“Hey Orlin, how goes the contract?”

  The dwarven king, surrounded by his engineers animatedly discussing their most recent project being carefully assembled before them, spun around, eyes going comically wide in surprise.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” The king huffed, the lone pair of honor guard beside him turning to glare a smirking Eric’s way.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Eric quipped before his eyes widened with admiration at the marvel before him. A massive steam locomotive that a couple of engineers were putting the finishing touches on, the chassis painted a bright olive green highlighted and riveted with a shimmering bronze alloy that Eric had no doubt was far stronger than pre-apocalypse steel, all of it polished to a mirror finish

  “That looks fucking epic! You and your clan do fantastic work, Orlin!”

  The scowling king puffed up with pride. “You’re damn right we do. This here’s a masterwork of dwarven engineering. Even if the Class A4’s are a bit more streamlined… this beauty is a fantastic starting point to your rail line empire!”

  Eric’s eyes flashed. “Flying Scotsman crushes the A4, Orlin. Absolutely crushes it.”

  This earned a snort from one of the engineers. “That’s absurd. The A4’s higher boiler pressure capacity and improved firebox are just a few of the enhancements that let’s A4s—” The dwarf’s voice broke off in a fit of coughing, the engineer paling before Eric’s cool gaze. “That is… I’m sure a little bit of elbow grease and midnight ale and we’ll figure out a way to bring all the A4’s engineering strengths to the Scotsman. Don’t worry, Your Grace. We’ll keep the Scotsman on wings that will soar above all others!”

  Eric cracked a tight smile. “That’s what I want to hear. This is our world, and we’re going to keep steam classy til the very end.”

  Orlin glared. “No one gets to bully my engineers except me!”

  Eric, not being a complete goober, immediately dipped his head. “Of course, Orlin.”

  The dwarf snorted, turning to glare at his engineers. “Boy’s right. We keep Scotsman top notch! We want points and engineering boosts for style? We damn well better make it work! - Glib and Stretch, now that we’re all fully awake and embracing the moment, get the blueprints for the A4. Let’s see just how streamlined we can make our boy’s steam circuit. By the time we’re through, we’ll blow all the old earth speed records in the fucking dust for anything and everything related to steam! You don’t think we can? I got a dozen golems that says otherwise, so let’s get to work!”

  “Sir, yes sir!” The engineers immediately saluted before dashing off to do just that, save for the one that Eric grabbed by the back of his coveralls.

  Orlin scowled. “Eric…”

  Eric cleared his throat. “Apologies, Orlin. I actually came by to thank this wonderful engineer that I’m happy to see is no longer stuck in artillery!”

  The frightened looking dwarf immediately beamed. “Oh, you’re the one I dreamed giving those prototype cannon shells to! Only, I guess it wasn’t a dream?”

  Eric solemnly shook his head, gently putting the dwarf down and patting his head to the harrumph of Orlin. “No, my dear dwarven friend, it was not.” He bent down, favoring the flustered-looking engineer with his brightest smile. “I don’t suppose you have any of those beautiful balls left?”

  The dwarf blinked. “Why, yes. I thought… but yes, of course I do! I have dozens left!”

  Orlin snorted, arms crossed as he favored the engineer with a cold eye. “You mean our engineer whose woefully unsuited for blueprint design…”

  “But my metallurgical skills are top notch. You said so yourself!”

  “—actually designed something useful?”

  Eric winked. “3 and a half inches, and dense enough for me to smash out Song’s teeth.” His smile grew. “Even with all 5 of his Ranks of Dominion. Fucker might have infused his skin and bones, but sure as fuck he cut corners with his ugly ass teeth.”

  Orlin blinked at those words before roaring with laughter. “Oh, the look on Song’s face. I can only fucking imagine!”

  “Grim actually has the whole fight recorded on his globe.”

  “His necromantic artifact that I am culturally opposed to, so shall instead refer to it instead as an arcane projector?”

  “The very one,” Eric assured.

  The dwarven king’s eyes twinkled. “I guess I’m going to have a chat with good old Grin. Can’t tell you how much I want to see that asshole’s final moments at a speed I can actually appreciate. And if I can actually get a recording... Ha!” He gave a satisfied nod. “Alright, minion—”

  “Your Grace, you know my name! It’s—”

  “Give our wonderful Arcadian prince here his balls!”

  The engineer gave a defeated sigh. “At once, Your Grace.”

  Orlin traded a wink with a smirking Eric.

  “I know it’s in poor taste, but I just love fucking with that guy.” Orlin sighed fondly. “His metallurgy is top notch, though.”

  “Damn right it is. Helped me knock the sneer right off Song’s asshole face!”

  “And I’ll be charging you a 30% upgrade on all future locomotive purchases where we’ll keep that iconic industrial age train engine chassis you so clearly love, but upgrade the fuck out of the innards, and the A4 is a great place to start.”

  Eric laughed. “I do love your sense of humor.”

  The dwarf scowled. “Eric…”

  “Twenty percent upgrade. And of course, that’s with my dear banking partner Caliban, head of the Terran Chapter of Blue Corp, giving your accounting ledgers a quick once-over, just to see if there’s anything we can also help with, on our end.”

  Eric’s eyes positively twinkled at Orlin’s poleaxed look. “No worries, my friend. I’ll leave the train-building particulars to your crew. Your engineers have that mastered, hands down. So let Caliban and I handle the accounting and requisition costs!” Eric snapped his fingers, expression instantly brightening before the dwarf’s dismayed countenance. “Oh wait, that’s right! You can get most of the ores for free, from those mines I gave you exclusive access to, right?” Eric rubbed his hands together. “Oh, I think we’ve got a wonderful alliance going here, my friend. Who knows how steep we can cut those annoying—”

  “Ten percent premium if I can increase your speed by 20% or more!”

  “Done,” Eric said, offering his hand.

  The king took it, clearing his throat. “And no need to worry about the ledgers. I’ll make sure my boys double check some of their um… you know how excited engineers get when starting new projects!”

  Eric grinned. “I have no doubt. And there are my tungsten osmium carbide balls. Fan-fucking-tastic. Thanks, Orlin!”

  The king flashed Eric a positively sickly smile. “Don’t worry about it. Enjoy them. They’re on the house.”

  Eric winked, before whispering to the defeated looking engineer who was huffing and puffing despite his rather bulky frame, beside the reinforced wheeled tray that was now lighter by some five hundred pounds.

  “Don’t worry, Orlin’s just messing. He told me personally that you’re top tier. He just doesn’t want the other boys to get jealous.”

  The despondent engineer immediately brightened. “Really? That’s…” He saluted his flummoxed-looking king. “I live to serve, sir!”

  “Of course you do,” Orlin sighed upon Eric’s exit.

  ***

  The metallurgist positively beamed, gazing in the direction he could only guess Eric had vanished off to. “What an absolutely charming young man. When do you think he’ll be back to grace us with his presence? Do you think I should make some more balls for him?”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The king huffed, long mustaches fluttering in his own gust. “Hopefully not for a long, long time. But yes. Make that savage as many tungsten alloy balls as you like! The denser and stronger they are, the better. Whatever keeps that boy happy and out of my hair. And while you do that, me and the boys have another dozen trains to build, and we still haven’t figured out the perfect specs!”

  With a panicked look in his eyes, he roared for his engineers to attend him, a dozen frantic looking dwarves immediately picking up on the king’s worry, now determined to do whatever they could to impress the prince that could so easily destroy them all.

  Or cut their funding.

  All of them now so distracted that they completely missed the forlorn countenance of a certain princess, blinking back an unwanted sting in her eyes, wondering why a certain ghost from her past hadn’t at least stopped by to say hi.

  ***

  “Chieftain Big Think! The elf is here!”

  The green skinned woman frowned at her reflection in the mirror, glaring at her mithril hauberk with a critical eye. It had been more trouble than she cared to admit, earning the rights to it, considering that none of the big bastards in Black Fang or Wolf Tusks’ tribes could use it as anything more than a vambrace. On her own frame, however…”

  She gave a pleased nod. It was a tight fit, but that just made her assets all the more evident.

  Her eyes crinkled with satisfaction when their obviously impatient guest appeared as if my magic by the doorway of her fur-lined palisade.

  She flashed a smile that would have gotten her squealed at or outright challenged by the orcs of any other tribes staking a claim upon this newly ascending world. All the more so, if she dared show it to an alpha.

  But that was okay, she reasoned, as she turned to catch the young half-blood’s gaze.

  It wasn’t orc game that she was after.

  “Eric Silver. Contender and Champion in the flesh.” She flowed into a curtsy, leaving little to the imagination. “This one is honored to meet her conqueror in the flesh.

  The boy… because he really did look almost boyish with such perfect skin, despite his appealing jawline and hypnotic jewel-like irises, was gazing at her in stunned disbelief.

  Good.

  “Fucking no way. A genuine muscle mommy? But I thought…” He flushed, shaking his head. “Apologies. That was… inappropriate for a negotiation.”

  Her smile, however, only grew. “Muscle mommy? That sounds like a… compliment then?”

  The boy flashed a charming, silly grim. “It’s not exactly PC… is that even a thing anymore? But yeah, actually it’s a major compliment, Chieftain Big Think.”

  “Please, call me Rosy.”

  He blinked. “Rosy then, sure.”

  “So. Muscle mommy… she strutted toward him, surprised and pleased to find that she was several inches taller than him. “Is that because you like my muscles?”

  The boy laughed… nervous laughter from a Contender who could kill her with a single squeeze of his fist? She smirked. How odd. But still, with the way his pupils were dilating...

  She bit her own very elven looking lip, clenching her muscles expertly, tightening her belly as her mithril mail slid off her frame, revealing a sleekly oiled and well defined Sylvan body with curves in what her mother assured were all the right places… and nothing else.

  The boy’s eyes bulged when certain assets popped free.

  Her grin widened. “Or is it because you admire how nurturing a mother I will be to my future children?”

  The youth swallowed. “Um, yeah. We could go with that.”

  She gave a husky chuckle, eyes twinkling. “I’m glad you approve of me.” She strutted into his space, her delicate nostrils in a pert little nose that was the farthest thing from the typical orcish proboscis—a cute little Sylvan nose that had been the butt of so many orcish jokes—flared as she caught his exquisite scent.

  In that moment, she was grateful for every put down and challenge she had ever endured, for the look in young Eric Silver’s eyes was anything but disgust.

  “You reek of power and virility and so very many tasty things, Eric Silver.”

  He smirked at that.

  She pressed him close to her, enjoying the feel of his powerful frame against his own.

  “I have a proposal for you,” she whispered into his ear.

  “What’s that?” He murmured from between her breasts.

  “I control over two dozen artillery battalions, well versed in 12 and 24-pounder warfare as well as far more sophisticated artillery, should certain strictures be lifted.”

  Eric swallowed. “I could certainly use a good artillery division.”

  “And I could use a potent lover.”

  The youth blinked. “Sorry?”

  She snorted. “Room and board, of course. Some silver for my soldiers. But most of us came here looking for something besides levels, revels, and slaughter.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Powerful mates. Healthy children. The right to call our offspring something besides orc mixed-blood bastards.”

  Eric blinked, cheeks flushing with unexpected shame. “I’m sorry.”

  She snorted. “Why? You’ve done nothing to me, save honor me with your presence. Now take off your clothes and let me show you just what this ‘muscle mommy’ has to offer her hopeful hero.”

  He flushed. “Um…”

  She whispered in his ear. “I’ll bet I have more Sylvan blood in my veins than you. So no matter what the counsel demands of me… you’re free to call me whatever you like.”

  The boy flashed a surprisingly gentle smile. “My beautiful Sylvan muscle mommy?”

  She chuckled throatily. “That works for me, you gloriously powerful Contender. Now take off that stupid shirt and let me show you just how strong this muscle mommy truly is in your arms.”

  She shuddered at the sudden flare of heat she saw in his eyes.

  Momentarily stiffening as a jolt of terror tore through her growing lust… shaken with the realization that she truly was playing with fire. That this wild oath-sworn elf that could so easily kill her now had her utterly at his mercy, and she had been stupid enough to walk right into his—

  Her words cut off when soft lips claimed her own, suddenly wrapped up in arms that could shatter her like glass… before his grip became so tender.

  “Rosy… are you sure—”

  Tender eyes looked so deeply into her own as she pivoted her hips and claimed him, cutting off his stupid doubts as her world became one of fiercest ecstasy and claiming the strongest mate she could possibly dream of… even if for the span of only a single hour.

  It was an hour she wouldn’t surrender for all the gold in her mother’s hoard.

  She didn’t know why she was trembling at the end of their wondrous dance when he wrapped her in furs, kissed her tear-stained cheek, stroked her hair.

  “Thank you, Rosy.” She heard him sigh, before chuckling softly, still stroking hair so like her mother’s as her chest filled with an ache she hadn’t been expecting.

  “Now, what the hell do I do about all these loose ends?”

  She smirked at that. “What ends are those?”

  He sighed. “You know.”

  She gently clasped his hand with her own. “You mean all the other orc tribes?” She swallowed. “My tribes?”

  “But are you really? You look like a beautiful muscle mommy of an elf, and a girl I’d have no problem at all, claiming as my own.”

  She snorted. “Don’t even pretend you’d settle down with me and raise two dozen kids by my side. No way in hell you’re stopping now, Contender. I can taste the fire burning so fiercely in your soul.”

  The grand tent filled with his laughter. “Maybe so, but still.”

  “You’re welcome any time you want to claim me,” she whispered, blinking back salty tears when his lips claimed her own once more.

  “You know I will, beautiful. But what about…”

  She sighed. “I can only speak for my own tribe, Eric Silver. No one else’s. But us mixed-bloods? Yeah. We’d like to stay and… what’s the word? Integrate.” She grinned, stroking his too handsome features with her emerald green fingertips. “And we make a damn fine artillery company as well.”

  Eric dipped his head, whispering in her ear before kissing her cheek. “Considering that a certain oath was already fulfilled and I’m technically free to walk another path now… I’ll offer any orcs I encounter a chance to surrender this time around, Rosy. For you.”

  She swallowed. “Thank you, but… no. Just, thank you.”

  He looked on the verge of saying something deep and profound but instead kissed her fiercely before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

  Rosy took a shuddering breath, closed her eyes, and held herself tightly, recalling so viscerally the look in her lover’s eyes when he peaked in her arms. The look of adoration… and she dared to dream for a time of what it would be like if a wild, beautiful boy like that really would settle down with a girl like her and raise two dozen beautiful children by her side.

  She rubbed her belly with a hopeful smile. “With any luck, I’ll at least have two, even if we never cross paths again.”

  Her sensitive and very Sylvan ears picked up the noise of her artillery company, now daring to come back to life after a certain Silver-tier peril had left. The orcish squeals and grunts and Sylvan laughter that was her people soon washed over her in a soothing wave of noise and she couldn’t help but smile with relief when her interface popped up with a message making it clear that, in New York Duchy, at least, she and her people were welcome to stay with no need to endure any further battles or witness any further bloodshed. She and her tribe were welcome to stay with no strings attached at all. And what looked like access to an entire kingdom’s worth of shockingly fertile land all but begging for anyone with a farming, horticultural, or an animal husbandry profession to make full use of.

  She wondered if growing roses with her mother would count?”

  Her lips curved in a surprised smile when a fresh blinking interface message made it clear that yes, it most definitely would, even if she kept her adventuring class.

  She could even change her profession right this instant and keep all her previous skills and knowledge, with no penalties at all.

  So she did.

  “Well, I guess it’s the farming life for us, then.” She said after the unexpected golden glow left her. Rosy took a deep breath, surprised by the lightness she suddenly felt over her heart.

  “Good. I think we could all use a fresh start. I was getting tired of killing people anyway.”