Goddess Tricked Me into a Breeding Mission (And I Love It)

John didn’t get the answer right away.

He stood on his side of the table, looking at Lys, and the kitchen was quiet enough that you could hear the crowd shifting outside, boots on gravel, low murmurs, and the occasional cough of Bezos. The lantern between them burned steadily, throwing its small circle of orange light across the scarred wood.

Then John pulled his chair out and sat back down.

He did it slowly, deliberately, like he was making a choice this time instead of just finding himself in a seat. He folded his hands on the table in front of him and looked at Lys the way you look at something you’ve picked up off the ground and aren’t sure yet whether it’s worth keeping or throwing away.

"Talk," he said. Just the one word. Flat, guarded, giving nothing away with his facial expression.

Lys nodded once. But he still didn’t rush into it. He reached over and pushed one of the mugs a little closer to John’s side of the table, a small thing, not insistent, just placing it within reach, and then he settled back in his chair.

"The guild," he said. "That’s what this village has been waiting for. Everyone knows it. It changes everything: trade routes, protection, connections to the capital. People who’ve been scraping by will get a real chance to live properly with it." He paused. "And it’s coming here because Sara put in the work to bring it. I saved that noble’s daughter, and she used that chance encounter well enough to get acquainted with Lord Valtor. And that connection is what moved things in the capital. I’m sure you know this very well by now, right?"

John’s eyes flicked to Sara, who was still against the wall, still watching. His expression didn’t change, but something tightened around his eyes.

"I know how the guild is about to come here," John said. His voice was controlled now, careful. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"The representatives are coming soon," Lys said. "And when they arrive, they’re going to be looking at this village and deciding if it’s worth their investment. Not just the land or the roads or the trade numbers." He turned his mug slowly with one hand, just slightly, back and forth. "They’re going to look at the people. Whether the place is stable. Whether the ones in charge know what they’re doing. Whether there’s anyone here worth building something with."

John was quiet. His hands stayed folded.

"Sara has the settlement authority," Lys continued. "That’s already settled, I heard. Which means the guild reps are going to come in and see a woman leading the arrangements, which is fine, she’s capable." He said it without looking at Sara, just stating a fact. "But they’re also going to hear about what happened today. Word travels faster than anything. A commotion in the market square, the priest’s daughter, this confrontation of yours in the night. They’re definitely going to ask questions about these things."

John’s jaw shifted. "And whose fault is that?"

"Of course, it’s mine," Lys said, without hesitating. "I already told you that. I own it." He met John’s eyes. "But ownership doesn’t change what the story sounds like when it reaches the capital. They don’t know the details. They hear: a young man, no standing, caused a scene, threatened a priest’s family. And that’s a problem, don’t you think?" He paused for just a moment. "Unless the story is different."

"And how," John said slowly, "would the story be different?"

Lys didn’t answer that directly. Not yet. He turned the mug a little more, back and forth, back and forth, the wood of the handle quiet against the table.

"The guild reps like bold people, I’m sure you know that. That should be obvious, given most of them are adventurers and accustomed to fighting."

"People who act. People who don’t sit still when something’s wrong. They deal with enough politics in the capital that they’ve learned to spot a person who actually does things versus a person who just talks about doing things." He looked up. "Today I did something. It was rough, yes. It wasn’t pretty. But it was decisive. And at least half the crowd in the market was on my side by the end of it, whether they’d admit it tonight or not."

John’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t interrupt.

"A person like that," Lys said, "properly positioned, with a proper role, and is useful. Not just to the village. To you." He let that word land for a moment. "Someone like that on the council, connected to the right family, vouched for by the right people. The guild reps see stability. They see a community that handles its own problems and comes out intact. They see investment potential."

John leaned back in his chair. He looked at Lys the way you look at a piece on a game board you haven’t decided how to use yet. His face had gone very still; the shouting burned off, replaced by something colder and more deliberate. It was more unsettling than the rage had been.

"You’re not just talking about a council position, I presume?" he said.

Lys didn’t confirm it. But he didn’t deny it either. He continued the conversation in a roundabout way. "I’m talking about the village needing to look forward-thinking when outsiders arrive. I’m talking about a young man who just proved, for better or worse, that he won’t be pushed around, just because someone is of higher authority." He held John’s gaze steadily. "That kind of person is an asset. IF Properly Positioned."

He took a pause. Shorter than the others.

"And I’m talking about what it means for your family’s reputation," Lys said, "if the priest’s daughter is associated with that person, rather than standing against him."

The room shifted with this last sentence.

It was subtle, like the pressure changing before rain. Elara’s hands tightened together against her apron. Mira, in the doorway, went very still, her eyes moving from Lys to John and back. Sara, against the far wall, stopped breathing for a moment that was just a moment too long.

John didn’t move. He just sat there, and the stillness in his face deepened.

"You’re talking about Selene," he said.

His voice had gone quiet. Not soft, not gentle. Quietly, the way a door goes quiet when someone closes it firmly from the other side.

Lys said nothing. He just met John’s eyes and waited.

The silence stretched. John let it, filling it with the weight of what he was thinking. His eyes moved, just once, toward Selene, who had been standing against the wall this whole time. She hadn’t moved since they came in. She was looking at the table now, not at anyone in particular, her arms still folded across herself.

Then he looked back at Lys.

"You-have-some-nerve," he said. Each word came out separately, soft and dangerous and precise. "To sit in this room. After publicly shaming my daughter in front of half the village. And suggest that you..." He stopped. His nostrils flared. "....that you should be considered..."

"I’m not talking about what I deserve," Lys said. His voice was even, unhurried. "I’m talking about what works for me, and of course for you."

John’s eyes narrowed.

"Right now," Lys continued, "the story the village tells is that your daughter was humiliated by a nobody. That’s the story. That’s what people are going to repeat to each other tomorrow over breakfast, and the day after, and the week after. Your daughter was caught out in public, and a boy with no name and no standing made her back down." He kept his voice level, like a matter-of-fact, not overly cruel about it. Just stating the shape of the thing. "That story hurts you. And I’m sure you know, it will follow her. And it certainly will follow your family for many days to come."

John’s hands had come unfolded. One of them was flat on the table now, and the knuckles were white.

"But that story can change," Lys said. "Not the facts, you can’t change those, people saw what they saw. But the meaning of it can change. If the man who challenged her turns out to have reasons, real ones. If what happened in that square turns out to be the start of something rather than just an embarrassment." He paused. "The guild reps are also going to hear what kind of man I am before they ever meet me. I’d rather they hear a story that makes sense."

John stared at him. "And this arrangement you’re suggesting would accomplish that."

"It would give everyone a different place to stand," Lys said simply. "Including your family."

For a long moment, John didn’t say anything. He looked at the mug Lys had pushed toward him earlier, which he hadn’t touched. He looked at his own hands on the table. The vein at his temple was visible, pulsing, but the explosion that had seemed so close a few minutes ago hadn’t come.

He was thinking. Anyone could see it happening behind his eyes, the calculation running, the angles being measured.

Mira had pressed her back against the hallway doorframe and was looking at her brother with an expression that mixed disbelief with something else, something closer to wonder. She’d seen Lys handle things before. She’d seen him be clever, be quick, be brave in the market today. But this was different. This was something she didn’t have a word for yet.

Sara had uncrossed her arms without noticing she’d done it. Her hands were at her sides now, and she was watching Lys the way you watch someone walk a narrow beam over a long drop, not wanting to look away in case the moment he falls is the moment you blinked.

’He’s not’, she thought. ’He can’t be talking about that, right?’

But somehow she knew he was. He absolutely was talking about That.

"I’m asking you," Lys said, breaking the silence before it settled too long, "as one practical person to another." He kept his voice easy, no pressure in it, like they were two men talking things through over a meal instead of facing each other across a table in the middle of the night with a crowd outside the door. "Which outcome leaves your family stronger tomorrow?"

John’s chin came up a little rougher than he intended. "Don’t speak to me like we’re equals."

"I’m not," Lys said. "You’re the priest of this village, and I’m a settler with nothing to my name. That’s exactly the point I’m making." He held John’s eyes. "So tell me what you want the morning to look like. Because right now you have two options: you walk out of here with the boy punished and the story still ugly, or you walk out of here with something that changes what the story even is."

John opened his mouth.

And then he pushed back from the table so fast his chair scraped a long line across the floor.

He was standing again, both hands balling at his sides, and when he spoke, his voice had cracked completely free of the careful quiet he’d been holding it in.

"Bloodlines," he said, and the word came out like something he’d been holding behind his teeth. "Do you understand what that means? Do you have any idea what my family has built in this village? What my daughter is?" His voice rose steadily, filling the kitchen, bouncing off the low ceiling. "You think you can come in here, you and your settler family, your nobody name, your nothing history, and sit at my daughter’s table?!" He slapped the table with an open palm, the mugs rattling again. "The gall. The absolute gall of you, boy. You should be on your knees right now, not making proposals!"

Elara made a small, frightened sound, both hands pressed to her mouth now. Mira had both hands on the doorframe, her knuckles white, leaning forward slightly like she wanted to do something but couldn’t figure out what.

Sara had gone still against the far wall, completely still, not even blinking.

Lys let him go on. He sat back slightly, hands still open on the table, and waited. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He just let the storm move through the room and sat on the other side of it.

John’s voice cracked higher. "Dignity! Do you know what that word means?! My family has dignity! My daughter has dignity! And you dragged it through the mud today in front of every person in this village, and now you sit there, and you bargain with me like it’s nothing, like she’s nothing, like...." 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

He stopped.

Not because he’d run out of words. Because something in the room had changed. Someone else spoke up.

The voice had come from the wall.

Quiet, flat, tired. Just one word.

"Father."

Everyone turned instantly toward the voice.

Selene hadn’t moved from her spot against the wall. She was still standing the same way she’d been standing since they came inside, arms folded, chin slightly down. But her eyes were up now, and she was looking at her father.

Her face wasn’t angry. It wasn’t sad. It was just steady in the way a person is steady when they’ve decided to say something they’ve not been saying for a long time.

John’s chest was still heaving. "Selene, this isn’t the...."

"You beat Helga tonight."

The words fell into the room like stones into still water.

Nobody spoke.

John’s mouth was open, but no sound came out of it.

Selene’s voice didn’t waver. It didn’t rise. It just kept that same flat, controlled steadiness. "She tried to help me. She’s been with our family for eleven years. She bandages my cuts when you used to throw things. She stays quiet when you tell her to stay quiet. She does everything you ever asked her to do."

"And tonight you beat her until she was bleeding on the floor. Because she couldn’t stop a boy from doing something that took half a second."

John’s face had gone through several things in fast succession. Shock at being spoken to this way by his docile daughter. Fury at the content of her words. And under both of those, something else, something he didn’t let reach his face fully, that might have been a shame if he’d let it.

"That is not a conversation for right now," he said. His voice had dropped back down to the low, dangerous register, but it was different now. Less certain underneath, not knowing why she spoke up now.

"I know," Selene said. Her eyes held his. "But it’s the truth."

She looked away from him then, back down at the table, and she was quiet again. Just standing there, arms still folded, like she’d set something down and walked away from it.

The kitchen was absolutely silent.

Mira’s grip on the doorframe had loosened. She was looking at Selene with something in her expression that hadn’t been there before.

Sara had closed her eyes, very briefly, then opened them again.

John stood on his side of the table and looked at his daughter, and for just a moment, the priest of the village was not visible in his face at all. What was there instead was harder to name, something older and more complicated than rage, something that had been there a long time, probably, that he had gotten very practised at keeping under everything else.

He said nothing.

Selene looked at the table. Her arms tightened just slightly across herself, and she exhaled, slowly and quietly. When she finally spoke, her voice was so low that everyone leaned in a little just to hear it.

"I’m tired," she said.

Not as a demand. Not as a plea. It came out not as dramatic, just quiet and steady and something that had been building for a long time.

Lys looked at her from across the room for just a moment. He didn’t say anything. He turned back to the table and waited.

The lantern between them kept burning.

Outside, the crowd shifted in the dark, boots on gravel, a low murmur passing through the people who were still standing there in the cold, waiting for something to happen that they could understand.