Fiend's Fourth Hurdle

The carriage rocked on rough cobblestone, its wheels creaking under the weight it bore.

Egron's fat butt sank deep into the padded seat, spreading lazily, thighs pressing against each other like two barrels of lard.

He exhaled with satisfaction, belly bouncing slightly with each breath. Across from him, his personal guard, Don, sat with back straight and arms crossed, armored in House Drakmore's sigil—a lion's head with a horn bursting from its brow, carved sharp into steel.

Beside Egron, the three sisters clung close. Felicia, Velicia, and Elicia, all dressed far more modest than usual, though modest for them still meant too tempting. Their presence filled the air like perfume.

"My love, you're such a reliable man," said Velicia, eyes sparkling, her voice ripe with anticipation. "I can't wait to reach Steelreach."

"Dear, it's so refreshing to be beside you," Elicia added, fingering the golden coins in her lap, counting with elegance. "Your generosity is a tale of legends, my lord."

Felicia leaned close, planting a kiss on his cheek. Her diamond bracelet glittered like her smile. "You can't imagine how happy I am."

Egron puffed out his chest, or what counted for a chest beneath the rolls, and laughed proudly, "Hahaha… this is nothing. I'm a Drakmore, after all. We are the greatest House in the kingdom."

He looked to Don. "Right? Don?"

The guard gave the smallest twitch in his brow. His eyes darkened for a breath, but then the emotion was gone.

"Of course, master," Don replied flatly.

Egron leaned forward, every movement slow and strained. His fat body creaked like the wood beneath it. He whispered, low enough so that only Don could hear, "If you could… stay silent about this. I don't know what to do if Father finds out."

Don's eyes didn't change. "You have my word."

Ergon thought to himself, Thanks Gods! Having Don beside me is so refreshing. He respects me. If it could only be me and Felicia, Velicia, and Elicia as my wives, and Don as my bodyguard, I could rule the world.

The carriage stopped. Egron struggled to stand, and then, with effort, they stepped out.

Steelreach stood vast before them as a mountain fortress of towers, courtyards, and banners, looming in the shadow of the Skyhall Mountains. Clangs of steel echoed from training grounds, men in mail practicing sword drills. Villages spread beneath the mountain's foot, farms trailing rivers that flowed like silver threads. It smelled of stone, sweat, and steel.

The sisters marveled at the sights. Maybe at the trained, lean soldiers who passed. Maybe at the noble sons walking in cloaks, proud and sharp in their youth.

Egron had none of that. He was neither lean nor sharp. Just round like a ball.

But the sisters flanked him, wrapping their arms around his. "Woah, my lord. It's amazing. Better than the last time we were here," said Felicia.

"Of course," Egron said, voice puffed up, trying to sound noble. "My family is one of the most influential houses in the kingdom. One of the Ten Royal Fingers."

He coughed. "Although I'm no warrior, all my brothers are terrifyingly skilled. Our army is the backbone of Velrane."

He wasn't wrong. Drakmores filled the barracks of the kingdom. Without them, Velrane would crumble.

Velicia squeezed his arm. "Aww, don't say that, my love. You're just as manly as a lion yourself!"

Egron wasn't used to compliments like that. In truth, he was closer to a pet lion, kept fed and pampered, but never trained to hunt.

His father, Talen Drakmore, was the opposite, the man praised as the strongest man in Velrane, a legend of war, a man of discipline and brute force. Women dreamed of him. His name brought silence in halls.

Egron wished he were like his father.

He wished.

But he did nothing to become like him.

All he did was eating riches and wasting riches and fucking bitches.

And maybe, just maybe, the bitches were the ones fucking him.

Still, ever since he met the sisters, he felt comforted. This strange feeling kept him happy, one that, in a weird tongue, told him, you're appreciated and loved.

True love.

And man, it made him feel good.

"Let's go through that gate," Egron said to Don, trying to avoid the busy fronts.

It was slow. Egron's fat ass made every step a burden. Sweat beaded his forehead before they even climbed a hundred steps. The sisters slowed their pace to stay beside him.

They entered through the west gate with a nod to the guards. The guards nodded back and chuckled once Egron passed, a quiet snort of laughter with a look of mockery.

Egron noticed. It burned. He was a Drakmore. Son of Talen. And these guards… these low-born worms laughed at him?

But he didn't retaliate.

He'd learned better, through slaps, spanks, and worse, his father's roars echoing like thunder in the hall.

The sisters drew glances, but Ergon's plan worked; they encountered less eyes and so less whispers to follow.

They passed through a garden, watching women in linen picking fruit, others in silk lounging freely near pools and stone benches.

His stepmother and half-siblings had eyes everywhere, so he could not hide the sisters forever.

But he tried. Gods, he tried.

He noticed the familiar walls. The northern estate approached, Egon's own mansion. Maids and guards bowed before him.

"Welcome back, master," said an old steward, a young girl beside him.

Egron lifted a hand lazily, acknowledging their welcome.

The sisters pressed kisses on his cheeks and took his hands.

"Come on, darling," Elicia purred. "Let's go inside. We have a reward planned for you."

Egron nodded to Don and the staff, then followed the sisters in. Don's eyes lingered as the door closed behind them.

Later, in his room, the sisters slept, naked, draped over silk and sweat. Egron stood, wobbling slightly on thick legs. He approached the mirror, one with lions trimmed in gold and carved into its edges.

He looked.

Fat. Ugly.

He touched his belly.

It bounced like a pair of tits but less sexy.

Then he imagined.

And if anything, Egron had the biggest imagination in the entire kingdom.

Imagine he weren't fat.

Imagine he weren't ugly or unattractive.

Imagine he weren't lazy or undisciplined.

Imagine he had muscles.

Imagine he were a great warrior.

Imagine he were the first son. Lord of the Drakmores. Ruler of Drakhearth. Owner of Steelreach and Warlord of Lion's Rock.

Imagine he were muscular and tall, sitting atop a throne over a giant hall, greeted by the other nobles coming from afar, being in charge of every single one of them all.

Felicia at his left. Velicia at his right. Elicia on his lap. Three wives. Three queens. All his.

Imagine the respect. From Goldmeres. Hollowmeres. Elandars. Tenebors. Even the Queen herself.

He looked into his own eyes.

Man, that would feel good.