Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

At the foot of the tree, in the shaded patch of moss the fifth maiden had been tending all afternoon, his daughter was being pampered.

The youngest of the group knelt on a folded silk cloth at the base of the trunk, with Rosie cradled on her lap, and the dryad princess was being subjected to the absolute peak of elven grooming attention.

Two slim elven hands were running a fine-toothed silver comb through the vine-strands of Rosie’s hair. A shallow dish of fragrant oil sat at her knee, the comb dipped between strokes.

The petals teased loose by it were caught carefully in her free palm and tucked aside in a saucer rather than dropped, because a petal off a Geim child was a thing to be archived, not thrown away. Rosie’s amber eyes had gone half-lidded under the rhythm of the strokes as her tiny green hands waved slow lazy circles in the air at nothing in particular.

“Rosie’s hair is being brushed.”

The dryad princess announced it dreamily to the courtyard at large.

“She likes it…”

Her eyes drifted further closed.

The young caretaker’s smile lifted at the corner. She had been brushing for what looked like the better part of an hour. She had every intention of continuing to brush for the rest of the afternoon, if that was what Rosie desired. Her comb glided. “May I…?” Her free hand cupped Rosie’s cheek so she could turn the dryad princess’s head a fraction without shaking her loose from the bliss.

A small giggle traveled up Rosie’s chest.

“Tickles…”

She froze.

She looked horrified.

“I beg for forgiveness, Princess…” She drew the comb back a fraction and offered the kind of bow her order reserved for genuine apologies. “The next stroke will be corrected.”

Rosie’s eyes opened a sliver.

She giggled again.

“Rosie likes it!! Continue!!”

She rubbed her cheek into the open palm and squirmed in pleasure.

Quinlan smiled as he crouched at the caretaker’s side.

“Rosie.”

Rosie’s eyes flew open.

“DADDY!!”

She launched off the lap she had been pampered on. The auburn hair-vines whipped sideways with the motion. The fragrant oil dish was rescued only by the caretaker’s reflexes, the comb abandoned mid-stroke.

Tiny green arms flung themselves around Quinlan’s wrist as the dryad princess collided with the only being in the universe she rated above being pampered by caring and graceful women, which was the man currently smirking at her under the canopy of her own crown.

“I know you’ve been aware of me since I stepped through… Why pretend otherwise?”

“Rosie isn’t pretending!!” his daughter lied as easily as she breathed.

Her cheek pressed against the warm bare skin of his forearm and she made the small chirring sound the family had come to understand meant happiness too thick to express in words.

Quinlan caught her under the arms and lifted her onto his shoulders, eliciting a round of merry giggles in the process.

A small distance off the moss circle, Blossom was squirming.

The dogkin had arrived through the portal a while ago and had been standing in the shadow of the trunk ever since, hands clasped at her chest, weight shifting from one foot to the other while she waited. Her tail wanted to speed up and would not let itself. Her ears could not decide between flat-low and straight-up.

She had watched the entire reunion from her spot in the shade and had not made a sound.

The beat between her master and their leafy daughter had been one of those moments where every dogkin instinct in her told her she should give them some space, so she had stood there silent, losing the war with herself moment by moment, while the urge to be physically near her master built up behind her ribs like a kettle on a low flame.

Her blue eyes were huge.

Quinlan’s gaze found her at the edge of the moss and stayed there a beat. Then his mouth tilted up.

That undid the dogkin completely.

Blossom’s knees gave out on the way to him. She dropped the last meter as a blonde bullet, arms locking around Quinlan’s middle the moment she landed, cheek pressed against the side of his hip. She whimpered and told him what was troubling her heart.

“Master…”

Above them, on Quinlan’s shoulders, Rosie tilted her green head to look down at the latest arrival. Her amber eyes lit.

A tiny green hand reached down and patted at the blonde head buried against her father’s side.

“Blossom Mommy is the best girl!” Rosie announced firmly across the courtyard. The princess had ruled. “Vex Mommy is going to get a very big earful from Rosie very soon!!”

Blossom’s whimper went up half an octave.

Quinlan’s free hand settled into the blonde hair and rubbed once, deep and warm, behind her right ear.

“That’s right.”

By now, the rest of his girls had filed through the seam quietly during the cute moment, settling at the edge of the circle in a loose half-ring with expressions ranging from extremely fond to judgmental.

Quinlan’s eyes lifted from his dogkin and landed on his white-haired Hexwitch in the line. He smiled, eyes bright and playful.

“No one is dethroning my first woman from her rightful throne.”

Vex’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“Where I come from, we used to say something for moments like these…” Quinlan added with a cheeky grin. “Ignore the haters.”

The Hexwitch went still.

Her brain spent a full three seconds processing whether her hubby had genuinely said those words to her face in front of the entire harem. He had. The yandere queen had been publicly informed she was a hater, by her hubby, in front of a princess perched on his shoulders, while the dogkin in question was still nuzzled into his hip.

She turned her face away.

“Hmph!”

A second hmph followed half a beat later, slightly louder, accompanied by arms folding tight under her chest.

“Hmph!!”

A third arrived louder still, with a chin lifted to the high reaches of the canopy where her dignity could properly be located.

“Hmph!!!”

The yandere queen was very dissatisfied at this moment in time and refused to meet his gaze.

Around her, the other girls traded glances among themselves and the witch. None of them were buying the words their lover was spouting, fully aware it was just banter. There was no real hierarchy in this harem, and every woman in the half-ring knew it. The only person in the courtyard apparently not in on the joke was the Hexwitch herself.

Quinlan’s hand resumed its rub behind Blossom’s ear.

The dogkin had been watching the entire exchange with her face still pressed to her master’s hip. The hmphs had landed in her one by one. The full picture of what her master had just done on her behalf assembled itself in her understanding.

A small giggle escaped her.

Then a louder one.

“Blossom loves Master!!!!!!”

Her tail snapped back to full propeller, and her ears canted forward into the absolute-vertical position they reserved for moments when Master had handled something far too precious.

Above them, on Quinlan’s shoulders, Rosie clapped her hands once in delight at the entire proceeding.

The portal at the rear of the moss circle closed behind the line of women.

Then Quinlan’s grin slowly receded. It was not the time to be playful.

Black Fang was waiting.

It was time to begin the ritual of the Bloodfather.