Chapter 952: Throat Goat
Lucille’s expression was a cocktail of playful confidence and absolute embarrassment. She was trying to act like it didn’t affect her, but her flushed cheeks and pursed lips betrayed the truth.
“Well?” she said, crossing her arms beneath her chest, the choker jingling again. “Are you gonna say anything?”
Quinlan took a moment to answer. He stared. Slowly. Carefully.
And then he exhaled a long breath. “…I need to sit down.”
Lucille grinned, her embarrassment melting into confidence. “You’ll be lying down soon enough, don’t worry.”
She licked her lips and added, “Now that I’ve embraced the title, I fully intend to live up to it. You won’t leave my touch until you’re a dried-up husk with absolutely no fluids stored inside your body, Quin…”
Quinlan was in danger again. Loving. Ridiculous. Absolutely perfect danger.
But he wasn’t one to back down from a fight.
“I am more than up for the challenge, Miss Goat,” Quinlan replied with a devilish grin as he reached forward and flicked the little golden bell on Lucille’s choker.
*Jingle-jingle.*
Lucille giggled, the heat in her cheeks intensifying.
He laughed alongside his awesome woman.
But his amusement soon gave way to puzzled intrigue as his gaze moved to the next girl in line.
And he stopped.
There, standing with both hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, was none other than…
Blossom.
And Blossom… was dressed as a catgirl.
It was impossible to process quickly. Quinlan had to blink. Five times.
The Dogkin rogue, the utterly adorable soul companion who fought beside him through everything, now stood proudly—well, semi-proudly—in an awkwardly adorable black catgirl outfit. Fluffy black ears, a twitching frilly tail, and a heart-shaped collar that said:
“MEOW!”
Her chest was hugged by a tight top with a lace-up front, and her legs were bare save for the thigh-high stockings and a ridiculous pair of paw-shaped gloves that made her hands look twice their size.
Quinlan stared.
“…Blossom. What the fuck is going on.”
The dogkin flushed redder than a tomato, ears twitching, tail wagging slightly behind the cat one.
“B-Blossom was told…” she began, shifting her paws together bashfully, “… that Master would find it hot. And adorable. And sexy. A-A sharp contrast! They said it’d make Blossom irresistible!”
“So… you’re roleplaying a cat.”
“Blossom’s a catkin! Not a cat… but yes…” she squeaked.
Then she hesitated.
There was a war inside her soul.
Her fluffy dog ears twitched.
Her tail wagged once… then twice…
And then she lowered her head toward his hand out of pure instinct, tail swishing happily with the expectation of getting showered in pats.
Quinlan chuckled, already reaching to stroke her hair…
Only for Blossom to suddenly jerk upright, gasp, and force herself into a straight posture. She turned her nose up like a haughty feline, walked away in a dramatic strut, all the while swaying her hips like a sultry temptress.
Quinlan raised a brow. He couldn’t believe what his eyes were showing him.
“… Are you giving me an attitude right now? You?”
He reached forward without warning, fingers catching the swaying fake cat tail… and the real fluffy one.
And yanked it.
“Yip!”
The sound that left Blossom’s mouth was a high-pitched, adorable yelp, and her legs nearly buckled from the surprise tug. She whirled around, eyes wide and glimmering with shocked tears.
“M-Master, Blossom is not a bad girl… She-she just…”
But then, with an audible sniff, she caught herself.
Right. She had a role to play.
She clenched her fists (or paws), puffed out her large chest, narrowed her eyes, and gave the most pitiful attempt at a displeased cat face anyone had ever seen.
“…Meow!” she grumbled with zero menace.
Quinlan choked on a laugh.
Many girls howled in the back.
That was until his gaze shifted, drawn by gravity.
There, standing beneath the silver moonlight with an ethereal glow, was Seraphiel.
She didn’t speak immediately.
She didn’t need to.
Her very presence demanded attention.
She wore a reinvented noble elven dress, rich in detail, the silky fabric a mixture of black and ancient forest green. A plunging neckline framed the gorgeous swell of her chest with tasteful boldness, while a long slit revealed the toned leg of a trained healer-warrior. At her waist, delicate silver chains hung. Ornamental, symbolic, no longer binding.
Once meant to enslave.
Now chosen freely.
She stood with poise, elegance in every motion, her long blonde hair cascading behind her.
The elven woman gave him a soft smile, and only then did she finally speak, voice gentle and clear, no trace of cheekiness this time.
“I used to wear chains.”
She held his gaze as her fingers brushed over the silver ones now at her waist.
“When you bought me, I was wearing that ridiculous belly dancer outfit, a fabric solely meant to make men drool and potential masters overspend at the simple opportunity of owning me. I hated it. Hated that my price tag was tied to how much flesh I showed… how I was but a pretty object.”
A brief pause came. Her voice dipped, and for once, there was no mischief in her eyes. Only sincerity. “But then you came for me. Not for how I danced, or how much of my body I exposed…”
She stepped forward, hips swaying with natural, elven royal grace.
“From the moment you bought me, you never treated me like a slave you owned. You gave me a home. A purpose. A place where I could become more than I ever was before being caught and enslaved. I was not bought to serve, but to stand by your side. You dressed me not like property… but as a precious partner who deserved to be cared for.”
Seraphiel gave him a bright, loving smile. “So, I wanted to greet you tonight not as your cheeky elf who happily shakes her little butt in your presence and jokes around freely… but as the woman who I’ve been able to become thanks to you, Quinlan.”
She spun slowly once under the moonlight, letting the fabric flare and settle.
Her smile softened further. “This dress… is for you. For what we’ve built. From sex slave silks to royal cloth, from chains I never wanted to ones I now wear by choice. I just hope,” she added, voice growing quiet now, “it does justice to our journey.”
Quinlan swallowed.
There were no words for a moment. Just the feeling swelling in his chest, that quiet, stunned kind of awe that always came when his girls reminded him how deeply they trusted him… how much they’d grown with him… how deeply he loved them down to their smallest details.
“…You’re beyond breathtaking,” he finally managed to mutter, not aware how stunning his elven lover would be in traditional royal elven gowns.
Seraphiel blinked, then she smiled genuinely. The same mischief returned to her eyes.
“Don’t get all sappy on me now… We’ve still got a major battle to fight tonight.”
But even as she said it, she took his hand and pressed it to her waist—over the symbolic chains—letting him feel the truth behind them.
Devotion. Willing and absolute.
Love.
And pride.
She didn’t just belong to him anymore. She had chosen to be his.
Quinlan stood there, soaking in her presence.
Until his attention was caught once again… by a familiar, deliberate clicking of geta sandals.
And there, on the next step of the rooftop path, stood Ayame.
Awaiting her moment.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter