Chapter 323: Harbor Preparation

Morning came earlier than Kane’s body preferred.

He woke in a different bed than the one he had wrecked with Thora; someone had steered him into a quieter side chamber after the bath and food, and he had slept the unbroken sleep of a man whose system was still knitting damage under the surface.

The brace was still on.

The ribs were better than the day before but not honest enough for full output.

The system window confirmed it in blunt text when he checked:

[Rib integrity: 79 %]

[Left forearm/shoulder: 74 %]

[Heavy combat: Not advised]

[Full clearance projected: 1 day]

He wanted the others.

The corridor siege, the threats about rotations, Sira’s suffering, Kessa’s pacing, and Misha’s schedule- all of it had left a clear, unfinished heat under his skin.

Time and his body weren’t cooperating with his plan.

The Giant Island was two days’ travel.

Strategy would not wait for his cock to finish negotiating with medical reality.

So he trained.

Not the full, bone-deep sessions he preferred.

Lighter forms in the private yard behind the manor, footwork, controlled swings of Mjoldr with the good arm only, short bursts of Controlled Rage kept deliberately low so the system would not start listing tissue warnings again.

Sweat came anyway.

The bruises pulled.

He worked through it until the morning air felt usable and his head was clear enough to run the board properly.

The Giants.

Ruled by a single voice, not always a king in the blood sense, but the oldest with the most proven weight.

Experience over inheritance.

You did not get a fair duel with something three times your mass that measured strength in decades of unbroken precedent.

Submitting was not an option either.

The coalition could not afford a hole that large on the southern and eastern approaches.

Cannabis was poor at interaction and worse at reliable commitment.

Eroha was possible, but harder to convince and less useful as a shield wall when the sky cracked.

The Giants remained the correct target even if the approach was going to be ugly.

He was turning the same three options over for the fourth time when soft footsteps approached along the yard path.

Firlia appeared from the side entrance carrying a stone cup that steamed faintly in the cool air.

Green hair neat, formal sash set aside for a simpler working wrap, the particular composed expression she wore when she had already decided to be useful before anyone asked.

She stopped a polite distance away and held out the cup.

"Healing herb juice. The kitchen steeped it for the brace and the inflammation. You’re thinking so much the attendants can hear it from the east wing."

Kane accepted the cup, drank, and let the bitter heat settle.

He looked at her properly for the first time that morning.

The history sat between them without needing to be spoken aloud.

The prince’s order at the beginning: Firlia delivered to his bed while she still had a boyfriend she was quietly cheating on, useful and frightened and already calculating her survival.

He had taken what was offered.

She had stayed.

Somewhere between ledgers, apology notes, open windows, and the long stretch of him being gone to Berakamon, she had stopped being a convenience and become one of his.

Kane didn’t regret it.

She had made herself too useful, and too quietly present, for regret to have anywhere to stand.

"I thought of going to the Giants," he said.

"But will it work?"

Firlia considered, gaze dropping briefly to the brace and the careful way he still held himself, then returning to his face.

"The Giants do seem to have the better chance at giving real protection. Mass, reach, the kind of stubborn defense that doesn’t fold when the first corrupted wave hits. Both Eroha and Cannabis are harder to convince and less useful once the sky actually breaks. Cannabis barely maintains internal coordination. Eroha will demand more political theatre than you have days for. If the goal is a shield wall and closed approaches, the island is still the correct pressure point."

Kane nodded once.

He closed the distance between them by a step.

Firlia did not retreat.

The steam from the empty cup curled between their bodies.

"Did you miss me?"

Firlia’s eyes flicked over his bare chest, the fading bruises, the brace, the fresh evidence of Thora’s mouth still visible along his good shoulder, then away, then back.

A small, controlled flush touched her ears.

"Occasionally."

"How much?"

"I kept myself busy with work so I didn’t mind much."

The words were neat.

"The others made enough noise for the entire manor. Missing you would have been redundant."

Kane’s mouth curved.

"Prepare a boat for moving to the island of the Giants."

Firlia’s composure slipped for half a second.

"You’re leaving?"

"Not today."

He held her gaze, the same blunt clarity he used on battlefields and in beds.

"Not until I fuck you."

The flush climbed from her ears to her cheeks.

Firlia’s throat moved.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and settled on the professional retreat she still used when the ground under her shifted too fast.

"I’ll... speak to the harbor master about a vessel suitable for the crossing. Two days’ provisions. Quiet departure once you’re cleared."

She took a step back, then another, ledger instincts already reaching for the next practical task as if it could outrun the promise.

"The juice should help the inflammation. Don’t train the arm past the system’s recommendation or Lady Thora will make the kitchen answer for it."

Kane watched her turn and walk back toward the manor with slightly too-straight shoulders and the empty cup gripped like evidence.

The smile stayed on his face after she disappeared through the side entrance.

The Giants remained the correct next pressure point, and the boat would be ready when he was.

Between now and the crossing there was a rotation to honor, a household full of women who had waited through silence and rumors, and at least one green-haired administrator who had just been told she was not going to be left on the wrong side of the door again.

Kane set the cup on the low yard wall, rolled his good shoulder until the brace reminded him of its limits, and went back to the lighter forms.