Chapter 226

Anya simply stared at her sister for a long moment before letting out a slow, theatrical sigh. "If they all try to be with the Mistress," her voice dropping to pragmatic, almost bored tone, "and some of them succeed… then your time with her will be reduced. The novelty will wear off. She'll have new 'favorites'."

Sasha's triumphant expression vanished, replaced by look of pure horror.

"No way…" she mumbled, eyes wide with dawning realization of the predicament.

Her competitive nature, which had reveled in the idea of being the only one, suddenly felt a cold dread at the thought of being just another in a rotation.

"They… they can't," she whispered, more to herself than to Anya. "I'm her favorite. We're her favorites. Aren't we? I polished her cock!"

The absurdity of her defense made Anya let out a short, sharp laugh. "Yes, you sucked it for thirty seconds before drooling all over it. I don't think that qualifies you for seniority."

Sasha's shoulders slumped in defeat. Her brilliant plan to elevate herself to the status of Mistress's Whore had backfired spectacularly.

"What do I do?" she whimpered, looking to her mature sister for a solution, as she always did when her schemes blew up in her face. "I don't want to share."

Anya softened, a rare, gentle look crossing her face. She patted her sister's arm. "Don't worry about it," she said. "Let them try. Mistress is clever. She will see through it. And if not… well, maybe it's a good lesson for you to learn to share."

"But I don't wanna!" Sasha wailed, sounding like a child who'd had her favorite toy taken away.

"I know," Anya said, pulling her into a quick, one-armed hug. "But we have work to do. The garden won't weed itself." She gave Sasha a gentle push towards the door. "Come on. And try not to 'polish' any of the hobgoblins on your way out."

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Lyssandra felt a sharp, unfamiliar ache in her lower back when she stirred on hard ground. "Damn," she groaned, rolling onto her side. "It's been a long time since I slept like this." The beds and furs in her dungeon were a luxury she had clearly grown used to.

She pushed herself up into sitting position, eyes blinking to dim light filtering through canvas of the tent. She was alone, the bedroll beside her empty and cold.

A sudden pang of worry hit her.

"Luna, where is Miriel?" she asked, her voice a low murmur in the quiet tent.

'She is outside, gathering some fruits for breakfast, Master,' Luna's calm, servile voice responded in her mind. 'The girl seems to be in much better spirits today. The rest did her well.'

Reassured, Lyssandra stood up, stretching her long limbs with a final, satisfying crack of her spine. She pulled on the black dress , the fabric slithering over her curves before stepping out of the tent.

The morning air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of damp earth and crushed grass. The sun was just peeking over horizon, painting the eastern sky in soft hues of orange, pink, and pale blue.

Its light slanted through the trees, turning morning dew into a million tiny, glittering diamonds scattered across the meadow.

The road, still a dark, muddy ribbon, glistened. The silence was profound, broken only by the distant chirping of an early-rising bird. It was a perfect, peaceful morning.

She saw a figure a short distance away, kneeling beside a bush heavy with dark berries. It was Miriel. Her movements were sure and calm. The frantic energy of yesterday was gone, replaced by a quiet focus.

She had picked a small pile of fruit on a large leaf and was returning to the campsite. She looked up and saw Lyssandra, and genuine, warm smile touched her lips.

"Good morning," Miriel said, her voice soft. "I hope I didn't wake you. I thought… I thought I'd make myself useful."

Lyssandra returned the gesture. "Good morning. Not at all. I'm not much of a morning person, but it seems you are." She gestured to the fruits. "That looks good."

"I figured we'd need to break our fast," Miriel replied, placing the leaf-bundle on clean cloth. She looked up at Lyssandra, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You know, you were snoring quite loudly in your sleep."

Lyssandra's eyebrows shot up. "Snoring? I don't snore."

"Oh, you do!" Miriel said, a teasing smile on her face. "Like a great big… bear! Or maybe a goblin with a head cold! Hrrruuuumph… Hrrrruumph!"

She mimicked the sound, a surprisingly accurate impression that was both cute and infuriating.

Lyssandra stared at her for a moment, then a grin spread across her own face.

"Is that so?" she purred, taking a step closer to Miriel, her shadow falling over the smaller girl. She leaned down, her voice dropping to conspiratorial whisper.

"Then I should tell you," she continued, her gaze flickering to Miriel's chest, "that your boobs jiggle quite adorably when you're laughing like that. It's very distracting. In a good way."

Miriel's teasing smile vanished in a flash. The compliment, delivered so directly, was out of the blue. She froze, face flushing deep, vibrant red that clashed beautifully with her silvery-white hair.

"Wh-what? I… I don't…" she stammered, hands flying up to cover her chest, which only drew more attention to it. "I do not jiggle! I… I am composed!"

"Oh, you are definitely not composed right now," Lyssandra chuckled, her amusement obvious. "And they were definitely jiggling. I saw it."

Miriel's blush deepened to the color of ripe tomato, her embarrassment so profound it was palpable. She looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

Lyssandra straightened up, still smiling. "It's alright. It's a very good view." She winked, and then walked over to the fire pit, leaving a completely flustered and utterly speechless Saintess behind.

As her blush slowly receded, Miriel became acutely aware of her own appearance. Lyssandra's words rang true, the sleek white bodysuit left very little to the imagination.

The cool morning air ghosted over the exposed skin of her cleavage and stomach, sending shiver through her that was half cold and half self-consciousness.

The open-midriff was particularly… breezy.

"Do… do you have a change of clothes for me?" Miriel asked, trying to regain some of her earlier composure.

Lyssandra's gaze softened slightly. She looked Miriel up and down, taking in the full, scandalous effect of the outfit. The plunging neckline, the high-cut legs, the thin fabric molded perfectly to every curve. She had to admit, the girl wore it well. But she was right, it was too revealing, especially for traveling.

Her expression hardened again, becoming protective. "Indeed," she said, her voice decisive. "I don't want some pervert laying eyes on my woman."

The term 'my woman' hit Miriel like a blow, causing her to stumble back a step.

"Wh-who said I'm your woman?" she sputtered, her heart giving a sudden, frantic leap. "I'm just… I'm just… traveling with you! That's all!"

Lyssandra's lips twitched into a smirk. "Is that what we're calling it now?" She didn't wait for an answer as she reached into her system inventory, summoning a large, dark bundle. With a grand, flourish-like gesture, shook out the clothing.

It was another cloak. Black, thick, and voluminous. Identical to the one Lyssandra herself wore. It was designed to cover, to conceal, to obscure. It was the opposite of everything the white bodysuit was.

"Here," Lyssandra said, draping the heavy fabric over Miriel's shoulders. "This should keep you decent."

The cloak was incredibly heavy and long. It completely swamped Miriel's smaller body, pooling around her feet. She looked down at herself, her body now entirely hidden, only her head visible inside the large hood. The sheer volume of the fabric made her look tiny and adorable, like a child playing dress-up in her mother's clothes.

She looked up at Lyssandra, a helpless giggle escaping her lips. "I… I can barely walk."

Lyssandra chuckled, a low, sexy sound. "I know. That's half the fun." She gently pulled the hood up further over Miriel's head, completely hiding her face in shadow. "There. Perfect. My mysterious, cloaked assassin."