Nyarlea was a cesspit of beasts, monsters, and catgirls clawing at the seams of their thin clothing to mate with him every hour of every day.

Cailu had tried—on more than one occasion—to imagine explaining San Island to his wife and daughter. Detailing the dirty children who sliced the pursestrings of locals and travelers alike. Sketching the rich satins and silks heaped in gratuitous amounts for casual attire while so many went to sleep hungry.

They really have kitty ears, papa? Heiki would ask, mimicking the ears with her two tiny hands. And tails, too?

They really do. He’d look to Fera, flash her a wry smile, and goad her. Though their evening desires aren’t nearly as ravenous as yours.

However, the pretend conversations never progressed much further than a few sentences every time he realized he’d never see their faces again. Never feel Fera’s lips again. Or Heiki’s thin arms around his neck as he swung her in circles.

It was a fact that wounded and emboldened him. Where he’d failed in his last world, he’d triumph in this one.

And so he’d navigated the strange technology that referred to itself as the iPaw, searching for the best fighters in Shulan to aid him through this foreign system of [Level]s and [Experience]. After swallowing his pride and stifling his vows, he coupled with a catgirl. Once Ai, the mysterious voice within the device, made it clear that multiple impregnations would speed his progress, he turned the once-intimate act into another chore on his list. Just one more thing to do to push himself to the top.

Everywhere he went, they treated him like a gift from their goddess. Doting on him with food, drink, and affections. At first, the errant touches and knowing smiles had made his skin crawl. Yet, after a while, something changed. The attention shifted from undesired to expected. Knowing that someone was always at his beck and call was gratifying. Powerful, even.

In one month’s time, he’d mastered the [Fighter] Class, learning and applying the best Party compositions he could with those available. It was Isabelle, the sharp-tongued [Wizard] in his Party who first told him about their need to travel to Nyarlothep. In his studies of what few tomes were available, he knew the Queen of Nyarlea was the one who made the final decisions for each of the islands. For all its differences and oddities, a monarchy was a familiar ache in Cailu’s chest.

After all, it was a prince who had killed him.

Isabelle, Cailu, and their [Conjurer], Sarayi, traveled to Nyarlothep together by way of the merchant ship that docked twice a month at the Port of Meow. The ocean was filled with dangerous groups of Encroachers and a handful of Defiled that offered many lesser-prepared vessels a swift death. Neither species of monster presented more than a minor challenge to the experienced merchants with the help of Cailu’s seasoned outfit. So far, very little had.

After they arrived, Cailu separated from his Party to train beneath a veteran [Templar]. During this time is when the first rumors of Queen Melasia reached his ears.

“This is the first time I’ve seen a man in Nyarlothep since she ascended.”

“She doesn’t have an heir to the throne. Maybe he’s…?”

“What will the city do if we lose her?”

“Maybe she’s scared?”

His conclusion was a simple one: if the queen still needed heirs, the other island’s men were simply not competent enough to cross the sea to Nyarlothep. Cailu hadn’t been invited to the castle, but the reverence the others were treating him with seemed like an invitation all its own.

The thought of stepping into another throne room was daunting, to say the least. Despite the encouragements of his mentor and Party to see the queen, this was much different than socializing amongst the careless girls of his island. With the memories of his first time amongst the elite fresh in his mind, he spent many of his hard-earned Bells on a finely tailored suit. One tended to act more in the role they were meant to play when their costume matched.

Summoning the courage to make his way to the castle took more than every battle he’d experienced in Nyarlea combined. He passed a line of pillars that disappeared into the sky and was halfway up the castle steps when a delicate hand touched his shoulder.

Cailu turned to meet a petite catgirl with hair and eyes the color of lilac. Her ivory skin seemed to shimmer in the sun, and her long, tight-fitting dress was the deep blue of dusk. Glittering gemstones dangled from her ears, throat, and wrists, and her sleeves fell in sheer, loose waves around her arms. She stepped back and clasped her hands at her hips, then bowed.

“Please excuse me for interrupting,” she said.

“If you’re looking for a night at the inn, you will have to wait,” Cailu snapped, the storm of anxious emotions winning over his manners.

She shook her head, “You are here to see the queen, correct?”

Cailu narrowed his eyes. He said nothing and waited.

“I…believe we should speak privately before you proceed.”

“And you are?” Rumors would do him no good. Hearsay only brought one so far in the search for truth.

“My name is Nehalennia. Helena and I are the castle’s stewards.”

Cailu paused, then slowly turned the rest of his body to face her. A steward generally knew the inner workings of an established monarchy more than the King and Queen themselves. If her claim of her station was true, listening to her could only benefit his stance. “Do you have proof?”

Nehalennia bowed again. “Of course, sir. Please, follow me.”

She led him up the stairs to the castle’s grand entrance, then took a sharp turn to the right. They followed the outer wall for a time until she stopped in front of a section that looked no different from any other. Cailu blinked when she pulled a key from a delicate chain around her neck and unlocked a door that was perfectly flush with the exterior—he wouldn’t have seen it otherwise. Once they stepped inside, the castle’s attendants darted out of their way, forging a path down the long, dim hallways of the kitchens and storage rooms. The girls bowed, greeting Nehalennia by name as she returned their pleasantries.

They moved into a furnished hallway with velvet rugs, modest paintings, and improved lighting. Nehalennia used her key to unlock a door at the end before ushering Cailu inside. It was a welcoming bedroom with a soft bed and crackling fire. A table was set with tea for two in the corner, a wooden dresser to its immediate right.

When she closed the door, she turned to Cailu. “Are you satisfied with my proof?”

He nodded, folding his arms behind his back. “I believe you are who you say.”

“Excellent. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to an empty chair at the table, then began to pour the tea. “You have my name. May I have yours?”

“Cailu Raloquen.” The distant voice of his father echoed in his ears as he accepted the chair. Do not forget your title amongst nobles. “First of his name.”

“Will Cailu suffice?”

He bristled. “Yes.”

She poured a measured splash of milk before stirring a cube of sugar into his tea.

San Island is completely drained of sugar, and they still use it here for their tea.

Nehalennia continued, “I understand there are many…opinions that circle the capital on our queen.”

“There are.” Cailu accepted the cup and watched her carefully. Nehalennia’s movements were practiced and graceful. The kind of trained repetition that covered nefarious plans.

“If I may be so bold to ask, what are your intentions with her?”

“I wish to introduce myself.” Cailu waited for her to sip her beverage before chancing a drink of his own.

“Oh? Is that all?”

He set the cup back in its saucer, never taking his eyes off Nehalennia. “I understand Queen Melasia does not have an heir to the throne.”

“That is true.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “And you’ve arrived to supply them?”

“It seems only natural.” Breeding kittens of Shulan was made part of his task early on, but having heirs to the throne could secure him a direct line to the queen. Something none of the other men would lay claim to.

“I am afraid that may not be so simple.”

He frowned. “Why is that?”

“There is a shared belief amongst the castle staff that Queen Melasia’s heart is…occupied.”

Cailu furrowed his brow, clasping his hands on the table. “She’s in love?”

“I would never speak such treason against my queen, Cailu.”

She’s watching her words. Wise. He chose his next questions carefully. “In your service as a steward, who spends the most time in the queen’s company?”

She drank from her cup, lilac eyes searching Cailu’s face as she did so. She waited until it was firmly placed back in her saucer before replying, “Espada. A [Crusader] of the Queen’s Own.”

His mentor had spoken of the Royal Guard and the promoted ‘Queen’s Own.’ An elevated knight that stood at the queen’s side without reprieve. Espada’s name surfaced often. “Has Queen Melasia had opportunities for heirs in the past?”

Nehalennia’s smile returned. “Why, yes, she has.”

“I see.” Nehalennia’s position was a difficult one. To stake such a dangerous claim where she didn’t have proof was suicide. And if Queen Melasia wanted nothing to do with men, that created a difficult hurdle in Cailu’s plans with Nyarlea. He searched the bottom of his teacup, mentally twisting and turning the moving puzzle pieces into pleasing shapes.

“It seems you understand my predicament,” Nehalennia murmured, her eyes glittering.

“I do.”

“If it would please you, Cailu.” She cleared her throat and placed her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands. “I may have a suggestion.”