Gabbro was nobody’s fool. Especially not some upstart wannabe Dewott freelancer. That time in Fern Canyon didn’t prove anything.

The Lycanroc scowled at the memory. What a joke of a mission. Not only was their so-called ‘treasure’ a complete dud, but then that show-offy Dewott had to go and… and…!

“Fuck him!” Gabbro snarled aloud.

A chorus of mutterings yanked him out of his reverie. After he’d been caught… enhancing his fertility with an Oval Charm, he and Nettle had decided to temporarily part ways for a few weeks to clear their heads. Nettle apparently had fallen in with that Dewott bastard. Well, let him. Gabbro, for his part, had taken his not-inconsiderable earnings from other, more successful jobs and gone for a much-needed, long-deserved vacation.

The Highpost Lodge was the quintessence of rustic indulgence. A sprawling, multi-story building made of logs grown together by Grass-types, it included its own berry orchard and a sauna built over real hot springs. Even a single night’s stay could cost a pretty penny. Of course, that made multi-week sojourns even more harrowing.

But Gabbro could shell it all out. Team Montaine didn’t just coast on their reputation as breeders; they’d earned their stripes as a top-tier rescue team. His hefty purse was a testament to his talents.

It seemed, however, that some of his fellow guests at Highpost didn’t just care that he had money—they cared about where it came from. Most of the fellow pokemon here were the sort of posh, soft-footed types who’d never even seen an outrider up close, let alone set foot in the wilderness. They turned their noses at him and muttered behind his back in not-so-quiet whispers. ‘Coarse,’ they called him, and ‘new money.’ What did they care that adventurers like Gabbro were the only reason that their crops went safe or their caravans weren’t pillaged? Without adventurers risking their necks, their precious funds would dry up. Yet here they were, judging him just because he’d been loud and ‘crass’ enough to say ‘fuck’ in their presence.

Scowling and feeling prickly with their eyes on him, Gabbro finished off the rest of his plate and left the lounge where he’d been staying. An attendant, a pretty female Infernape, shyly waved at him as he passed. He ignored her. They’d had some fun the previous night, and he could already smell that she was going to have his egg—good. Clearly, that embarrassment in Fern Canyon had just been an anomaly. Now that he’d proved himself with that Infernape, however, she held little interest for him. He hadn’t even picked up her name, and in all honesty, it didn’t exactly matter.

Lost in his own thoughts, Gabbro scarcely noticed that he was about to knock into a fellow vacationer until her shadow was upon him. He stumbled over himself to avoid smashing into her, and she herself cried out in dismay.

Glancing up, a half-muttered apology on his lips, Gabbro started. She was an Arcanine, tall and regal-looking. Her fur was luxurious and expertly maintained, her black patterns vibrantly dark, her eyes amber and imperious, the nails on her paws perfectly trimmed. She was a walking sign of what the upper classes called ‘good breeding.’

Her eyes alit on him and Gabbro smiled to see a familiar look on her face. Posh females, queenly types like Serperior or Umbreon who hailed from bigger towns, often found themselves intrigued by rough males who lived on the frontier. Even if she tried to hide it, Gabbro could immediately sense her interest in him, as well as an unspoken question—if he was such a rough-and-tumble type, what was he doing here?

Gabbro smirked, swishing his tail lazily, moving towards her with the fluid grace he’d picked up jobs and inviting her to imagine what that grace could do to her. He saw her eyes widen, could smell the beginnings of arousal kindling down below. If her scent held true, she was just off her breeding cycle, but so what? That hadn’t stopped him before. He was a famed breeder, no matter what that stupid Dewott had to prove.

He was just about to open his mouth to invite her to his room when everything went wrong.

“Carnelian! Did that brute hurt you?”

The voice was jarring and ugly, like splintered bark. From down the hall came another Arcanine, a pompous-looking male with a froofy mane. He moved with the jealous concern of a possessive boyfriend—no, scratch that, a husband. Gabbro all but spat. Gag him now.

The male loped alongside this ‘Carnelian’, glaring daggers at Gabbro, as the female comported herself. All the interest she had flashed was masked, now.

“No, Fugue,” she said, “we merely bumped into one another.” Her voice was like liquid fire, smooth and spicy all at once. Gabbro all but salivated. Damn, he wanted her!

Fugue, noticing the look on Gabbro’s face, crossed in front of her to separate them and scowled. “I’ll thank you not to eyeball my mate,” he said coolly, “especially since you haven’t even offered apology.”

“Was just about to,” Gabbro snapped back, “‘til someone interrupted me.”

“‘Was just about to,’” Fugue parroted back, affecting an exaggerated, hickish drawl. “Heavens, Carnelian, just listen to that. The help these days can’t even form proper sentences.”

A growl ripped out of Gabbro’s throat without him even realizing it. “Help?” he said. “I paid my way here just the same as you!”

A cough of polite disdain squeezed out of Fugue’s throat. “I highly doubt that,” he said. “Anyone who could afford a stay in Highpost could also afford to bathe every once in a while.” His smile tightened. “Besides, us? Pay? Why, we were invited.” He sniffed delicately. “It’s all about who you know, you ruffian.”

Iron gripped Gabbro’s heart. This poncey Arcanine was looking down his nose at him. He was judging him. Gabbro had met his type before. They were the type to stiff you on difficult jobs, to insist that the honor of working for such-and-such was surely far better than mere coin. This prick had probably been born in a palatial estate and been waited on paw-and-claw his whole life. He’d never done a real day’s work. And pokemon like Gabbro? They were like garbage to him.

How dare he judge others so pompously? Acting like Gabbro didn’t belong here. This oaf had been born into this high-roller’s world, while Gabbro had been forced to work for it! His earliest memories were of being the reject in a village on the outlands. The village had communally raised all the tykes, but he’d clearly been resented; he’d been told early that he was unwanted, an accident resulting from an outrider raid. “Just like any outrider spawn,” the village elder had spat at him, scolding him for nabbing a treat intended for another, “you’re no good and you’ll never amount to anything.” Well, Gabbro had shown them, hadn’t he? He was a member of one of the best-performing teams for hundreds of miles and had the money to show for it—and he wasn’t going to stand for this type of bullshit!

“Who I know?” Gabbro shot back. “How about the Guildmaster of the Northern Grove, for a start!” This oaf liked connections? Let him choke on that! “I’m Gabbro of Team Montaine, and I earned my way here!”

Carnelian, who had been watching the back-and-forth with a dull half-interest, perked up. Her tail swished once. “The Team Montaine?” she said.

Oh, Fugue wasn’t having any of that. “Am I supposed to be impressed?” he sneered. “You know what I heard about them, love? They don’t go out in the wilderness for rescues or treasure. They’re hired by filthy outriders—for their bodies!” He puffed out his chest. “Why, if even half the rumors are true, then you’re nothing more than a jumped-up whore!”

Gabbro snapped his jaws furiously and suddenly the earth around him began to tremble. Both Arcanine stumbled, their eyes wide; Carnelian looked excited behind her splash of fear, while Fugue’s bravado was severely punctured. “J-Just like the brute you are!” he said, his voice nearly a squeak. “Resorting to violence! Help! Anyone! Attack!”

Corralling his emotions, Gabbro stopped displaying his power—and just in time. A few burly staff rounded the corner.

“Fighting is strictly banned outside of the sparring grounds!” one worker, a brawny Machoke, said.

Gabbro didn’t even bother to look at her. “Not fighting,” he replied. “Just didn’t look where I was going and bumped into the lady. Isn’t that right, miss?” He locked eyes with Carnelian and she nodded slowly.

“That’s right,” she said. Fugue looked downright betrayed.

Gabbro kept his gaze on her. “I apologize, miss,” he said deliberately. Then, his bearing proud, he trotted past the two Arcanine and returned to his chambers.

He never looked back—but he could feel Carnelian’s eyes on him.

---

The Lycanroc quickly grew restless in his room. He craved action. Before long, he wandered the berry orchard, admiring the succulent growths and snacking on a few. Afterwards, he returned to the lounge and laughed raucously at a bawdy entertainer. Then, he visited the sparring grounds, easily humiliating the half-assed showings of the upper crust. None of them had ever been in a real fight.

By the time he was finished, he’d worked up a good sweat. Musk was nearly rolling off of him. A female attendant was trying rather overtly to get his attention, but Gabbro just smirked and strolled off. Showing up those bluebloods in the arena had done wonders on his pride. Yes… clearly what had happened in Fern Canyon was an anomaly. A mistake. He was top-of-the-grade—and not just for battling! In fact, he found himself thoroughly regretting wearing the Oval Charm at all—not because it was ‘cheating’ (there was no such thing as honor; you either won competitions and took what you wanted or you didn’t, it was as simple as that) but because it implied that Gabbro had needed it in the first place. Him? Need that sort of help? What a laugh!

As the day greyed into twilight, he made his way to the hot springs to clean up. Yes, despite its rough start, the day was going good. He’d had a lot of fun showing up these snooty folk—and he’d have to find some way to show up that freelancer, too.

But thoughts of the Dewott dashed from his head as he rounded the way to the hot springs. It was empty, save for two figures: the Arcanine from earlier.

They were canoodling at the edge of the water, both looking brisk and clean. Fugue was clearly more into it than Carnelian was. She barked in embarrassment as Gabbro walked in and tried to wriggle out from under her mate. Fugue whirled, his face contorted with rage.

“You!” he thundered, the morning’s bluster returning. “Riff-raff is not appreciated here. I insist you leave at once!”

The confidence lent to him by his earlier successes dulled the Fire-type’s barbs. Gabbro now found himself more amused by him than anything. “It’s open for any lodge-goer, isn’t it?” He sauntered in, smirking. “I have just as much a right to be here as you do.”

The hot springs were fed by a large, single font held higher up that spilled into a cascading kaleidoscope of smaller pools; these were the ones open for use. The ground was smooth, wet stone, with large stalagmite-like spires crowding the edge of some of the pools. Gabbro took it all in with an open smile. “Must say, the view is particularly…” He let his gaze drift over to Carnelian. He smiled wider. “Luscious.”

The female blushed slightly as her husband exploded into anger. “How dare you so brazenly flirt with my wife! I demand an apology!”

“You want an apology? Fine then.” Gabbro winked at Carnelian. “I’m sorry you had to get married to him of all mons. Oof, right?”

“Lowborn trash,” Fugue snarled. He approached Gabbro. The Lycanroc let him; he knew bluster when he saw it. However, when the Arcanine was almost on him, he saw something familiar he had missed before: a tiny dot of pink mixed in the creamy ruff on his throat.

Gabbro guffawed with delight. “An Oval Charm?” he said, and both Arcanine blushed thoroughly. “Hot damn! You came to the lodge to get frisky, huh? And not just frisky—but to breed! From the looks of things, someone really wants those eggs!”

Suddenly, it hit him. “‘Course you do.” He smirked. “Types like you are all about heirs and such. I’ll guess you don’t have any? And at your guys’s age, you should already have at least one… that’s gotta be a real failing, Fugue! Bet you tried and tried and nothing. So you resorted to boosting it with a charm and still nothing.” He nodded at Carnelian. “I can smell that she’s at the tail end of her breeding cycle—I bet you fucked her every day and still couldn’t hack it, right? But she’s fertile, I can smell that too.” He strutted lazily past Fugue, flicking his tail playfully at him. The Arcanine fumed in shameful, angry quiet. “So looks like the failure’s on you, buddy.”

Fugue responded with the wounded pride of a male whose masculinity was threatened: “I’d like to see you do any better, guttersnipe.”

Gabbro laughed. “Is that right? Why, should I take that as an invite to fuck your pretty little wife here?” Each Arcanine was stunned into shock, and he took the opportunity to trot closer to Carnelian. Her scent mixed in with the steam drifting off the springs; it was positively intoxicating. “Cause I’ll admit it. Your accusation earlier was right… or half right, anyway. I do get paid for my body, though not just by outriders—and not just cause the sex is good. It’s cause nobody does fertility like Team Montaine. You struggled to give wifey just one egg? That’s cute—by now, I probably have over a hundred children.”

Fugue was shamed into silence and could only watch, smoldering with anger, as Gabbro approached his wife. “So here’s the thing, Carnelian,” said Gabbro. A playful, hungry lilt colored his voice. “Your husband wants to see me do better, so I guess you gotta just let me fuck a kid into you, how’s that sound?” By now Gabbro was within breathing distance of the female. He could smell her arousal—and he could see the way that his own musk, heady and rough, was working her up. Smirking, he positioned his body sideways and raised one leg to give her (and Fugue) a look at his massive balls. His cock, still mostly sheathed, wasn’t exactly modest either. “Gotta say, from the looks of things these balls are bigger than hubby’s,” he said, stealing a peek at Fugue. “Kind of embarrassing for a mon that’s several times larger than my species, isn’t it?” With his leg raised, the musk was more powerful than ever. “So what do you say? Ready to make some kids and give him what he wants?”

Perhaps realizing that Gabbro fully intended to knock up his wife, Fugue finally mustered himself. “Now—now see here!” he sputtered. “That was not an invitation! You step away from her this instant!”

“No take-backsies,” Gabbro responded playfully.

Carnelian was thoroughly blushing. “I—I’m—listen, Gabbro, we really mustn’t, it wouldn’t be proper.”

He snorted. “Proper? Who gives a fuck about that?”

Willing some of his power into the stone floor of the hot spring, he created a tiny, localized little tremor. Carnelian stumbled to her knees with a squeal—and then squealed again, louder, her eyes wide, as Gabbro unleashed his speed. Like a blur, he was suddenly behind her, paws draped over her back as he mounted her. If his cock was unsheathed, he would have been inside already. For now, though, he just mashed his sheath against her womanhood, making her squirm and pant.

“Wait—Gabbro, really, wait! It’s unbecoming, we mustn’t!”

“HEY!” Fugue exploded. “I said stop!” He rushed towards them, fire sparking with his maw… and almost lazily, Gabbro flicked his tail. A tiny clod of earth smacked the bottom of Fugue’s chin, the fire dying and the Arcanine staggering back. Another outpouring of will directed the stone to rise up and seize his paws, holding him thoroughly in place. A slew of pebbles flew through the air and linked around his mouth, clamping it tight in a makeshift muzzle.

“Mmmmmmph!” Fugue protested, trying uselessly to tug his way free of the clinging stones. He looked aghast at Gabbro and Carnelian. “Mmmmph! Nnnnnnmmmmmrrrrppphhh!”

Hah! Now that showed him! Time to show this loser what breeding really was! Exuberantly, Gabbro began humping Carnelian, the Arcanine’s eyes widening. Breath huffed out of her with every press, and she stretched one paw forward languidly.

“G-Gabbro,” she said. It was hard for her to speak between humps. “I—r-really don’t think—what I m-mean is, I’m married!”

Gabbro’s loins were tingling with anticipation and delight. He was almost ready to claim her. “So? Never stopped me before!”

His cock began to unsheathe and Carnelian’s eyes widened, a high whine keening out of her as she was penetrated. “Wait! Please, you can’t!”

“Sure I can,” he replied easily. “Hell, I’m doing it right now, aren’t I?” He bucked into her and was rewarded with a long, low moan. “Or, well, doing you right now.”

Damn, he felt great—despite Carnelian’s larger size, she was well and pinned underneath him, whimpering and panting. His cock thrust in and out of her again and again; Fugue thrashed his head, protesting inarticulately. His legs trembled as he tried to pull them free.

As Gabbro’s cock continued unsheathing, he luxuriated in the feeling of Carnelian’s pussy. Her body clenched tight around him and he responded with another thorough buck. The sensation was absolutely sublime; her pussy fluttered about him. He could feel her stretching more and more to contain him, heard the tightness in her voice at it. “What’s wrong?” he said. “Hubby never spread you this good?”

“Hhuh, uhhhnnnnnnnn…” Carnelian’s reply was little more than an inarticulate groan at this point. Fugue only stared with wide eyes, stony muzzle clamping his mouth shut.

Howling defiantly, Gabbro bucked in harder than ever and was rewarded with a weighty squeal from Carnelian. By now, the sound of their bodies slapping in unison was filling the springs with a lewd concerto. His hefty balls were slapping against her rump.

“Give me a moan if you like it, go on,” he encouraged, and was pleased when Carnelian moaned underneath him. “Good girl! Oh, and you.” He smirked at Fugue. “A little worked up, I see.” Fugue was sporting the beginning of an erection between his legs. He grunted and tried to swing them in to hide it, but the stone holding him in place left him unable to do so. “Aw, no worries,” Gabbro said. “We’re all friends, right? In fact…”

With a lazy tilt of his head, the stone pinning one of Fugue’s forepaws crumbled to dust. The Arcanine flexed it as if not believing what had been offered him.

“First giving you an heir, now this?” Gabbro said. He bucked harder and Carnelian whimpered as he hilted in her. “Don’t ever say I never did anything for the upper class.” Fugue’s paw twitched as if wanting to drift low, but he managed to hold out, eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him.

Gabbro enjoyed Carnelian’s flush pussy for a fair few more thrusts, before rumbling pleasantly at the feeling of something building up deep down. Leaning low, he whispered to her ear: “The knot’s coming, love. And after, my seed.” She quivered, mewling as he slammed into her. “Before you were telling me to wait. Well, if you want me to stop, I’ll do it now before I’m knotted. Last chance. Do you want me to stop?” There was no reaction. “You don’t? Then, do you want me to keep going?”

“Mmmmm…”

Amusement sparked inside him. “Is that a yes, Carnelian dear? You want me to keep going?”

The female dipped her head against the stone, facedown so that she didn’t have to look at her husband. Her voice came out slightly muffled against the stone. “Mmmm… mmmm-hmmm…”

Fugue slumped, defeated, and Gabbro crooned in exultation before he slammed in harder than ever, hilting inside of her. Carnelian bucked forward, whining in ecstasy, and her voice took on a high, ragged quality as it began:

The knotting.

Ahhhh, it was such a familiar feeling by now, yet one that would never, ever grow old: the sublime taste of a knot spreading a female wide. Gabbro delighted in how far apart he spread her, of her confines squeezing vainly in an attempt to dislodge him—or, perhaps, to suck his soon-to-come seed even further in. Every squeeze and clench made her body tremble, and she whimpered against the stone.

Fugue watched the whole thing unfold with wide-open eyes. His paw had stayed away from his cock, though he was now fully erect. Gabbro had to snort at the male’s modest penis and nearly nonexistent knot. Small wonder he’d failed to breed his wife!

Feeling puckish, Gabbro poured his will into the stone. The earth directed to his movement and dragged Fugue forward, the Fire-type squeaking out a muffled yell and pawing uselessly against the shifting stones with his free limb. Within seconds, he was adjacent to Gabbro and Carnelian, having a front-row seat to the action.

But Gabbro wasn’t going to stop there. Using the stones, he maneuvered and twisted Fugue so that he was underneath his wife, barely squeezing into the space beneath the rutting canines. Gabbro flipped Fugue like a pancake, releasing his paws as he did so, and the Arcanine’s cock pressed against his wife’s stomach.

Gabbro could feel the pressure of Fugue’s equipment against his own, and he bucked harder into Carnelian, making her keen and Fugue squirm.

Gabbro let the stone-muzzle crumble to dust, and the Arcanine gulped. “He’s… he’s s-so…” Fugue trailed off, but Gabbro finished for him:

“Big?” His voice was sly. “I’m afraid that’s what it takes to satisfy a female, blueblood—satisfy and knock them up. Look at her—blissed out nearly to the point of incoherence. Have you ever left her feeling this way? Something tells me you haven’t.”

There was no anger left in Fugue, only wide-eyed, defeatist desperation. With his back against the earth, he pawed against his wife’s stomach and then began humping her outsides with his own cock, the pressure an irregular drumbeat against Gabbro’s own cock.

“P-please, Carnelian! Carnelian, sweetie! Look, I can—I can match his tempo!” He couldn’t, but he was trying, bless him. “I’ll try harder! Really! I’ll—I’ll get another charm, a better one!” The pink talisman glinted in his neck fur; Gabbro grinned. Even Fugue’s charm-enhanced balls were nothing next to his own.

Carnelian gave no indication he’d heard him; she kept her face down and whined in bliss every time Gabbro swung his hips, his cock thundering her insides and his knot tugging at her entrance. She was his, now.

“Carnelian!” Fugue pleaded desperately. “I’ll do whatever—I’ll practice, I’ll, I’ll, I’ll lay with you more… look! You love this cock, don’t you?” He kept humping her as if trying to assert himself, the sensation just able to be felt by Gabbro. It was like a virgin’s first go.

Gabbro bucked forward, making Carnelian shuffle and squeal, and the pressure of his cock against Fugue’s proved to be too much. The Fire-type gasped and a few clear squirts stained her belly fur. And that was all he had to give.

“S-see? My… my cum! You love my cum, you told me yourself!” His voice was desperate, pleading. He sounded like a child about to be scolded. “Just—just don’t let him—” His attention turned to Gabbro. “Lycanroc! Erm, Gabbro! Just—just stop now, and I’ll, I’ll forgive…” His words died and he licked his lips, eyes desperate. Gabbro didn’t let up an inch. He was so delectably close. “I’ll pay you! Whatever sum you want!”

Gabbro chuckled. “First time I’ve been offered coin to not knock somebody up,” he mused. “Nah. It’s always money with you types. Think it’ll get you everything. Not this time. This time… your wife’s womb is mine.”

“Please don’t knock her up.” Fugue’s voice was desperate. “I’ve been trying to for so long, please don’t. If you… I, I can’t…”

“Not really a choice at this point,” Gabbro said, voice almost taking a singsong quality. “Maybe your knot can slip in and out easily, but mine? Mine’s in it for the long haul. At this point, your lovely little wife doesn’t have any choice but to bear—” He bucked forward, breath suddenly shallow. It was happening. “My—” He slammed in as hard as he could, both he and Carnelian tensing in unison. His orgasm broke and he jetted cum into her, splash after splash. That was finally enough for Carnelian, whose voice trembled a blissful, relieved sigh as she came as well. Mutual climax rolled over them both, and a few trickles of mingled juices squeezed their way out Carnelian’s pussy, staining her loins. From his position underneath them, Fugue looked on in despairing jealousy.

“—egg,” Gabbro finished with a sigh, slumping forward, draped on her back. Carnelian made no attempt to dislodge him or move; she simply rested there, taking it in. Her pussy fluttered with orgasmic aftershocks, sucking in more of his potent seed. Oh yes—she was knocked up for certain.

Gabbro held in her for a long, long while, several minutes at least, as his cock slowly deflated. Neither Arcanine said much, both lingering in mutual quiet. Gabbro wondered if each was composing what they would say to the other once he was absent.

Finally, Gabbro popped his half-erect cock free, even that action tugging at Carnelian and hooking a sharp moan from her. More of their mingled cum seeped out of her.

As Gabbro stepped back, Carnelian finally slumped sideways, her voice weak. Fugue nosed her concernedly, stealing overt, jealous glances at her womanhood. Finally, he turned and shot Gabbro a wordless, hateful gaze. Gabbro didn’t care. Let him. The moment fire was threatened, he’d show him the real fury of a Rock-type.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Gabbro said with an exaggerated yawn. “That sort of job normally costs a pretty penny, but this time I went pro bono.” Fugue glanced away, mouth tight. Gabbro turned his back on the couple and began to trot away. He had no fear of Fugue anymore. “Heh, can’t even get an heir without my help. Typical rich snobs. It’s always mons like me who do all the real work…”

With that parting arrow, Gabbro left the couple to sort out their newfound marital problems. He smirked as he went. By the time he returned to his room, Carnelian and Fugue had already left his mind. Instead, his focus was on that damnable Dewott.

“Tidal…” he muttered. “Yeah, last time was just a fluke. A mistake. I’ve still got it. And y’know what? When Team Montaine gets back together, I think I’ll show you.”

---

Fugue barked orders at the serving staff, chastising them even though they’d done nothing wrong. He’d been like that a lot, of late—ever since he and his wife had returned from their extended holiday some weeks back.

The Arcanine stalked through his estate, glowering, trying to find something to lash out at. A few of the females scurried out of his way, trying to duck his attention. Since his return, he’d taken to demanding they visit him privately. They’d obliged, of course; though many held quiet fears of their stomachs swelling, so far none of their worries had proved legitimate.

At the moment, though, Fugue held no hunger for his staff. Maybe later… later. After shouting down a retainer for failing to notice the half-millimeter of dust accumulated on a sill, he retired to his chambers.

His wife was there, of course. She’d spent all of her time there recently, ever since laying her egg.

He looked at it with hatred. The brown speckles on the surface were unnecessary to determine its provenance. Carnelian had refused to take him to bed ever since that living nightmare at Highpost. She curled maternally around the egg, licking its surface, though it was already quite clean.

The moment she’d started to show, he’d insisted she take some herbs. She’d refused, and had similarly refused to put it up for adoption. When he indicated he would disinherit the offspring the moment it hatched, she made it clear that the moment he did so, she would leave him.

“The Lycanroc was right,” she had told him, voice steely, a week before the laying. Her stomach had been round, her teats tender. She’d seemed almost relieved to finally be pregnant. “We need an heir.”

“I could give us one,” Fugue had muttered. She’d sniffed delicately and not bothered saying what was clearly on her mind.

“This will serve in the meantime,” she’d said. “It’s nice to have a guarantee. And if you sire a child on me, then we can arrange for them to be the heir instead.”

“When I sire a child on you,” he’d insisted. Carnelian had raised her brow and refused to repeat the correction.

The old memory came and went and now Fugue was scowling at his wife and her egg.

“I think the hatching will be soon,” she said without raising her face. “We should come up with names.”

“You do it,” he snarled.

“Very well,” she replied, voice level. “I’ve been thinking Jewel for a female, Wilder for a male.”

Fugue just scoffed and stomped away, heart filled with the sort of hate that only comes from deeply buried self-loathing. Carnelian didn’t bother watching him go.

After all, she had new duties to attend to.