Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!

Leonhardt's eyes flicked to hers. Calm. Focused.

"What do you want, Aella?"

Her voice dropped low. "I want in. Not just a cut. Not just a pretty role on some ledgers and a few crates of sparkling fruit piss. I want to sit at the table. With you."

Behind him, Nyxara became tense.

Her smile vanished for a moment as her fingers twitched on the hilt of her sword. It was rude for a woman to do this, for dark elves. If someone challenged their leader, it caused both a pulse of jealousy and great anger.

Aella slipped closer, as if going for the kill.

She ignored the crackling mana and stepped closer, step by step.

"I want to know what you really are. You're not human—I've known that since the first time you walked in here with your calm little smirk and eyes that don't flinch at anything. You're not a merchant. You're not a noble brat. And you sure as hell aren't just some guy with a dungeon pass."

She leaned in until they were only inches apart.

Her voice became a low, sultry whisper in a fierce and hungry tone.

Leonhardt studied her face.

No fear, and she wasn't trying to upset him and anger him... in fact, her eyes were quite amicable, and filled with lust and raw ambition.

"You realise what you're asking for isn't safe," he said.

Aella's grin was wicked.

"I don't do safe."

A pause.

Leonhardt drummed his fingers once against the table.

"Alright."

Her eyes widened slightly, but she held his gaze.

Although he didn't like this kind of deal and found it a little unpleasant, Leonhardt admired the intelligence of this woman.

Not to mention her potential with a Battle Maiden mother.

"You'll get a seat," he said. "But seats come with responsibility. You take the fall if this gets traced. You silence what needs silencing. And if the humans sniff too close..."

"I bite," she finished. "Hard."

Nyxara finally stepped forward, her tone clipped but elegant.

"Are you certain, Master? She is... volatile."

Aella's head turned, one brow lifting. "Why are you disturbing us when it's getting good?"

Leonhardt's eyes narrowed, glancing between the two as he understood how physical and warlike the dark elves were.

Especially when fighting over a male.

"M-Master?!" Nyxara's voice cracked, her composure fracturing just enough to betray her fury—and jealousy.

Leonhardt didn't turn. His gaze stayed locked on Aella, who was clearly enjoying every second.

"Oh? So this is another one of your women... I see," Aella drawled, all faux-innocent charm. "I'm starting to think I'm not the only one who needs discipline."

Nyxara's hands curled into fists at her sides, mana crackling just beneath the surface of her skin.

Leonhardt exhaled slowly.

"Don't start here, Nyxara. If you want to fight, then do it when I've left and everything's settled."

Nyxara flinched as if slapped. Her lips parted, but no words came. Not yet.

Aella, meanwhile, stretched with her spine arching, hips tilting very deliberately. She moved back towards him with a slow, predatory grace, eyes never leaving his. Her voice dropped to something softer, sultrier—like silk dragging over bare skin.

"I'm starting to like how you talk when you're not pretending to be polite," she murmured.

Leonhardt turned to face her fully.

She stopped just in front of him, close enough for her breath to kiss his throat.

"You say this isn't personal," Aella continued, her finger running up the front of his coat, slow, teasing, "but I can smell it. You want power, yeah—but you want this too."

Leonhardt didn't move.

She pressed her palm flat against his chest, voice a whisper now. "You want women who don't flinch. Who don't grovel. You want warriors at your table—and in your bed."

Nyxara's aura flared behind her.

A storm held barely in check, but Aella didn't even blink.

"You made your deal," she said. "But don't think I'm just here for the logistics."

She leaned in, brushing her lips just past the corner of his jaw—not a kiss... but more like some kind of promise or oath.

"When this works," she purred, "and your little empire starts to rise… I'm not settling for scraps."

She nipped lightly at his earlobe, just enough to make a point.

"I want a throne. And I want you sitting on it, with me in your lap. Dungeon Master."

Aella worked it out, and then pulled away with a smug grin, eyes still burning, and turned to Nyxara with mock sweetness.

"Oh, don't look so sour. You can have Mondays."

Nyxara visibly twitched.

Leonhardt sighed. "Aella."

"What? Sharing is diplomatic."

She winked at him, blew a kiss, then turned and sauntered out of the room with the swagger of a woman who'd just signed a treaty and stolen a crown.

The door clicked shut behind her.

The silence that followed was molten.

Nyxara stepped forward again, slow, simmering, her fingers clenched tight.

"Master," she said through gritted teeth, "she—"

"Knows what she's doing," Leonhardt cut in, voice low.

Nyxara's eyes glinted gold in the dim light.

"She wants you."

"I know."

"She doesn't respect your authority."

"She respects the results."

He turned toward her now, and this time his voice deepened—less patient.

"Control her later, if you must. Or win her over. Either way… she's mine now."

Nyxara shivered. Her gaze dropped, heat rolling off her like steam.

"…Understood."

Leonhardt picked up the folder and tucked it beneath his coat.

"Have the others prepare, we will be dealing with the orcs soon enough. The first shipment moves in three days. Oh, and Nyxara?"

"Hm?" She shuddered, his face suddenly before hers.

"You are still my favourite dark elf, don't be too jealous." His hand brushed across her cheek, rubbing her lips with his thumb. "I hope you don't disappoint me."

And with that, he left the room, the scent of Aella's perfume still lingering in the air.

Behind him, Nyxara stood alone in the silence.

Jealous.

Furious.

And… maybe just a little aroused.

"Master..." With a whisper, she looked back at the other dark elves, silent but judgmental. Then they vanished in the shadows.