Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 73: Balls of Mud

Eastiel opened his eyes.

The world resolved into a dim room smelling of cold stone, extinguished candle wax, and... them.

He did a slow, horizontal scan.

To his right was a landscape of pale, powerful muscle and a fall of silken, mist-white hair. The Dragon Lord, Oathran Alicei, slept on his back, one arm flung out under Eastiel’s head in a pose of negligent dominion. The bold lines of his horns cut a dark silhouette against the grey light from a high window. Naked.

He carefully turned his head.

To his left was a winter sun-kissed skin over coiled strength, the heavy muscle of a warrior at rest. The Black Wolf King, Arkai Dawnoro, lay on his side facing him, one hand curled loosely near his chin even in sleep, his expression unguarded and severe. Also naked.

Eastiel lay perfectly still between two living legends, two apex predators, two beings who were now, through a series of increasingly surreal and culminating events last night, his... brothers in the most legally, magically, and anatomically complicated sense possible.

A question echoed in the vaulted silence of his own skull, underscored by the rhythmic, synced breathing of the two formidable bodies bracketing him.

How in the seven holy hells did my life come to this?

Forget it.

"I married the love of my life," he whispered to the ceiling. "Therefore, I do not care that I wake up sandwiched, nude, between two of the hottest men in the world, who also happen to be my wife’s other husbands."

He nodded to himself, the logic holding. Just.

"Love is enough."

"Love...can conquer everything."

At that precise moment, Oathran shifted in his sleep. He rolled onto his side to face Eastiel, his expression serene, a stray lock of white hair catching on the sharp angle of his jaw.

Simultaneously, Arkai emitted a low, unconscious growl from his left. His large, calloused hand, which had been resting on his own stomach, slid out in a sleep-slow search. It traced a path over the ridges of Eastiel’s abdomen, a wandering touch, before settling over the center of the Lion King’s bare chest.

Eastiel’s soul left his body.

"A—HHHHHHHHHHHH!"

As a screech of chaste panic ripped from his throat, he snatched the tangled blanket and yanked it up to his chin, scrambling back against the headboard as if burned.

TAP—TAP—TAP—TAP—

The frantic patter of bare feet on stone emerged as Cecilia burst out from the adjacent bathing chamber, alarmed. She was dripping wet, a towel clutched hastily to her front, her blonde hair plastered to her skin. In her right hand, she wielded a wooden water ladle like a club, ready to bludgeon an intruder.

"What? What? What’s up? East...?" Her wide eyes darted from his horrified face, to Oathran’s now-cracking-open amused eye, to Arkai’s slowly lifting head, his own hand still resting on Eastiel’s blanket-shielded chest.

A terrified, blanket-clutching Lion King, a bemused Dragon, a drowsily confused Wolf, and a damp, armed Saintess ready for a brawl.

Silence.

***

The atmosphere in the sunlit receiving room was... a bit awkward. Eastiel stood between the two pillars of his new life, gesturing for the introductions.

"Mother... this is... Elder Brother Oathran." He indicated the dragon, who inclined his head gracefully. Regally. His very stillness seemed to press upon the air.

"Hello, Madame."

"And this is... Brother Arkai." The Black Wolf King gave a short, sharp nod, his expression one of respectful solemnity befitting a fellow sovereign meeting a queen mother.

"Ma’am."

"You’ve already met Saintess Cecilia..." Cecilia offered a warm smile from beside them.

"And..." Eastiel finished, gesturing to the two lions watching the spectacle, "this is my mother, Queen Harriet, and my brother, Elias."

Cecilia stepped forward with a bright smile. "Mother-in-law, we’re truly sorry we were in such a... predicament these couple of days back that we didn’t properly—"

Harriet Edengold waved a dismissive hand, her sharp golden eyes missing nothing. "Who had time for greetings in that situation? Have you eate—"

The dam broke.

"I love the bread. So muc—" Cecilia began.

"It’s my favorite. Carbs. Holy carb—" Harriet agreed.

"Perfectio—" Cecilia sighed.

"Please make sure to have a lion child one da—" Harriet instructed, leaning forward.

"I will do my best. Boy or gir—" Cecilia nodded earnestly.

"I don’t care. As long as it’s a lio—" Harriet stipulated.

"Of cours—" Cecilia affirmed.

"No lizard or wol—" Harriet finished, her tone leaving no room for debate.

"It’s hard to disguise, don’t worr—" Cecilia assured.

"Hahahahahaha—" Harriet threw her head back and laughed.

"Hahahahahaha—" Cecilia joined her, the two women’s laughter weaving together in perfect harmony.

The four men, Oathran, Arkai, Eastiel and Elias, stood in a row like wallflowers. Unmoisturized. Dry. They exchanged a glance of defeat. It was curious how two formidable women could speak in simultaneous, interrupting streams and yet achieve a level of understanding and accord that the men, with all their careful silence and protocol, could not hope to match.

"Brother," Elias whispered, his dreamy, star-struck gaze firmly glued to the laughing Saintess. He leaned toward Eastiel, voice full of wistful hope. "Can I be the fourth husb—"

SMACK!

Harriet’s hand, without even looking, shot out and cuffed the back of her younger son’s head. "Hahahahahaha—"

"Hahahahaha—"

Elias blinked, the fantasy shattered. He rubbed his skull, his expression shifting to one of dazed remorse. "Sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. Sorry."

The women’s conversation flowed on, uninterrupted.

Until, unfortunately, Cecilia had to bid her farewell. The pleasant domestic interlude could only last so long against the tide of looming crises.

"My ex-father-in-law, Lord Vasiliev, must have regained consciousness by now," Cecilia said, her tone shifting from warm to purposefully brisk. "Mother, I regret that I must leave to discuss... many things with him. Not to mention the matters Lord Arkai will need to address."

Harriet’s face fell, the bright laughter fading into genuine disappointment. "So soon? You haven’t even had your wedding ceremony yet..."

The words were quite a motherly lament, but they landed in the room with the force of a divine edict.

On the mention of wedding, all three men, Eastiel, Oathran, and Arkai, flinched in horrified unison. A realization washed over them.

Ah.

Wedding.

Of course.

How had this fundamental civilization-affirming step completely escaped their minds? They had bonded, they had pledged, they had... thoroughly consummated multiple complex relationships.

But a wedding? A public declaration, a ritual, a celebration? They had been acting like cave beasts claiming a mate in the wilderness! No, worse, beasts had mating rituals. They had been like... like rocks. Balls of mud.

Shameless. Uncultured. This womanly point of view... they needed a Harriet in their lives to remind them of the essential social architecture of matrimony.

"Mother, about the wedding..." Eastiel began earnestly.

"Madame...no, Mother-in-law," Oathran corrected himself. "We will return to seek your guidance. Your experience is... invaluable."

"Yes, Mother-in-law," Arkai added sincerely. "Not even the Saintess would think to instruct us on such matters. Her mind is too... practical."

Harriet, suddenly the focus of buttering-up attention from her own son and two of the most formidable beings in the world, blinked in surprise. A faint, pleased blush rose to her cheeks. "O-oh... my. Of course, Son... S-Sons-in-law... Anytime."

Cecilia let out a long sigh. She pinned the three men with a glare. "Mother-in-law... please don’t feel obligated by them."

"It’s perfectly okay, my dear daughter!" Harriet chirped, beaming now. "I’m all available! We’ll have the most magnificent celebration the desert—no, the world has ever seen!"

Cecilia closed her eyes for a moment. "...Thank you. Thank you very much."