Sexy Steampunk Babes: Chapter Fifty Six

William shot a quiet glare in Xela’s direction as he felt the sensation of her foot sliding against his leg under the table. It had been three months since their first tryst, and in that time, he had learned one undeniable truth: she was every bit as voracious in her passions as another elf he knew.

And not nearly as inclined to subtlety.

Now, while he might have indulged her flirtatious invitation under different circumstances, such inclinations were at least somewhat stymied in his mind by the fact that said ‘other’ elf was currently sat with them. Nor was she alone. In addition to Griffith, the twins and Verity were also present.

They were ostensibly having a "picnic," though it bore little resemblance to the quaint idea that word typically conjured. Instead of a woven basket and a cozy blanket on soft grass, a full dining setup had been arranged - complete with tables, chairs, and a small army of attendants who rotated between delivering dishes and clearing them away. Guards in the livery of the Academy, Whitemorrow and Redwater hovered at a respectful distance, maintaining a watchful perimeter.

The only discernible difference between this and a formal banquet, as far as William could see, was that it was outdoors.

“Are you all right, William?” Griffith inquired, her head tilting slightly as she observed him.

“Perfectly fine,” he replied, forcing a calm smile and willing himself to ignore the amused smirk tugging at Xela’s lips. “Just a small bug crawling up my leg. I’ve flicked it off now.”

Xela’s smirk soured into a pout at the veiled jab, and she huffed irritably before joining the others in directing her attention to the "battle" overhead.

Above them, a mock skirmish was unfolding. Marline, Olzenya, and Bonnlyn were acting as enemy combatants for his pilots in training in a mock duel.

Now, it wasn’t exactly within the Academy’s regulations to allow cadets to take their shards beyond the bounds of the academy. But rules like that could be made more… flexible with a few whispered words in the right ears.

After all, what was the point in seducing one of your instructors if you didn’t use that connection to bend a few rules to your advantage?

Apparently just sex and companionship, he thought wryly.

Because Griffith had outright refused him. Which really shouldn’t have surprised him.

So, he’d gone to Yelena instead. Though at the time, he’d half-expected her to decline his request, given the tension lingering from their last interaction. Instead though, after yelling at him for wasting her time on such a minor matter, she had either decided the request was minor enough to entertain or she was extending an olive branch in the thin hope he wouldn’t burn this one.

…A thought that, admittedly, made him feel a little guilty.

“I must say, for plebians… they aren’t terrible,” Clarice murmured in a tone that danced on the edge of disinterest as her eyes followed a drake maneuvering into position to take a shot at one of the corsairs.

William followed her gaze and frowned a little. He’d done his best to give his plebeian pilots as much flight time as possible, adhering to the method modeled by the Academy’s own training regime, but at the end of the day there was no denying the stark difference in quality between the pilots overhead.

His program was merely a pale imitation at the end of the day - an "academy-lite," so to speak - and it showed.

Nevertheless, outmatched as they might have been, his people weren’t embarrassing themselves. Gradually inching closer and closer into his own team’s gun sights, but still occasionally throwing out an unexpected reversal. Indeed, as William watched, the second corsair swooped in to cover the first, forcing the drake to abort its run.

A small smile tugged at his lips at the sight.

Would his cadets ever rival the academy's elite? Probably not. But they didn’t need to. If he could knock out one plane of the enemy for every three of his that went down, he’d still be in credit. Which was why William had emphasized teamwork so much to Xela, presenting it as a counterpoint to the individualistic dueling style typically championed by the Academy. Fortunately, said cooperative approach aligned well with the Royal Navy's own methods, which meant it was a system Xela was already familiar with.

Perhaps if he had the time and the inclination, he’d have involved himself by introducing some of earth’s strategies. As it was, he saw little need to. While this world lagged behind on the technological front, he couldn’t strictly say they functioned any worse on a doctrinal level.

The ongoing transition from ships of the line to carriers amongst the new craft the Crown was developing spoke to that.

“The whole program seems like a waste of time and resources to me,” Griffith remarked bluntly, her words cutting through the ambient noise with characteristic directness.

Xela’s scowl deepened, but she refrained from speaking. As much as William knew her natural inclination would be to defend her efforts – even if she had her own issues with the program – the wood elf was also keenly aware of the hierarchy at play here.

Xela might have been an accomplished knight, she was still ultimately only low-nobility. By contrast, Griffith was a countess. And while this picnic was a casual gathering, Griffith had made it clear that she was present in her noble capacity by introducing herself as ‘Countess Joana Griffith’.

Admittedly, William knew that was less an attempt to flex her rank and more one to distance herself from her more contentious role as an ‘Instructor’, given the minor scandal surrounding her relationship with him.

Nonetheless, her aristocratic rank carried weight, even here, and that weight silenced all the dissenting voices present – with one exception.

“Joana,” William interjected smoothly, relishing the subtle twitch of her long ears at his casual use of her first name. “As much as I appreciate your sharp tongue when it’s aimed at my own shortcomings, and I do, I must remind you that the plebian pilot project isn’t entirely a result of my own initiative. Others invested time and energy as well.”

Griffith paused, before realization flashed across her features. “Not to say they aren’t wonderfully trained!” She said, flustered. “What you’ve managed with… limited resources is genuinely impressive, Dame Tern.”

Xela grunted in acknowledgment, her irritation tempered by the near apology but not entirely extinguished. Still, that was the best she was going to get.

Off to the side, the twins were clearly trying to suppress their amusement at the rare sight of Griffith stumbling over her words. William, for his part, found the moment thoroughly enjoyable. While Griffith was a formidable instructor - capable and driven – he’d slowly come to realize that said traits were less an act and more… simply how she was. Blunt.

Which meant that outside of formal situations wherein the roles were clear and the topic obvious, she had an adorable tendency to stumble over her own words. It was an endearingly human trait.

Or elven, he supposed.

“I think the project has some merit,” Marcille chimed in, the more outspoken of the twins turning her attention back to the ongoing aerial duel. “How many times have we heard stories of a mage being incapacitated, leaving their co-pilot to launch without them and their shard left fallow? It’s a rare situation, sure, but having even just one plebian pilot per ship would provide a valuable backup in the event of the unexpected.”

As she spoke, William didn’t miss the way her eyes darted over to him. He suspected the ‘encouragement’ was more influenced by a desire to impress him than any true faith in his plan.

Which was fine. It was a shit plan if you didn’t know about his artificial cores.

Engines, he reiterated at the accidental use of what would no doubt become the local term. They’re engines.

Turning his attention back to the twins, he gave them each a small smile and nod of thanks. A move that visibly pleased them.

Which was good. At this point, a formal betrothal between him and the twins was practically inevitable. Though it had to be said, the arrangement was more a matter of politics and practicality than romance. Each had something the other wanted.

They wanted military support for their bid for the Summerfield duchy – and he wanted an excuse to give said support. And the support of whichever of them became duchess in the aftermath.

Having that would turn him from a bit-player with a lot of leverage into the core of a true power bloc. One that couldn’t be ignored or dismissed.

Plenty of marriages had been built on far less. He’d dare say most were. Given a man would have multiple wives, it was entirely possible in his mind that while he might have a close personal relationship with one or two, the rest would be just… business.

With that said, there was no real reason it had to be, he supposed.

This picnic, then, was an attempt to bridge that gap. Originally, it was supposed to be an intimate outing between William and the twins, but word had spread. First Xela invited herself, then Griffith, and finally… Verity just showed up.

He glanced over to where the orc was watching the overhead duel with rapt interest. She’d not said much, or anything really, since she sat down. Likely she was intimidated by the ranks of the others present. Yet she’d sat down all the same.

It was admirable in a way. Annoying in another.

Mostly because he had a feeling the day he’d need to sit down with her for a difficult conversation was growing ever closer and closer.

Oh, nearly forgot another uninvited guest, he thought.

William’s gaze drifted toward where a "core-less" corsair sat awkwardly on a tarp in the nearby field. Rather than the hangar where it was supposed to be. The change in location was Olivia’s doing, of course. His sister had, over the past two months, developed an uncanny knack for getting her way, leveraging a lethal combination of cuteness, her perceived authority as his sibling, and a level of determination that bordered on the absurd.

One of her latest hobbies was painting art onto the finished corsairs. Of course, she normally did that in the shard hangar. Not outside, perched just close enough to eavesdrop on his meeting with his romantic prospects without appearing too obvious.

As one might expect, Olivia was not a fan of any of his romantic prospects.

Fortunately, the young girl wasn’t alone. A nervous gaggle of aircraft technicians hovered nearby, ostensibly to aid in the painting, but mostly to make sure the girl didn’t break anything in the process of applying her artwork to the shard’s hull.

Clarice’s voice pulled him back to the table. “So, when are you finally planning to sell off that stockpile you’ve been hoarding?”

William winced. Despite his best efforts to keep it under wraps, news of his workshops producing shard-frames had spread like wildfire. It was inevitable, really, but it still irked him how quickly the secret had leaked.

People were interested in any source of shard frames and as such he’d been receiving a lot of quiet expressions of interest. Quiet expressions that only continued to grow in volume the longer he continued to stockpile new frames rather than sell them.

“The Basilisk might be taking up Whitemorrow’s shard-core capacity for now,” Clarice continued, “but having a few additional frames ready to swap in for it if anything were to happen couldn’t hurt.”

“It’d also be a show of support,” Marcille added.

William shook his head with a slight smile. “When the time comes, I think we both know I’ll be able to provide a far more substantial show of support than a few replacement frames sitting in your hangar. As for when I plan to sell? Well, I want to wait until the price peaks before I part with them.”

Marcille nodded, though he could sense her disappointment. Still, her curiosity won out as she changed the subject. “I’m sure they’ll be a lot of interest. If nothing else, the novelty of the wing shape will draw buyers. Though the name…”

William grimaced. Naming shard-lines after magical beasts was the norm here - particularly flight-capable creatures. His decision to buck tradition by naming his line after a ‘pirate’ ship had raised more than a few eyebrows.

It was considered bad luck apparently. That, combined with the peculiar shape of the wings, front mounted propellers and lack of manufacturing history meant that, under normal circumstances, he might well have struggled to give the design away had he meant to proliferate it.

Which would have been ideal as it would have meant a lot less eyes on his work.

Unfortunately, in this regard, he was a victim of his own success. The ‘market’ was flush with mithril and with the brewing civil war, people were desperate for just about any frame they could get their hands on – regardless of its pedigree.

Hence the interest in his slowly growing ‘stockpile’.

“Olivia’s skill with the paintwork is undeniable though,” Clarice said quickly, sending her twin a dirty look. “I dare say that alone might draw some buyers. It certainly gives the craft a rather striking appearance.”

William once more resisted the urge to frown as he regarded the paintwork in question. He’d wanted to use camouflage initially, but the cultural expectations for shard-frames leaned heavily on bold, identifiable iconography. Like knights.

Something his sister well understood – and so did he, grudgingly. To that end, she’d been allowed to go with a rather bold red, silver, and blue kraken themed paint job that looked, to his Earth-born sensibilities, more like the handiwork of graffiti artists inspired by questionable anime tropes than a proper military design.

“It’s good branding,” Marcille said. “Still, if you want to push demand higher, why not display one at the academy? Right now, you’re just getting lowball offers because no one knows what these new designs are worth. At the very least, they seem to be the equal of the Royal Drake line.”

William laughed softly, shaking his head. “Perhaps in time.”

Though in his head he couldn’t help but wonder if he was being damned with faint praise here. The Drake was fine, but as a standardized design in a world of bespoke machines, it lagged behind in many key areas. As proven by his team’s continual loss streak against the other houses proved.

Of course, that was the Corsair-M they were observing up above. Same shape as the regular corsair. Same weight. Less guns. Less powerful guns. And a significantly less powerful engine.

Nothing like the beasts currently sitting in the Jellyfish’s hangar bays – even if they held the same outward appearance.

A ruse he wasn’t too worried about being discovered.  The technology behind his designs was so advanced compared to local standards that even if a spy managed to open up a completed shard, they’d have no idea what they were looking at. At best, they might assume the engine was a device intended to enhance mithril core aether output or was some kind of offensive mechanism. A theory supported by the ‘napalm’ that was being stockpiled nearby.

He made a mental note to make sure the machine Olivia was working on was returned to the others before the day was through. The last thing he needed was for something to be overlooked and for it to be delivered to the Jellyfish without an engine.

Of course, if that did happen, it wouldn’t take him long to notice once he began performing his nightly final checks.

Checks that were most definitely needed.

Despite Piper’s team of geased alchemists improving steadily in the installation process for the engines and new guns, his final checks were still finding errors in about half of the finished designs that made it onto the Jellyfish. Luckily, his magic allowed him to correct those faults during his visits without too much trouble, but even with his "cheats," the process was proving rather exhausting.

Here's hoping it’ll be worth it in the end, he thought as one of his corsairs was ‘shot down’ overhead.

---------------------

Jonah had once dreamed of becoming a shard pilot. What child hadn’t? The idea of soaring through the skies as a mage-knight, wielding magic and steel, was the ultimate fantasy for any kid.

But for most, that was all it ever would be – a fantasy. Even if someone had the spark of magic required to become a knight, they were far more likely to end up as a mage-smith instead. A respectable life, no doubt, but it lacked the thrill and glory of piloting a shard. And even for those lucky enough to train as mage-knights and make it to the academy, there was no guarantee they’d ever take the skies. Most would end up as defenders or saboteurs. A feat to be sure, but it wasn’t… being a pilot.

For commoners, becoming that was supposed to be impossible.

Yet here he was, standing on the ground, watching as his sister soared through the air. Her metal steed roared with blue-green aether as she darted and weaved in mock combat with the lord’s academy-trained comrades.

She was doing it - actually doing it. She might not earn the formal title of ‘knight’, once she graduated Lady Xela’s program, but she would be paid a sergeant’s wage while piloting a shard.

Compared to that, what did the title matter?

Admittedly, Jonah had felt a twinge of disappointment when he learned that, as a man, he was disqualified from even applying for said program. But he wasn’t surprised. Besides, at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. His sister’s success was enough for him. Watching her live the dream was worth it. For that alone, the lord had Jonah’s unwavering loyalty—and that of almost the entire county.

“Pass me that paintbrush.”

Jonah snapped out of his reverie, handing the brush to the lord’s little sister.

As he did, he couldn’t help but marvel as she added another sweeping red-and-blue tentacle to the shard’s hull. Her artistry was impressive—the tentacles looked so lifelike that he half-expected them to slither off the metal and wrap around him.

He shivered at the notion. He knew it was a silly thought, but with mages, well, who knew?

He glanced at her as she worked. It was strange to think that this girl, who looked so much like his young cousins, could wield lightning and fire. Yet here she was, paint on her nose while she eavesdropped on her older brother and his suitors.

Jonah’s amusement only grew as he watched her huff at the conversation happening a few meters away. Despite the gap between nobles and common folk, it was comforting to see that some things were universal.

The lord, for example, was deep in negotiation with his prospective wives - discussing who got which days and what land would go to which child. The weary tone in his voice was all too familiar to the commoner, as Jonah himself had been in a similar discussion just days ago with his own suitors.

Granted, his disputes had been over sheep and chickens rather than airships and estates, but the principle was the same.

Still, as he listened, he found himself wishing the lord well - not just as a fellow man burdened with familial negotiations, but as someone who had turned the dreams of the common folk into a reality. The man had given Jonah’s sister, and countless other commoners, a chance to achieve the impossible.

To that end, he only hoped the lord would survive the storm brewing on the horizon.

And it would be a storm, given that rumors of war with the northern heathens were spreading like wildfire. No one seemed to know the exact cause, only that the Queen’s rules had been defied and retribution was coming.

…Jonah didn’t like to think about it. War was unpredictable, and while he might not see combat himself, no one was truly safe when conflict erupted.

“Pass the brush—the blue one this time,” the lord’s sister called, pulling him from his thoughts once more.

He handed it to her, trying not to let his worries linger. Hopefully, if war did come, it would be swift. Hopefully now his own sister could contribute to the end of that war. If nothing else, he hoped she’d be safer in the cockpit of a shard than stuck playing garrison duty in some castle.

“The red one this time.”

Hopefully, whatever conflict came, it would be over quickly – lest others seek to take advantage.

---------------

Kanna Velinsky, pirate queen and a woman riding the high tide of satisfaction, slipped out of her bed with the fluid ease of someone accustomed to navigating chaos. The humid air of her cabin clung to her sun-bronzed skin, her robe barely sticking to her shapely form as a result of the thin sheen of sweat from the previous few hours’ activities. Around her, the deep, steady breaths of her four lovers filled the room, each tangled in the rumpled sheets like a tableau of passion spent. The moonlight spilling through the porthole painted them in shades of silver, their dusky limbs a stark contrast against the faded white linen.

Smirking, Kanna padded across the cabin floor, the wood cool beneath her bare feet, each step a practiced silence honed from years of repeating them. Her fingers brushed the polished brass handle of the door, her voice dropping to a whisper as she cracked it open just enough to see who had just knocked.

“What is it?” she murmured, her tone sharp and commanding despite its quietness.

Her second-in-command stood rigid on the other side, her gaze immediately flicking past Kanna to the bed where the curves and angles of the captain’s lovers lay bathed in the moonlight, but she quickly snapped her attention back to the human woman. To her credit, she said nothing about the tableau, though the faint flicker of envy in her eyes was hard to miss.

“There’s been a message from the command ship overhead,” the muscle bound woman whispered, leaning in slightly. “It’s time, ma’am.”

Kanna clicked her teeth in irritation, the sharp sound slicing through the quiet. “Of course, it is,” she muttered under her breath. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll be ready.”

The door shut with a soft thud as Kanna leaned back against it, exhaling slowly. They’d been idling for days, pirates of varying ilks reduced to glaring at one another across the railings of their ships like wolves circling for dominance. With nothing to do but wait - and now, just when she’d coaxed her delectable elven ‘liaison’ into her bed, the call to action had finally come.

Her gaze returned to the bed, where the dark-skinned elf in question rolled onto her side, the soft curve of her body highlighted by the gentle spill of moonlight. Across from her, the woman’s husband stirred, his angular features relaxing as he let out a sigh that seemed designed to lure Kanna back to their tangled sheets. As did the sight of his member, still slick with her juices. A feature shared by the plush kissable lips of all three of his wives.

She groaned softly, rubbing her temple.

Later. Maybe.

If the battle went well, there’d be plenty of time to celebrate. If it didn’t? Kanna smirked at the thought. She was already wanted for kidnapping, so what were a few more numbers added to that tally?

…Assuming she could escape the watchers overhead.

Her mood darkened as her eyes found the porthole, and the distant shapes of ships hovering against the starry backdrop of the skies.

Whatever colors they might have been wearing, they weren’t pirates’ vessels, not truly. The slapdash red-and-black paint was a thin disguise. No pirate fleet - no matter how ambitious - boasted sixteen ships. Red Mary, the most infamous pirate captain in the known world waters, had only five airships under her command.

And, last Kanna had heard, the woman was on the other side of the continent.

Kanna’s lips thinned as her gaze settled on the sharp silhouette of a Lunite Courser as it swung overhead, its sleek design and angular profile impossible to mistake.

Her thoughts wandered to the possibility of things going poorly. She didn’t like her odds of outrunning a Lunite Courser if it came to it, especially with a ship loaded down with plunder - and ‘passengers’.

Meh, she’d make her decision when the time came.

“Anaria,” she said as she leaned down to shake the dark elf awake. “I think it’s time you filled me in on why exactly your employers need my ship.”

The generous pay had been enough to lure her out here, but she’d been promised the specifics of the coming operation when the fleet was ready to make the final approach, and one way or another she intended to get them now.