Forbidden Desires: Conquering Kingdoms And Women In a Fantasy World!-Chapter 27: Morning Reflections And Lisa’s New Siblings!

The pale light of dawn crept through the shutters as I stirred from sleep, my internal clock pulling me from dreams I couldn’t quite remember. I turned carefully, mindful not to disturb the figure beside me.

My lovely big sister lay curled on her side, her white hair spread across the pillow. Her breathing was deep and even, the kind of exhausted sleep that comes after pushing one’s body and mind to their limits. Last night had drained her more than she’d admitted. Well, it was her first time having an orgasm after all.

Slipping from the bed silently, I walked out in the backyard.

I settled into my usual meditation, legs crossed, hands resting loosely on my knees. The routine had become sacred to me—thirty minutes of focused breathing, of clearing my mind and centering myself before the chaos of the day began. But today, as I closed my eyes and tried to find that familiar inner calm, images of yesterday’s fight kept intruding.

Arlos. The cold bite of steel sliding between my ribs. The moment I’d thought I might actually die in this strange world, far from everything I’d once known.

My jaw clenched involuntarily. I’d been sloppy. Overconfident.

I could be on Earth but int his world, it could lead to straight death.

When the meditation timer in my head signaled the end of my session, I rose. My body protested slightly as I began my stretching routine, muscles still tender from yesterday’s ordeal. But pain was just another teacher, and I had lessons to learn.

I started with the basic forms—the foundation of the fighting system I’d developed over years of studying Krav Maga and adapting it to my needs. Each movement flowed into the next: strike, block, counter, move. But as I worked through the familiar patterns, I found myself pushing harder, moving faster, adding elements I’d never attempted before.

My fists cut through the air with sharp precision. A knee strike that would have shattered ribs. An elbow that could cave in a skull. Each technique was refined, economical, deadly. No wasted motion, no flashy moves—just pure, efficient violence.

But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough as long as I was just shadowboxing.

Retrieving the wooden lance from where I’d propped it against the shed, I hefted its familiar weight. The weapon had served me well, but I needed to push beyond competence into mastery. I needed to become something more than just skilled—I needed to become lethal.

The lance became an extension of my will as I worked through thrust combinations, each strike aimed at invisible vital points. Forward thrust to the solar plexus. Butt strike to the temple. Sweep to take out the legs, followed by a downward stab to finish the fight. My movements grew more fluid, more instinctive, until the weapon seemed to dance in my hands.

Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cool morning air. My breathing came in controlled bursts, each exhalation timed with a strike.

I transitioned into wide, sweeping strikes, imagining multiple opponents closing in from all sides. In my mind’s eye, I could see them—bandits like the ones we’d faced, but faster, more skilled, more numerous. The lance whistled through the air, carving deadly arcs that would have cleaved through flesh and bone.

I had to get stronger not only for myself but for people I loved. Isabella, Rosaluna and Lisa.

In my previous life, I’d prided myself on my independence. Attachments were weaknesses, relationships were complications. I’d told myself that caring about others only made you vulnerable, gave your enemies leverage to use against you.

Maybe that was still true. Maybe these feelings were a weakness I couldn’t afford.

But I didn’t care.

Weak or not, I wanted them in my life.

The problem was, I couldn’t protect them from here. Real combat experience couldn’t be gained from forms and drills. I needed to face actual opponents, to test myself against steel and spell in life-or-death situations. But leaving meant abandoning them, and I wasn’t sure even Rosaluna’s considerable power would be enough to keep them safe.

Especially not with her current instability.

And Lisa refused to leave the village. This place held too many memories of her grandmother, too many connections to the life she’d known. I understood that kind of attachment to place, even if I’d never experienced it myself.

My frustration built with each passing strike until finally, I channeled it all into one devastating thrust. The lance cut through the air with such force that it created a visible shockwave, the displaced air rippling outward in a small sonic boom.

I stood there gasping, sweat dripping from my chin, the lance trembling in my grip. The display of power should have been satisfying, but instead, it only highlighted how far I still had to go.

Setting the lance aside, I tilted my head back and focused my will. Water materialized above me—not just a splash, but a perfect sphere of crystal-clear liquid that caught the morning light like a prism. I let it drop, gasping as the shocking cold cascaded over my heated skin, washing away the sweat and grime of my training.

The water was still dripping from my hair when I heard footsteps on the path behind me.

"Harold."

I turned to find Isabella standing at the back entrance. But something was different about her this morning—a tension in her shoulders, a tightness around her eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday.

"Mom, what is it?" I reached for the towel I’d prepared, using it to dry my torso while looking at her.

Isabella’s smile was perfectly crafted, the kind that mothers everywhere had perfected—bright and reassuring on the surface, but missing that genuine warmth that usually lit up her eyes. "I heard some interesting gossip from the villagers this morning. Something about my son returning yesterday with a foreign princess in tow?"

Village gossip traveled faster than wildfire, and I should have expected this conversation.

She was probably upset that I didn’t even mention anything like that after coming coming back yesterday.

"Ah, right..." I ran a hand through my damp hair, buying myself a moment to organize my thoughts. "I suppose I should have mentioned that earlier."

I launched into the carefully crafted story that Lisa and I had agreed upon, sticking to the sanitized version we’d prepared for public consumption. Three kidnapped boy and girls. Lisa and I had been in the area hunting when we’d witnessed the abduction. We’d followed at a safe distance and managed to free the captives when the bandits made camp for the night.

No mention of the brutal fight. No details about my near-death experience or the bodies we’d left scattered in the forest. Nothing about the magical abilities that had turned the tide. Just a simple tale of courage and quick thinking that painted us as heroes without revealing the darker truths.

Isabella listened intently, her expression shifting from skepticism to relief as I spoke. When I finished, she let out a long sigh that seemed to release all the tension she’d been carrying.

"Thank the gods," she murmured, pressing a hand to her chest. "When I heard the rumors, I imagined all sorts of terrible scenarios. You know how the villagers love to embellish their stories."

She stepped closer, and I could see the genuine worry in her eyes. "I’m proud of you for helping those people, Harold. It shows the kind of man you’re becoming. But I can’t help but worry about you taking such risks."

I moved toward her, closing the distance between us, and placed my hands gently on her shoulders. "Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not going anywhere. I promise you that I’ll never leave you or Rosaluna alone."

The words came out more fierce than I’d intended as I smiled.

Isabella’s eyes widened slightly at the intensity in my voice, but then her expression softened into something that was pure maternal love.

"I know you mean that, my boy," she said, reaching up to touch my cheek with her hand. "But sometimes life has other plans for us. Sometimes we don’t get to choose when we stay and when we have to go."

What did that mean?

Was it connected to her past... or even to the circumstances of my and Rosaluna’s birth?

I wouldn’t know. She’d never spoken about any of that—not once since the day I was born. It was a subject locked behind invisible doors, and no matter how curious I’d grown over the years, those doors remained sealed.

"Don’t worry," I murmured gently, reaching out to take her hand in mine. I brought it to my lips and kissed it softly. "Everything will be fine."

Isabella’s cheeks flushed almost instantly. Her breath caught, and she quickly pulled her hand away as if my touch had shocked her.

"I—I prepared breakfast," she stuttered quickly erasing emotions from her face. "You should take your shower and hurry before it gets cold."

"Yes, Mom," I said with a smile, pretending not to notice how flustered she had become.

I headed to the bathroom and let the warm water wash over me, my thoughts swirling as steam filled the room. When I was done, I dressed and made my way back to the dining area, the scent of eggs and toasted bread greeting me before I even arrived.

But something felt off. Rosaluna wasn’t there.

Her seat was empty. I glanced behind. The door to my room stood open, but it was clear she hadn’t gone back there either.

"She left in a hurry," Mom said, noticing my searching gaze. "I don’t know why she woke up so late—this must be the first time in years." She sighed and shook her head, clearly puzzled.

"Hm. She slept with me yesterday. That might be why," I replied casually, sliding into my chair.

There was a clatter.

Mom had frozen, the wooden spoon in her hand nearly slipping from her fingers.

"Eh?" She said after a pause, blinking rapidly. "She... slept with you?"

I blinked, tilting my head like I didn’t understand the confusion. "Yes. She had a nightmare, couldn’t sleep. We talked for a while and eventually just fell asleep together. Why?"

There was a beat of silence—then realization dawned on her face.

"A—Ah," she muttered quickly, her cheeks flushing crimson as the implications of her own assumptions hit her. She looked down, then away, clearly mortified.

She wasn’t just embarrassed—she was ashamed. Her thoughts had leapt to the worst, darkened by guilt and that same twisted desire she’d been trying so hard to suppress. And now she was left reeling from how easily her mind had misunderstood the situation—her daughter, her son...

She averted her gaze, shaking her head slightly, and busied herself with nothing in particular.

I smirked faintly as I took a bite of warm bread. There was something amusing about seeing her like that—caught between decorum and temptation.

When breakfast was done, I rose from the table and stepped out into the crisp morning air.

It was time to check on our newest guests.

As I made my way toward the center of Millbrook, the usual peaceful hum of the village had turned into something louder—a commotion. I followed the sound until I reached the gathering crowd, and there at the center of it all was none other than her.

Princess Judith.

She stood beside Aldan answering the villagers’ flood of questions with effortless charm. Her every word was measured, her smiles regal. She carried herself like royalty even in simple clothes, and everyone could feel it.

A foreign princess in Millbrook Village? It was as outrageous as it sounded. The villagers—people who’d barely ever traveled past the river—looked at her like they were witnessing a fairy tale come to life. And truthfully, they kind of were. If it weren’t for Aldan backing her up, no one would’ve believed a single word.

I watched her for a moment, admiring how quickly she had adjusted, how naturally she wore that attention.

Still, I wasn’t here for her.

I turned my gaze away from the crowd, scanning for someone else.

Lisa. And the redheaded siblings.

Where were they?

I had a hunch.

Turning on my heel, I made my way toward Lisa’s house. Her place was tucked quietly between rows of stone cottages.

I didn’t bother knocking. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

And sure enough—they were all there.

The first thing I saw as I stepped into Lisa’s house was her standing beside Riley near the open window, sunlight painting soft lines across her profile. She was leaning in close to him, adjusting the way he held a wooden bow in his hands. Her voice was calm but precise as she explained something about posture and grip—how to angle the string, how not to lock his elbows.

Riley was clearly trying to stay focused, but it was obvious he was flustered. His ears were red, and he kept glancing sideways at her instead of the bow, nodding quickly to every word like it was gospel. Poor kid probably didn’t even hear half of what she was saying. But to his credit, he was listening, trying.

Meanwhile, across the room, Zoey was seated in the large, worn armchair by the fireplace—the same one that old Martha used to occupy during every visit I made here. It was a bit too big for Zoey, the arms swallowing her shoulders slightly, but she looked strangely at home.

She was holding a bundle of red cloth in her lap and sewing with a small, concentrated smile on her face. Her hands moved carefully, if a bit clumsily, as she threaded the needle through the fabric. Her brow was slightly furrowed in focus, but there was something content in her expression.

Watching her, I felt a pang of nostalgia stir in my chest.

Martha...

If that old woman were still alive, she probably would’ve grumbled the moment she saw someone sitting in her favorite chair. She would’ve muttered about disrespect and tradition. But then—right after—she would’ve smiled, warm and wise, and pulled up a stool beside Zoey to teach her better stitching technique.

Damn it.

I really missed her. More than I usually let myself admit.

Lisa noticed me first. She gave me a bright, welcoming smile but didn’t stop her explanation to Riley. That alone told me she was genuinely enjoying the moment. It was rare to see her like that—relaxed, open.

I left them alone and turned toward Zoey.

She hadn’t noticed me. Her eyes were still downcast, completely absorbed in her sewing. I walked over slowly, watching the way her fingers moved. She wasn’t bad. Basic technique, but a steady hand.

"You’re good at that," I said casually.

"Eh?" Zoey jolted slightly, looking up. When her eyes met mine, she flinched and instinctively pulled the fabric against her chest, like I’d caught her doing something private.

"G–Good morning..." She mumbled, cheeks already turning pink.

"Good morning," I replied leaning slighlty to get a better look at what she was working on. "So, where’d you learn how to sew?"

She shifted a bit in the oversized chair. "U–Um, from my mother... just the basics." Her eyes darted away again, avoiding mine.

I reached out and took the fabric and the needle from her hands without resistance. She let them go, curious despite herself.

"Watch," I said.

My fingers moved quickly—unnaturally fast. The needle flicked through the fabric like it had a will of its own, and in less than a minute, the once-simple red cloth had been transformed. I handed it back to her, now in the shape of a handkerchief with a small, intricate bird design stitched in the corner. A swallow, mid-flight. The sort of detail only someone with advanced skill could do that fast.

Zoey’s mouth parted slightly. "T–This is amazing..." She whispered, holding it up with wide eyes.

I nodded, brushing off the compliment. "Well... keep practicing. If you’re serious about learning, Martha left a bunch of her old sewing books and tools behind. Lisa doesn’t really sew, so no one’s using them. You can go through them—if you’re planning on staying, that is."

My voice trailed off at the end.

Were they staying?

It was up to Lisa, ultimately. But Aldan, the village chief, would probably want to have a say too. I glanced toward Lisa. She was laughing now, adjusting Riley’s grip on the bow again, her hand on his shoulder in a way that made him freeze like a statue.

She looked... happy. Really happy.

Was that because her house was longer empty?

"Um..." Zoey’s voice pulled my attention back.

I turned to her, and she looked down again, cheeks still pink. "Can I... can I call you Harold?" She asked hesitantly.

I blinked.

She was clearly flustered, fingers tightening slightly on the fabric. Averting her eyes again.

Yeah.

No doubt about it.

This girl definitely had a crush on me.