>>5670998>>5670523>>5670531>>5670596>>5670620You nod, trying not to seem too eager as you declare: “I accept your terms, Novcie Fleshweaver. You have my oath!”
The Novice cringes a little, as you fail, but the embarrassment on your behalf turns to laughter, and you quickly join.
“You are hilariously and terribly predictable, Knight Ascendant,” she bluntly critiques you.
“You simply know me very well,” you say.
“I ought to by now, Simple One.”
“Yes,” you agree. “Though it took you long enough, Oh Scion of Scholars, Prodigy-Among-Priestesses.”
For a time, you two simply hold each other, laughing and casually, barblessly belittling each other. You spend some time with her—the first such quality time alone which you have had since before your human wedding, and one of the few you have had together in months—and when you the time comes you call upon her favour, and sample the luxurious, oiled smoothness of her thighs and tail, and enjoy the sight of her haughty expression breaking beneath your practiced claws and maw in spite of her estrus-suppressing alchemical concoctions.
The sight of her abdomen and half-humiliated face splattered with your seed is well worth the price, even if you can tell that her heart (let alone her cloaca) is not wholly in it.