Viktor walked out of the main bedroom, his body still humming with energy despite the hours of brutal sex. He moved toward the adjacent room—the one where Kaida should have been sleeping.

Empty.

The bed was wrinkled and left just like that, indicating she'd moved far from the bedroom just recently.

Viktor chuckled, a low sound in his throat. "Did she run away?"

The thought was amusing. Where could she run esrly this morning? Of course, they most probably left her clothes in the garden last night.

"Pfft." He chuckled, imagining his strong wife's cuteness as she must have run like that through the manor.

Still, after last night—after the way he'd ravaged Helena while Kaida most probably would have atleast listened to every scream through the walls—he needed to give her some attention too. Balance was important.

He turned, deciding to find her.

And he walked through the hallway just like that.

Completely naked.

His cock was firm, swollen, erect like a dragon's spear—eight thick inches pointing forward with aggressive intent. His balls hung heavy and tight, already refilled with seed. The veins along his shaft pulsed visibly.

He didn't care. This was his manor. His wives. His rules.

His bare feet made soft sounds on the stone floor as he moved down the corridor. The pre-dawn light filtered through cracked windows, painting everything in shades of gray and blue.

He reached the staircase and paused.

A light was coming from one of the side rooms—the old study, a small chamber that had been buried under dust when they first arrived.

'Who could be there?'

Viktor moved toward it, curious.

He pushed the door open slightly, peeking inside.

And all the lust—all that burning, incubus-fueled desire—simply evaporated.

His eyes softened. The dense, opaque blackness of his pupils lightened, becoming human again.

Mira was seated at a wooden table, papers scattered around her. Candles burned low, their wax pooled on the desk—evidence they'd been lit for hours. Some had already burned out completely, their wicks drowned in melted tallow.

She'd been awake all night.

Right now, she was slumped over the table, asleep. Her green eyes were closed, breathing deep and steady. Her dark hair fell across her face, tangled and messy. One hand still clutched a quill, the other resting on a half-written document.

Viktor looked around. Toby was absent—clearly with Bella in one of the lower floor rooms where the noise wouldn't reach him.

He stepped inside quietly, his cock softening as tenderness replaced lust.

He leaned down, brushing her hair aside, and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

Mira's eyes fluttered open. She blinked sleepily, rubbing them with the back of her hand. "Wh-what happened, husband? Are you not asleep?"

Her voice was hoarse, rough from exhaustion.

Viktor chuckled, pulling a chair beside her and sitting down. "Why would I be? Helena kept me awake all night."

He said it casually, knowing Mira would understand the implication.

And as expected, she nodded knowingly, her green eyes clearing as awareness returned. Then her gaze shifted—down to the papers spread across the desk.

Viktor followed her line of sight. His cock was going limp now, softening completely as he settled into the chair. He reached over, picking up one of the documents.

"What is this?" he asked.

Mira straightened slightly, trying to shake off the sleep. "Tax collection... and rules for governance. I was trying to rewrite the old system. Make it fairer."

Viktor scanned the page. It was rough—handwriting shaky from exhaustion, some words crossed out and rewritten. But the intent was clear.

"The villages are so poor," he said thoughtfully. "They might not be able to afford any taxes at all."

Mira nodded. "That's why I thought... what if we gave them salaries? Take their labor, make them spend money on goods they need, and tax those goods instead of their income. Or—" She pointed to another page, more animated now. "—we could give tax exemptions. If someone is educated or skilled, they don't have to pay. We open schools, teach them trades. Anyone with skills can visit the manor, demonstrate what they can do, and get a tax cut."

Viktor's lips curved into a slight smile. He reached out, his thumb gently rubbing her eyebrow—a tender, affectionate gesture.

"That's clever," he murmured.

He took her hand, pulling her gently. Mira stood, then sat on his lap without hesitation. Her thick ass settled onto his thighs, and immediately she felt it—his cock hardening again beneath her.

She blinked in surprise, twisting slightly to look at him. "Even after all those sounds... going all night... you're still good to go, husband?"

Viktor smiled, leaning close. Both his hands wrapped around her waist, holding the document she'd been working on.

"Anything for my wives," he said softly. "But you shouldn't be doing so much effort with taxation."

Mira frowned. "Why not?"

"Because the major issue is..." Viktor's voice was gentle but blunt. "We don't have a workforce to collect any of it."

"Eh?"

Mira blinked. Then slowly, realization dawned on her face.

Her mouth dropped open. Her head fell forward, resting against his shoulder in defeat.

"Waaah?! Wait, no... I forgot that!?"

She was genuinely shocked. All her efforts—all those hours awake, pouring over documents, burning candles, aching fingers—had been for nothing. They didn't even have the manpower to implement any of it.

She shook her head, burying her face in his chest. "I'm such an idiot..."

Viktor's hand moved to her hair, stroking it gently. "You're not an idiot. You're trying to help."

Mira's green eyes peeked up at him. She noticed the marks on his chest—red scratches from Helena's nails, dark hickeys littering his neck and shoulders. Her fingers traced one of the nail marks lightly.

"Helena really left her marks," she murmured.

Viktor glanced down at the reports again. The format was wrong. Completely novice-level preparation. Mistakes everywhere—crossed-out lines, ink splotches, uneven handwriting.

But then his gaze shifted to the candles—burned down to nothing—and the dried ink staining her fingers.

'She pushed herself to her limit. For me.'

His face softened. A pang of guilt hit him.

'I left one wife doing all this hard work while I was busy eating the other.'

He felt embarrassed. Ashamed, even.

Until he felt Mira's nose rubbing against his neck. Her breath was warm, her tongue flicking out to lick the salty sweat from his skin.

"Will I not be rewarded for my efforts?" she whispered, voice low and teasing. "Or since it's useless... you will choose other wives over me?"

Viktor's eyes widened in surprise.

He realized it then. Just like Helena—though not possessively showing it—Mira also had this doubt. This fear of abandonment. Of being replaced.

He let her retreat slightly, meeting her gaze. His expression was serious.

"Did you hear Helena?" he asked quietly. "I might destroy your body, Mira."

Mira's fingers moved to the collar of her dress. She parted the fabric slowly, revealing milky white skin—the swell of her breasts peeking through.

Her breath came out in a visible fog in the cool air. Her green eyes were hazy, lips parted.

"This body will not be of your use after a decade," she whispered, her voice trembling with heat. "Shouldn't you eat it now?"

Viktor stared at her.

'Shit.'

"You women will be the death of me."

His hand moved, yanking her dress at the cleavage. The fabric tore slightly, and one massive, sagging breast spilled free. He groped it immediately, the soft flesh overflowing his palm. Her inch-long pink nipple stood erect, begging for attention.

His cock surged to full hardness beneath her ass.

His tail unwrapped from his waist, slithering down toward her lap.

"Aaahnn... H-husband..." Mira moaned, her voice breathless. "You really are being rough on such a good wife."

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