangement.

But Victor was supposed to be different. The professor. The saint. The possible ancestor returned. He had stood in front of thirty students this morning and commanded a room of royalty with nothing but words. And now the same man lay in candlelight with a mouthful of another woman’s milk, ordering her to lock the door like a landlord collecting rent.

She could not reconcile the two statues. So she stood between them, frozen.

She stepped inside. One step. Then another. Her voice came out smaller than she had rehearsed.

”Professor. I have seen you.”

The sentence made no sense and she knew it the moment it left her. He did not even look up. He released Sophia’s nipple with a slow, wet parting of lips, tugging the teat upward until it sprang back against her chest, and the horned girl moaned softly into the pillow.

”What do you see, Miss Lyssa?”

”I see... a trembling, sir.” Her throat was dry. ”Nothing. I see nothing, professor. I was just here regarding the punishment you mentioned. I just...”

He chuckled. The sound was warm and low and completely at ease, and somehow that was worse than if he had leered.

”Then why did you prepare your pussy for me? Shaved, eaten, and wearing your best underthings.”

Lyssa’s whole body locked.

The bath. The mirror. The hour she had spent before coming here, cursing herself the entire time, telling herself it was simply prudence, simply presentation, simply what any woman would do before visiting a powerful man who had promised her a punishment. She had shaved herself bare, trimmed, groomed, and slid on the lace she saved for the prince’s better moods, and she had genuinely believed, in some snug corner of her skull, that none of it showed.

He had known from the doorway. Perhaps before the doorway.

Her eyes averted to the wall. She stood in the amber light in silence for a long breath, and then, abruptly, she ruffled her hair with both hands, wrecking an hour of arrangement, and let the mask drop with an almost audible crash.

”Don’t you want to fuck me, professor? Just like you are fucking Yuki and that woman.”

She threw it like a gauntlet. Chin up. Daring him.

Yuki made a strangled sound of humiliation on his lap, still unable to climb off, still stretched around him. Victor only tilted his head at the girl by the door, and the corner of his mouth curled.

”To think I would have such low taste.”

Her mouth twitched. ”Don’t say that as if you are not trash yourself, Victor Ktorian. I can see you having your fun with Yuki. The same Yuki who used to bounce on my brother’s cock.”

The crudeness of it, delivered in a noblewoman’s cultured voice, hung in the room. He laughed, genuinely this time, a short bark of delight.

”I like it. I like it.”

”Do...”

”No. I do not have the time tonight. As you can see.” His hand drifted down Sophia’s ribs, proprietary and idle. ”I am about to become a father to my children. Any hour now.”

He snapped his fingers.

Yuki’s head turned. Sophia lifted her horned head from the pillow. Both women looked at him, then at each other, then at him again, and found no explanation on his face at all.

”Let’s go,” he said, and stretched out his hand.

Sophia moved first. She slid off his tail with a wet gasp, stumbled upright on shaking legs, and then clamped herself to his back, arms around his shoulders, her heavy breasts pressing against his spine, her cheek against his hair. Yuki climbed off his lap with a wince and a slow dribble down her thigh, and took his hand without a single word, fingers curling through his.

Lyssa stood apart from them, arms crossed, cheeks burning.

’He just wants to fuck me. Somewhere private. That is all this is. All men are the same, the prince, the professor, the saint, it does not matter what you call them, the apparatus is identical.’

She told herself it was knowledge. It was armor. It was neither. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

The room vanished.

There was no sensation of travel. There was only the dormitory, and then there was wind, and sunlight, and the smell of cut stone and river water.

Lyssa’s heels hit packed earth and she staggered, catching her balance on nothing.

A city spread before her.

Not a town. The word town had clearly died here some months ago and been buried without ceremony. Where a village should have squatted at the kingdom’s edge, a citadel tower rose instead, a vast spiral of dark stone with banners curling from its spires, ringed by three successive walls, each higher than the last, each humming with faintly glowing script. Beyond the walls, rooftops ran to the horizon in tidy districts, brick kilns, forges, granaries, training yards thick with the ring of wooden swords. Roads stitched outward through farmland so new the furrows still looked wet. On the far side of the river, scaffolding clawed at the sky around a fourth wall, half built and already enormous.

A small kingdom. Growing by the day, and growing aggressively, the way a fire grows when it finds a dry field.

At the base of the tower, in a sunlit chamber with its windows thrown open, Mira sat at a writing desk in a nightgown, hair still loose from the night, because the ruler of a rising nation did not answer to clocks.

Documents fanned across the desk. Reports, ledgers, requisitions. In her left hand she held the ink pot steady, and standing on tiptoe beside the desk, gripping its edge with one chubby hand, her son held the pot with her, his little face grave with duty.

Mira glanced down at the ledger, tapped a figure, and smiled as she poked the baby’s cheek. He giggled, a bright bell sound in the serious room.

”No, look here, mother.” His small finger landed on a column. ”The calculation is wrong here. The third caravan paid twice.”