The march to the Wheeler Clan would take three grueling weeks of nonstop travel.

The roads were long and dusty, the sun relentless, and with little else to occupy their minds, the soldiers spent their time talking—or rather, speculating—about the coming siege.

Every conversation carried a sharp edge of anxiety.

The tension was palpable, coiling through the ranks like a living thing.

Nobody wanted to die, and the thought of bloodshed haunted every step.

Normally, a drink or two could ease the nerves, but on the march, with their hands full and the road unending, the men could only speak of what might come.

"Do you really think Young Master Riley can do it?" a young warrior from the Rice Clan asked, his voice low as he trudged along beside an older, battle-hardened soldier.

"A complete victory… without any losses?" His boots kicked up dust with every uncertain step.

The older warrior, his face lined with years of war, didn't look up from the arrows he was carefully sharpening.

"Why are you asking me?" he said, voice calm but firm. "Do I look like I can read minds? Stop worrying about what you can't control. Focus on what you can do. Prepare, stay sharp… and pray to the gods. Only they know how this will end."

He tested the tension of each arrowstring, ensuring that every arrow was balanced, every tip razor-sharp.

The younger soldier nodded, his anxiety eased only slightly by the older man's steady demeanor.

Around them, the sounds of marching soldiers—clanging armor, leather straps creaking, boots crunching gravel—filled the air, a constant reminder that the journey was just as dangerous as the battle that awaited.

Others in the group spoke in hushed tones, sharing rumors and tales of past skirmishes.

Some whispered about the Wheeler Clan's infamous tactics, the ferocity of their warriors, and the unyielding defenses of their stronghold.

Every story only added weight to the already thick tension, but it also drew them closer, a fragile camaraderie forged in fear and uncertainty.

Even in these long hours of marching, there were small moments of levity.

A soldier might joke about a particularly stern commander, or tease a comrade for misstepping in the dust, and for a brief instant, the dread would lift.

But inevitably, someone would fall silent, staring off at the horizon, imagining the walls of the Wheeler Clan looming ahead, and the laughter would die away.

The older warrior, meanwhile, continued his quiet preparations.

Each arrow was a promise, a sliver of hope that could make a difference in the chaos to come.

"If you survive this march," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, "make sure you fight smart. Don't let fear rule you, and never underestimate your enemy."

The younger soldier's heart pounded in his chest as he followed the long line of warriors, the words sinking deep.

There was fear, yes—but there was also determination.

They were marching toward uncertainty, toward battle and blood, and yet each step, each shared glance and whispered word, reminded them that they were not alone.

Together, they would face whatever horrors awaited at the Wheeler Clan.

While the soldiers outside whispered anxiously about the coming war, Riley sat comfortably inside his carriage with his women.

The heavy curtains drawn over the windows muffled the sounds of marching feet, turning the carriage into a private cocoon for mischief.

His hands, however, were far from innocent. They wandered with purpose, caressing smooth thighs and soft bellies, and it was only a matter of time before his teasing grew into something more.

"H-Husband, it's broad daylight," Aurora whispered, her voice a mix of warning and anticipation as his hand slid higher along her leg.

"The soldiers will hear us…" Her cheeks flushed crimson, her modesty wrestling with the undeniable heat stirring in her body.

Riley smirked, leaning close enough for his breath to tickle her ear.

"Let them hear. They'll pretend otherwise, as they always do. And besides…" His voice dropped into a husky whisper, "after three weeks on this road, every man out there is already used to the sound of you crying out in pleasure."

His words struck her like lightning, her heart skipping as his fingers pressed against the thin fabric of her panties.

The dampness already seeping through betrayed her.

Riley chuckled knowingly, stroking her slowly, savoring the way her breath hitched with each deliberate touch.

Aurora bit her lip, her resistance crumbling with every pass of his skilled fingers.

She knew it was only a matter of time before she would part her thighs and surrender to him completely.

Across from them, Edith had no such hesitation.

The loyal maidservant reclined on the carriage bed, her legs spread shamelessly wide in anticipation.

The sight of her flushed face and glistening slit made Riley's cock throb with urgency.

When his free hand reached to tug at her undergarments, Edith eagerly lifted her hips, helping him peel the fabric away.

"Master…" she whispered breathlessly, her eyes burning with desire, "please, don't keep me waiting."

Riley grinned at her obedience.

Edith truly was a remarkable woman—faithful, eager, and utterly devoted not only to him but also to her mistress.

She knew her place, and she relished it, offering herself to satisfy her lord whenever he desired.

Aurora watched, torn between embarrassment and excitement, as Riley's fingers plunged into Edith's wetness.

The maid moaned softly, arching her back as his touch curled just right inside her, her juices coating his hand.

Aurora's breath quickened, jealousy and arousal mixing in her chest as Riley continued teasing her through the soaked fabric of her panties.

"See, Aurora?" Riley teased, his eyes glinting wickedly. "Edith doesn't mind if the soldiers hear. Why should you?"

Aurora shivered under his words, her thighs finally parting as she gave in.

"Y-You're impossible…" she whispered, her voice quivering as she surrendered herself.

Riley rewarded her submission immediately, slipping his fingers beneath the fabric and pressing directly against her slick, swollen folds.

Aurora gasped, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth, though the muffled moan still escaped.

The carriage swayed with the rhythm of the road, but inside it was filled with the sounds of panting, soft cries, and the wet squelch of Riley's fingers working both women.

Aurora trembled, torn between shame and ecstasy, while Edith gave herself freely, moaning louder, uncaring if the soldiers overheard.

Despite both women carrying Riley's children, their bellies had yet to swell, their pregnancies still invisible.

To Riley, they looked as irresistible as ever—their flushed faces, heaving chests, and trembling thighs offering him pleasure even as the shadow of war loomed closer with each mile.

And in that moment, while the world outside worried about survival, Riley reminded his women—and himself—that he was their lord, their master, and their pleasure belonged to him alone.

"Ahhhhhh…"

"Ohhhhh…"

"Ughhhhh…"

Before long, the moans of two women rang out from within Riley's carriage, cutting through the steady tramp of boots and the clatter of armor.

At first, some of the soldiers tried to ignore it, but the sounds only grew clearer—soft gasps, trembling cries, and the unmistakable rhythm of pleasure.

Everyone knew the truth: there were only two women in this entire campaign.

Aurora, Riley's proud wife, and Edith, her loyal maidservant.

No others had been brought along, for to do so would have been reckless—an army of men deprived of women for weeks could easily turn to fighting amongst themselves.

Yet now, with those shameless cries echoing through the air, the reminder of their absence was all the sharper.

The men clenched their jaws, their bodies betraying them as the lewd chorus reached their ears.

Desire rose unbidden, a burning ache in their loins, and many cursed under their breath as their pants grew tight.

Hardened warriors who had faced death on the battlefield without a flicker of fear now marched stiffly, fighting an entirely different kind of battle—one of restraint.

But none dared to voice complaint.

Everyone knew those women belonged to Riley, and Riley alone.

The same Riley who, even as a boy, had bested seasoned veterans of the clan.

To this day, the memory of his effortless victories remained etched into their minds.

If he had been that strong back then, how terrifying must his strength be now?

To even look too long at the carriage was dangerous, as if Riley might somehow notice their wandering thoughts and cut them down where they stood.

So the men bore it, swallowing their hunger and marching on, pretending not to hear what everyone clearly heard.

The moans became like a twisted kind of music, an obscene accompaniment to their journey.

Each cry from the carriage was another reminder of Riley's absolute power—not only over his women but over the entire army that followed him.

At the front of the column, Alexander and Gaben walked in silence for a time, the lewd sounds trailing behind them like a shadow.

Finally, Alexander exhaled heavily, shaking his head.

"Only Riley would dare to do this, in broad daylight, with thousands of men around."

Gaben let out a dry chuckle, though the twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed his envy. "Hah. He's not just daring… he's reminding everyone who he is. Even here, even now, while marching to war, he enjoys himself without fear. That's the kind of man he is. A crazy fool."

Further down the line, whispers spread among the younger soldiers.

Some joked bitterly, elbowing one another as they tried to laugh off their discomfort.

"If this keeps up for three weeks straight, I'll go mad," one muttered. Another groaned,

"The gods are cruel. To march into battle half-hard before we've even seen the enemy?" Their laughter was strained, masking frustration that could never be acted upon.

The veterans, however, remained grim.

They had seen too much of Riley's power to even jest about his women.

Instead, they focused on the road, gripping their weapons tightly, reminding themselves that survival in the coming siege mattered more than lustful thoughts.

And so, the march continued—a strange and contradictory procession.

On the outside, an army preparing for war.

On the inside, every man battling his own body, while the moans of Aurora and Edith drifted on the wind, a shameless symphony that reminded them all of the gulf between themselves and their young master.