Forbidden Desires: Conquering Kingdoms And Women In a Fantasy World! Chapter 45: Zoey In Love

"Hey little brat! How about showing a little more concentration here!"

The gruff voice cut through the rhythmic clanging of tal on tal, causing to pause mid-swing. I turned my head toward old Henrik, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. The forge’s heat made the air shimr, and the acrid sll of burning coal mixed with heated iron filled my nostrils.

Henrik stood hunched over his own anvil, his weathered hands still surprisingly steady as he worked. The village’s only blacksmith had seen better days—his once-broad shoulders now curved with age, and deep lines etched his face like the grain in old oak. Yet his eyes still burned with the sa fierce intensity I’d known since childhood, and his voice could still boom across the workshop loud enough to wake the dead.

"I am concentrating, old man," I replied, lifting the hamr once more and bringing it down with a resounding clang against the red-hot blade. Sparks scattered across the anvil like tiny falling stars. "But how much longer until my spear is finished?"

I gestured toward the corner where two long, slim rods rested against the stone wall. The spearhead glead even in the dim light of the forge, its edges already honed to razor sharpness. Henrik had been working on the intricate engravings along the blade’s fuller for weeks now.

It had taken months of persistence to convince him to help craft this weapon. When I’d first approached him with the request, he’d scoffed and waved away like a botherso fly.

"A spear? What does a boy need with a spear?" He’d grumbled, not looking up from the horseshoe he was shaping. "Planning to hunt rabbits with it?"

But I’d worn him down gradually and he was too fond of to refuse anything to be honest. I’d explained that I needed a weapon that would last, sothing I could rely on when the ti ca to fight. Though I hadn’t told him exactly what I expected to fight.

"Do you want a good spear or not?!" Henrik barked now, his hamr never ceasing its steady rhythm against the tal.

"Of course I want a good spear!" I shot back, punctuating my words with another powerful blow that sent vibrations up my arm.

We worked in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the ringing of hamrs and the wheeze of the bellows. The morning had slipped away unnoticed, and now the afternoon sun slanted through the workshop’s single window, casting long shadows across the cluttered space. Tools hung from every available surface—tongs, chisels, files, and hamrs of every size and weight imaginable.

After several more strikes, I felt my muscles beginning to protest. I’d been at this since dawn, and even my enhanced stamina had its limits. With a tired sigh, I set down the hamr and stepped back from the anvil.

"That should do it for today," I said, rolling my shoulders to work out the knots.

Despite being shirtless, sweat covered my torso in a fine sheen. The heat from the forge was relentless, turning the workshop into a furnace that would have been unbearable for most people. I’d grown accustod to it over the months of training here, but it still left feeling drained by day’s end.

I reached for the clay pitcher Henrik kept on a shelf near the door and poured myself a generous cup of water. The liquid was blessedly cool as it ran down my parched throat. While I drank, I watched the old blacksmith continue his work, seemingly oblivious to the heat and his own fatigue.

"You should take a rest before you collapse," I said, setting down the empty cup. "You’re too old to be pushing yourself this hard."

Henrik’s hamr paused mid-strike, and he turned to glare at with eyes that still held plenty of fire. "Watch your mouth, little brat! I’ve got at least ten more years of good work left in these old bones!"

I couldn’t help but smile at his indignation. "Of course you do," I said placatingly. "But don’t forget to drink that potion I left for you this morning."

Over the past few years, I’d been experinting with brewing stamina restoration potions similar to Isabella’s healing concoctions. The process was delicate—too little moonflower essence and the potion would be useless, too much and it could make soone violently ill. But I’d finally perfected a formula that could ease exhaustion and restore vitality for several hours.

Henrik had been skeptical at first, muttering about "newfangled magical nonsense," but he couldn’t argue with the results. The potions allowed him to work longer without the bone-deep weariness that had been plaguing him for years.

"I appreciate what you’re doing for , boy," Henrik said quietly, his expression softening slightly. It was one of the rare monts when his gruff exterior slipped, revealing the genuine affection beneath. "Not many young folks would bother with an old codger like ."

"Soone has to make sure you don’t work yourself to death," I replied. "Besides, who else in this village knows how to forge a proper weapon?"

Henrik’s weathered face creased into what might have been a smile. "Now get out of my workshop, Harold. I’ve got real work to do."

"Not like I want to spend the entire day listening to you complain anyway," I snorted, grabbing my shirt from where I’d draped it over a stool and slinging it over my shoulder.

As I stepped outside, the afternoon sunlight hit like a physical blow. I raised my hand to shield my eyes, squinting against the brightness. After hours in the dim forge, everything seed blindingly white and gold. The contrast made my head pound slightly.

"As if I wasn’t sweating enough already," I muttered, feeling fresh perspiration break out across my skin.

The village square buzzed with its usual afternoon activity. rchants hawked their wares from colorful stalls, children ran between the adults’ legs chasing a leather ball, and the aroma of fresh bread drifted from the baker’s shop. I really needed to find sowhere to wash off the gri and sweat before—

"Harold."

I turned to see a familiar figure standing in the shade of a nearby oak tree, her red hair catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves.

Zoey had grown considerably since she and Riley first arrived in Millbrook as frightened refugees. At thirteen, she was blossoming into a young woman. Her integration into village life had been remarkable—largely thanks to Lisa’s patient guidance and protective instincts.

In her hands, she held a fresh towel, the fabric clean and neatly folded.

"Were you waiting for ?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. This had beco sothing of a routine over the past few weeks—Zoey would appear with a towel just as I finished my work at the forge, as if she’d been timing my sessions.

She stepped forward and offered the towel without quite eting my eyes. "Shouldn’t I have?" She asked, crossing her arms defensively. I noticed the slight flush that colored her cheeks and the way she deliberately kept her gaze focused sowhere over my left shoulder rather than on my bare chest.

I accepted the towel gratefully and began wiping away the sweat and soot. The fabric was soft against my skin, still warm from hanging in the sun to dry. "I appreciate it," I said. "Though you don’t need to—"

"Kyaa!"

"It’s Harold!"

"He looks so handso as always!"

"I wish he’d notice !"

The chorus of excited female voices interrupted my words. I glanced around to see a small cluster of village girls gathered near the fountain, all pretending to be busy with various tasks while stealing glances in my direction. So were fetching water, others appeared to be nding clothing, but their attention was clearly elsewhere.

This sort of thing had been happening more frequently as I’d grown older. At fifteen, I was considered a man by village standards, and my combination of magical healing abilities, physical prowess, and—if I was being honest—uncommonly good looks had made sothing of a local celebrity.

"You should put your shirt on," Zoey muttered, a bit upset as she watched the other girls whisper and giggle among themselves.

I draped the towel around my neck and studied her face. There was definitely jealousy there, mixed with sothing else I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to identify. "You know, if Riley saw you here with like this, he’d probably have so strong opinions about it."

Riley had beco increasingly protective of his younger sister as she’d grown older, much to Zoey’s obvious frustration.

"I’m old enough to make my own decisions," Zoey replied. "I’m not a little girl anymore."

I looked at her face. She was right, of course—thirteen might seem young by modern standards and mine, but in a dieval world like this, many girls her age were already considered marriageable.

"And what decisions are you making, Zoey?" I asked quietly, my voice pitched low enough that the gossiping girls by the fountain couldn’t overhear.

Zoey’s blush deepened to a shade that nearly matched her hair, and she fidgeted with the hem of her dress.

"I..." She began, then stopped, biting her lower lip. "I want to be able to choose who I spend ti with. I want to be able to help people I care about without my brother treating like I’m made of spun glass."

There was more she wasn’t saying—I could see it in the way she avoided my direct gaze, the way her fingers twisted nervously in her skirt. But pushing her to elaborate would only make her retreat further into herself.

Without thinking, I reached out and gently cupped Zoey’s cheek with my palm. Her skin was soft and warm beneath my touch, still carrying the flush of her embarrassnt. She really was growing into a remarkable young woman—her red hair caught the afternoon light like burnished copper, and the spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks only added to her natural beauty. In a few years, she would undoubtedly turn heads wherever she went.

Zoey’s breath caught at the unexpected contact, her caral brown eyes widening before fluttering closed for just a mont. When she opened them again, there was sothing vulnerable and hopeful in her gaze. Her small hand ca up to cover mine, pressing it more firmly against her cheek.

"H...Harold, I want—"

"Hey! What do you two think you’re doing?!"

Riley’s sharp voice cut through the mont. Both Zoey and I turned and I lowered my hand slowly. Riley stood a few paces away, his face flushed with anger and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His protective instincts were clearly in full force.

"What is it, big brother?" Zoey asked, her tone shifting to one of annoyed defiance. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, every line of her body language broadcasting her irritation at the interruption.

"I’ve told you before to stop... doing things like that with Harold," Riley said, his voice strained with barely controlled emotion. "He already has a girlfriend, you know!"

He was referring to Lisa, of course—my relationship with her wasn’t exactly official, but it wasn’t a secret either. We’d grown close over the months I’d been learning from her, sharing stolen monts and aningful glances that the entire village had noticed.

"So what?" Zoey replied with a casual shrug that clearly infuriated her brother further. Her nonchalant attitude toward the situation spoke volus about both her feelings and her understanding of the world we lived in.

Several other village girls had expressed similar sentints over the past few months. Whether they believed they could compete for my attention or simply didn’t care about sharing, I wasn’t entirely sure. What I did know was that this world operated under very different social rules than the one I’d co from.

In my previous life on Earth, romantic relationships had been strictly monogamous affairs—at least officially. I’d had to carefully manage a series of relationships, moving from one woman to another as opportunities for advancent presented themselves. It had been a calculated dance of manipulation and ambition, leaving a trail of broken hearts in my wake. Not my finest monts, but necessary for climbing the corporate ladder.

Here, however, the social structures were far more flexible. Polygamy wasn’t just accepted among those with status and ans—it was expected. A man who could provide for and protect multiple won was seen as successful and virile. The arrangent offered security to the won and strengthened family alliances. It was a practical system that acknowledged the realities of a harsh world where survival often trumped romantic idealism.

Riley stared at his sister in stunned silence, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "S...so... you can’t just..." He stamred, clearly struggling to find words that would penetrate her determined indifference.

"You’re being too controlling, big brother," Zoey said with a pout, though there was genuine hurt beneath her playful tone. She stepped closer to and, before I could react, plucked the towel from my hands. To my surprise, she buried her face in the soft fabric and inhaled deeply, her cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red as she breathed in my scent.

The gesture was both innocent and boldly intimate, causing several of the watching village girls to gasp audibly. Zoey seed oblivious to—or perhaps uncaring about—the scandalous nature of her behavior.

"Zoey," I said quietly, though I made no move to stop her.

She looked up at with bright, defiant eyes, then spun around in a swirl of skirts and darted away across the square, clutching the towel to her chest like a treasured prize. Her laughter floated back on the afternoon breeze.

Riley and I stood in awkward silence, watching her retreat. The poor young man looked completely overwheld by his sister’s behavior, running a hand through his red hair in frustration.

"I don’t know what to do with her anymore," he muttered, his anger deflating into weary concern. "She never used to be so... bold."

"She’s growing up," I said simply.

"But that’s too quick!"

"You should be happy about it," I said walking off to ho to take a shower.

"H..Hey, don’t tell you want my sister as well?" Riley asked .

I smirked glancing at him. "Not yet."

She was too young for my tastes but maybe in a few years if she still had feeling for .