The carriage rolled through the golden morning light.

It was a simple thing. Wooden. Four wheels. A canvas top stretched over bent poles. Two draft horses pulled it along the dirt road that wound through the hills toward the capital. The old man drove them. His name was Garret. He had white hair, a crooked back, and hands like leather. He had been hired at the village inn. He did not ask questions. He was paid in gold. That was enough.

Inside, the pregnant woman sat against the side wall. Her belly was round. Tight. She wore a loose dress that barely contained her heavy tits. Her nipples were stiff against the fabric. She was smiling. Her dark circles were still there, but her face was softer now. Happier. She held a bundle of wildflowers in her lap. She hummed.

Beside her, the boy sat cross-legged. He was drawing in the dirt on the floorboard with a stick. He drew a horse. Then a sword. Then a circle that he said was the sun.

Vess sat across from them. Her armor was packed away. She wore a simple traveling dress. Her white hair was loose. She looked out the canvas window at the passing hills. Her face was calm. Almost peaceful. Almost human.

Juhi sat beside Vess. Her short hair was tucked behind her ears. She had removed her chest binding for the journey. She was breathing easier. Her small tits pressed against her shirt. She was braiding a cord of wild grass she had picked from the roadside.

They had stopped twice.

Once at a stream. The boy had thrown stones. The pregnant woman had waded in, her dress hiked to her knees, laughing as the cold water hit her swollen ankles. Vess had stood on the bank, arms crossed, watching the water. Juhi had pushed her in. The commander had emerged, sputtering and furious, her white hair plastered to her face. The boy had laughed. The pregnant woman had laughed. Even Raven, standing upstream with his fishing line, had chuckled.

The second stop was at a meadow.

Wildflowers. Red. Yellow. White. The pregnant woman had gathered them. Her thick body moved through the grass. Her belly preceded her. She hummed as she picked. The boy ran beside her, gathering dandelions and presenting them like treasures. Vess and Juhi walked behind. They did not speak. But they walked close. Their shoulders touched. Their hands brushed.

Raven sat on a rock.

He watched them. His coat was open. His chest was bare. His eyes followed the pregnant woman as she bent to pick flowers. Her thick ass was visible under the dress. The fabric clung to the curve. The rope marks on her wrists were fading. But the bite marks on her neck were not. He smiled.

The pregnant woman looked back at him.

She blushed. She looked away. She clutched the flowers to her chest. Her nipples tightened against the fabric.

They returned to the carriage.

The pregnant woman gave the boy a dandelion crown. He placed it on his head. He looked ridiculous. He looked like a king. He beamed.

"Uncle," the boy said, looking at Raven. "Do you want a crown too?"

Raven looked at the dandelion circlet. The yellow petals were bright against the boy’s dark hair.

"No," Raven said. "Kings wear gold."

"But you have gold," the boy said. "Mother said you have lots of gold."

"I do," Raven said. He smiled. "But I am not a king. I am a husband."

The pregnant woman’s face went red. She hid behind the flowers. Vess looked away. Juhi snorted.

The carriage rolled on.

They ate bread and cheese at midday. The pregnant woman fed the boy from her lap. She tore the bread into small pieces. She placed them in his mouth. He chewed loudly. She wiped his chin. Vess shared her waterskin with Juhi. Their fingers touched on the leather. Juhi looked at her. Vess looked back. Neither spoke.

By afternoon, the boy was asleep.

His head was on the pregnant woman’s lap. Her hand was on his hair. She stroked it gently. Her other hand was on her belly. She could feel the parasite. It pulsed. It vibrated. It was warm. A constant, intimate presence. Like a second heartbeat.

She smiled.

’Master’s child. Master’s seed. Master’s parasite. I am his vessel. His incubator. His wife. I am happy.’

Vess watched her.

She saw the smile. The vacant eyes. The constant hand on the belly. She saw the way the woman’s nipples tightened whenever she looked at Raven. The way her thighs pressed together. The way her lips parted. The woman was corrupted. Broken. Owned. And happy.

Vess felt her own pussy clench.

She looked out the window. The hills were turning to forests. The road was narrower. The capital was still a day away. She pressed her thighs tighter. She could feel the seed from the night before. It was still inside her. Leaking. Warm. She wanted more.

She hated that she wanted more.

Juhi was watching Raven.

He sat on the driver’s bench beside the old man. His coat was open. His chest was bare. His legs were spread. The bulge in his trousers was visible. Thick. Heavy. Twelve inches, packed into leather. She stared at it. She remembered the taste. The piss. The cum. The balls in her mouth. She looked away. Her face was hot. Her small tits were tight against her shirt. Her nipples were hard. She crossed her arms.

The old man looked at Raven.

"You have a strange family," he said.

"I do," Raven said. He smiled. "But they are mine."

The sun set.

The forest was dark. The road was gone. They were following a hunter’s trail. The old man pulled the horses to a stop.

"We camp here," he said. "The capital is a day’s ride. We can make it by tomorrow evening."

Raven stepped down.

He walked to the treeline. He found three logs. Fallen oak. Thick as a man’s torso. He grabbed the first one. He lifted it. One-handed. He carried it to the clearing. He placed it. He went back. He grabbed the second. Lifted. Carried. Placed. He grabbed the third. The heaviest. He grabbed it with both hands and snapped it over his knee.

CRACK—

The sound echoed through the forest.

The old man’s mouth fell open. His pipe fell from his teeth. Vess and Juhi stared from the carriage. The boy’s eyes were wide.

"Uncle is strong!" the boy cried. "Stronger than the blacksmith!"

Raven smiled. He arranged the logs. He snapped his fingers. Fire erupted. Purple and orange. It crackled. It was warm. It illuminated the clearing.

They gathered around.

The old man sat on a stump. He packed his pipe. He lit it from the fire. He puffed. He was calm. He had seen strange things on the road. He had learned not to ask.

The boy sat beside him. He yawned. He rubbed his eyes.

"Where are the others?" he asked. He looked around. The pregnant woman was gone. Vess was gone. Juhi was gone. Only Raven remained, sitting on a log across the fire.

"They are just taking a bath," the old man said. He puffed his pipe. "At the pond. Women like to bathe."