The knock is so timid it barely qualifies as sound.
Then the door creaks open and in steps... him.
The stable boy.
Broad-shouldered. Thick-armed. Hair tousled like he lost a fight with a haystack and came out looking adorable. He holds his cap in both hands like it's a talisman, and his eyes are wide in the way only a truly overwhelmed man can manage.
"Uh… I was told to report to the—uh—bridal suite?" he says. "Something about... service?"
The merchant's daughter, curled on a divan like modesty incarnate, lifts her eyes and smiles sweetly. "Yes. We're so very grateful you could come."
He looks around nervously, clearly not finding what he expected. "Am I here to deliver somethin'? Or muck somethin'? Or…?"
"You're here to fill something," I say, stretching like a cat across the silken sheets, my ankle chain catching the candlelight.
He blinks. "I'm—wait. What?"
The daughter sits up straighter, her tone suddenly full of delicate diplomacy. "You see, there's a certain… duty. We require a contribution. A favor. A very special kind of legacy assistance."
He stares at her like she's speaking bird.
I roll my eyes. "She means you're here to knock us up."
The boy nearly drops his cap. "Me? Both of you?"
"At least her," I gesture to the daughter. "But hey, if you've got the stamina, I'm not exactly going to die of shock."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. "I—uh—I ain't never—uh—well I have, but not—" He swallows. "I don't know if I can do that. Like… properly. For noble purposes."
The merchant's daughter, ever composed, glances at me. "Are you sure this is the man you've chosen for the task?"
I give her a lazy grin and gesture at the boy like I'm auctioning livestock. "Look at him. Strong arms. Broad chest. That jawline could plough a field. And more importantly—"
"He's cute," she says flatly.
"He's adorably cute," I correct. "And suitably dumb. Which means he won't panic and overthink it. Exactly what you want in a breeding stud."
She sighs. "I was hoping for someone with intelligence. Grace. Perhaps nobility."
I scoff. "What for? You want the baby to compose poetry, or lift carts without complaining?"
She frowns. "And I asked for ginger hair."
I throw my hands up. "Where exactly do you expect me to find a ginger stud on short notice? This is a wedding chamber, not a brothel bazaar."
The stable boy raises a shaky hand. "Um… my beard goes kind of red in the sun."
We both turn.
He rubs his chin. There's a vague hint of auburn hiding in the scruff.
I raise a brow. "That count?"
The daughter inspects him like she's judging horseflesh. "Hmm. Close enough."
Saya: 1. Bloodline snobbery: 0.
I pat the bed. "Come on, sunshine. Time to earn your hay."
He gulps. "Do I… need to do anything… specific?"
The daughter gestures demurely to her robe. "We'll guide you gently."
I grin. "Or not so gently. Depends on your performance."
He steps forward like a man walking into his own execution… but also maybe heaven.
Behind him, the door clicks shut.
Two eager brides.
One very, very confused himbo.
And one future baby who's going to grow up hearing the weirdest conception story in the kingdom.