It was hard to say what feelings the widow—widowed right after her marriage—had for her husband, whose life was epic but cut short.
After all, a man who went to sea on a whim and vanished, leaving a woman to waste her best years waiting under the pressure of both families.
Finally married, only to be dramatically murdered by his own servants' betrayal.
Leaving behind a crumbling estate and a pregnant widow.
In any case, if the roles were reversed, or if one of Al's female relatives were treated this way, he would...
Otherwise, Al wouldn't dare play the "Madam, you wouldn't want..." game.
In his harem life, Al lived a life that, while not exactly debauched without limit, was certainly unscrupulous.
But perhaps because he liked mature women and the feeling of being cared for and loved, he placed his own status in a somewhat "submissive" position.
So Al was quite afraid of his harem being unhappy or angry over certain matters.
Simply put, he was henpecked.
In terms of emotion, Al was the type to push his luck.
The gentler the older sister was, the more he demanded, and vice-versa.
If he met a "bad woman," he would definitely be toyed with ruthlessly...
Though it was also possible he'd see through her facade and lock her up for harsh discipline.
The widow's devotion to Al wasn't like the goat mom's total focus on him, but she was a submissive and virtuous young wife.
For slightly excessive demands and boundaries, she would obey the boy as much as possible.
Only when Al grew too unrestrained and did something truly over the top would she find it hard to accept.
She would manifest this as shyness, a reluctance to be proactive, and slight instinctive physical resistance.
Usually, it was only in the heat of passion, when her head was muddled from being fucked, that she would bashfully agree to the boy's excessive requests.
After waking up, she would be so embarrassed she'd want to disappear, her head and actions dizzy as if escaping.
A woman like the widow, who received a conservative, church-based education—
If she wasn't conservative, she wouldn't have wasted so long in a relatively open society like Estalia for a marriage contract of unknown fate.
Though the husband's family status was also a reason.
Mustering the courage to agree to join the ranks of "gifts" sent by the councilors to "Beastlord Al" was likely the only major decision she had ever made for her own life.
Then, with Al, the young Madam Marlena found a new meaning:
Taking care of an outrageously beautiful boy with staggering power, while tolerating and accepting all his whims and demands.
What started as a transaction involving labor and flesh gradually began to "deteriorate."
It added various extra layers of affection, habit, and dependency.
Looking at it now...
The widow lay on the cushion, her head lowered.
She sucked the last of the residue from the boy's spear, ensuring the barrel was clear.
Al let out a sigh of relief and straightened up.
The spear was withdrawn from between her breasts, which she was pressing together with her hands.
The widow sat up as well, skillfully cleaning the boy with her lips and tongue.
Those bright eyes, brimming with a pool of autumn water, looked up at him with a mix of charm and laziness.
Meeting the boy's downward gaze, a trace of bashful shyness surfaced.
Two—no, three hours had passed in a flash.
Naked and barefoot on the cushion, the widow helped the boy change into a spare set of clothes before tidying herself up.
Even though she had been manipulated into eighteen different poses and Al knew her inside and out,
and even though he had personally taught and coached her to develop the special functions of certain parts,
Al was still obsessed with the widow's body.
The boy embraced her from behind, his hands circling beneath her breasts, his head resting on her smooth back.
When the widow bent down, he bent down; when she turned, he turned with her.
The widow indulged Al, leaving her upper garment for last, before gently squeezing the boy's wrist.
Al finally let go to find his mask.
He suddenly remembered the mask was left in the palace.
And then he slammed into the realization of what he had forgotten!
"Yikes!!!"
Al's face instantly wore the expression of a Goblin runt who had just seen his Warlord squeezed to death with one hand,
realizing that while he was alone without any Greenskin companions,
a massive group of fully armed, tin-can Bretonnian knights were raising their swords and charging him with cries of "For the Lady!"
The phantom of a terrifying weapon seemed to loom over his head.
He blinked to dispel the hallucination. Al was so panicked he didn't even care about his shoes.
He paced back and forth barefoot, his brain working at maximum speed to think of a strategy.
You don't just stand up his adoptive mother.
Although in the end, he just had to act spoiled—the centaur girl was a sucker for that—
and lie in her arms, bite her breasts, say a bunch of sweet talk, and add a few easy sessions of sex to smooth things over.
But like all people who make a mistake:
If it can be compensated for beforehand, never wait until the mistake is exposed.
Al thought for a bit. The widow had finished tidying up their battlefield.
Al looked around casually, and a flash of inspiration hit him.
"Call for backup!"
Misha, who always seemed to wear that faint, unreadable smile, arrived with her attendants.
She met her little father, who was out with only a single maid-widow for the first time.
Feeling guilty, Al grabbed his eldest daughter's hand and pulled her toward the office.
He spoke first to hide his tracks: "I sent the knights to you earlier to mobilize manpower and resources to build the altars for the Goddess Lileath. On second thought, this matter is of great importance, so I, your father, should oversee it personally."
"Yes, because the blessings and glory shall all belong to you."
The cow-girl agreed.
Her little father was always dumping work on her. Though she didn't mind the work...
She minded that Al dumped the work on her while he either lay in the palace or ran around everywhere, rarely spending time with his eldest daughter day and night.
"Later, you and my mom... er, you and Alina, remember to say I was doing serious work, okay?"
Al looked around furtively, revealing his true intent in a low voice:
"I was just strolling in the camp with Marlena and lost track of time, forgetting the thing I promised her [Alina]. Daughter, you have to help me explain."
"Hmm..."
The unreadable quality of his daughter's smile deepened. It was very strange; at first glance she was smiling, but upon closer inspection, it seemed she wasn't at all.
The cow-girl looked up at the sky. For once, she didn't immediately agree to her little father's request.
Understanding his daughter's attitude, Al felt a weight lift from his heart.
Outwardly, he still put on a troubled face, acting hesitant. He blinked, thought it over, and gritted his teeth.
"Recall the second child (Kael'thas). Let him take your place. The day after tomorrow, I'll take you to the front lines for a tour and scout the enemy situation while we're at it."