"To your health, Border Lord!" Sira bellowed from atop a stacked wooden ale cask, hoisting her foaming tankard so high the brew sloshed over her knuckles.

"Trench-breaker! King of the bloody surf!"

Hundreds of Elven throats caught the chant, pounding their brass hilts against the courtyard flagstones.

"YEAH!"

Firlia stood right beside Sira, thoroughly red-faced, attempting to balance a captured Menual officer’s helmet on the tip of her longbow while cheering at the top of her lungs.

Standing on her elevated platinum dais, Queen Sylva offered a strained, exceptionally polite smile, holding out a cushion pinned with three star-shaped war medals.

Kane didn’t even slow his stride.

Bypassing the royal palms entirely, he scooped up the physical cedar chest of fifty thousand gold coins from the side table and tucked it securely under his right bicep.

’They want to treat me like a polite, civilized savior,’ Kane thought, his skin itching from crusted sea salt.

’I haven’t eaten a real meal in forty-eight hours, and my two women look just as starved as I am. The high-borns can pin medals on each other.’

Reaching out with his free hand, his fingers hooked straight into Thora’s leather belt while his left thumb caught Seraphine’s unbuckled shoulder harness.

"Up," Kane rumbled.

"You are ignoring a reigning chief," Seraphine whispered beneath her breath, though her foot obediently matched his rapid pace up the spiraling stone stairs.

"I figure her treasury speaks much louder than her speeches," Kane countered, taking the steps two at a time.

"Walk faster."

"He’s just feral today, paladin," Thora laughed, her blonde braid swaying as she let herself be dragged along.

"Look at his shoulders. If we don’t put him in a room soon, he’s going to start eating the flagstones."

Iron door bolts scraped shut, sealing the grand royal suite away from the courtyard roar.

Boots hit the floorboards first.

Thora kicked her crusted footwear across the woven rugs, while Seraphine unfastened her remaining silver greaves, letting the metal hit the stone with a ringing clatter.

Setting the gold chest onto a mahogany sideboard, Kane popped the green wax seal off a tall bottle of Elven spiced vintage Queen Sylva had staged by the hearth.

Before his lips could even test the rim, Thora stepped inside his guard and snatched the glass straight from his grip.

Turning her hip toward Seraphine, the warrior offered a slow smirk.

Thora didn’t reach for a goblet.

Instead, she tilted the bottle directly over Seraphine’s bare collarbone, letting a steady, golden stream of cool vintage splash over the pale skin, pooling in the dip between her heaving breasts before trickling down her toned stomach.

Seraphine gasped, her muscles locking instantly, but she refused to scramble backward out of the spill.

"You fight like a wolf on the deckboards, First Blade," Thora purred, her hazel eyes dancing with grounded amusement as she tracked the traveling wine.

"Let us see if you actually know how to celebrate like one."

Silver irises locked dead onto Kane as a fierce, feverish flush reclaimed Seraphine’s chest.

"I figure you talk too much, Thora," Seraphine countered breathlessly, her fingers twitching at her sides.

"Are you going to waste the Queen’s vintage, or are you going to help him drink it?"

"Oh, I’m drinking," Thora laughed.

Kane didn’t pick a side.

Catching both of them by their waists, he fell back onto the plush cushions of the grand mattress, dragging their warm, salt-tasting weight down with him.

He leaned in instantly, his tongue capturing the cool spiced wine right off Seraphine’s burning sternum, lapping the sweet alcohol upward until a broken whimper tore out of her throat.

At the same time, his large palms drifted down to cup Thora’s bare hips, hauling her solid frame directly over his lap.

’That is the setup right there,’ Kane felt his gladiator pulse hammer into overdrive.

’No polite manners left. Just my foundation and my sword.’

Thora leaned across his chest, capturing Seraphine’s parted lips in a wet kiss that shared the sharp bite of the vintage, shattering whatever lingering courtly awkwardness sat between the two women.

Seraphine’s fingers tangled wildly into Thora’s braid before dropping down to grip Kane’s bare tattooed shoulders.

Taking total command of the tempo, Kane rolled his hips upward, catching Thora in a deep, highly grounded rhythm while his mouth reclaimed Seraphine’s wet neck.

"Hold still," Kane rumbled against the paladin’s pulse point, his teeth grazing her skin just hard enough to make her arch into the mattress.

"I’m not spilling a single drop of this."

"Kane—please—" Seraphine choked out, her decades of suffocating holy discipline snapping like dry kindling beneath the uncompromising, dominant pace he set.

"Tell her who owns the house, Chief," Thora laughed, her own breathing turning ragged as she rode his thighs, her hands sliding down his chest to anchor herself against his motion.

"Put your back into it."

Shifting his grip from Seraphine’s waist, Kane reached up and caught Thora by the back of her neck, pulling her down to meet his lips.

He kissed her with unhurried, deeply devoted gratitude, giving her the unshakeable certainty that she was his true North.

"You do," Kane murmured against Thora’s mouth, his thumb stroking her cheek warmly amidst the feverish friction of the bed.

"You always do."

"Damn right," Thora whispered, catching his lower lip in her teeth.

There was no more talking after that, only the wild vocal sound of three survivors claiming their victory, drowning out the distant Elven empire with their own unyielding lust.

Kane didn’t wait for more words.

He surged upward, flipping Seraphine onto her back beneath him with effortless strength.

Her silver hair spilled across the sheets, her toned body arching instinctively as he settled between her thighs.

Thora shifted to the side, her busty frame pressing close, black hair cascading over her shoulders as she watched with heated hazel eyes.

He captured one of Seraphine’s full breasts in his large hand, squeezing the soft, pale mound before lowering his mouth to it.

His lips sealed around the stiff peak, sucking hard and deep, tongue swirling over the sensitive nipple.

"Nngh!"

Seraphine gasped sharply, her back bowing off the mattress as pleasure shot through her.

Kane’s red hair brushed her skin while he feasted, drawing the breast deeper into his mouth with pulls that made her tremble.

His free hand kneaded the other breast, thumb flicking the nipple until both peaks were swollen and glistening.