Building a Harem in a Noble House-Chapter 92: Plan B, Then?

Lyra’s face fell into an exaggerated pout, and she threw her hands up. "Come on! She’s basically one of us already."

"No," Isobel said, removing herself from the embrace. "We have to keep our standards high. If she’s as strong as you say, she’ll pass on her own."

"And if she doesn’t show up?"

Isobel sighed. "Then I’ll let you convince me that Meredith is worth all of the potential trouble it is to bring her on."

Lyra’s eyes lit up as she pounced onto Isobel, tackling the girl in a tight hug. "That’s why you’re my favorite Demon Queen!"

"T-that is the last resort option, Lyra. Don’t count on it happening!"

From there, the morning settled into a rhythm of waiting. We were early birds, up before Podros fully stirred, so the throne room felt like our private domain for a while. Lyra kept the conversation going at first, her giddiness spilling over into stories from past adventures while Isobel listened, occasionally interjecting with her own stories or those throughout Greaves history.

The clones moved silently, one fetching a tray of refreshments: cool water in silver pitchers, platters of sliced fruits and cheeses that were simple but fresh. We picked at them as the sun rose higher, the light shifting from warm dawn hues to brighter midday glare. I sipped water, feeling the coolness slide down my throat, and watched dust motes dance in the beams.

An hour passed, then two. The doors remained closed, no knock echoing through the hall. Lyra started fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing her legs, her earlier bounce fading into restlessness.

"W-wow. These seats really do get uncomfortable."

"What happened to your natural cushion?"

She didn’t answer, merely glaring at me like she was plotting to poison my drink.

"Give it time," Isobel replied, even though I’d noticed she was fidgeting a bit more than usual.

By late morning, the waiting had morphed into something heavier, like a fog settling in. I’d leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor patterns... intricate mosaics of vines and stars that suddenly seemed too detailed to ignore. Lyra had pulled out a quill and parchment from a nearby table, sketching idly.

The clones brought more water, refilling glasses with quiet efficiency. Outside, I could hear the faint sounds of the city waking: cart wheels rumbling on cobblestones, vendors hawking wares, the occasional shout or laugh drifting on the breeze. But in here, it was insulated, almost too still. Isobel paced a few steps now and then, her boots soft on the rugs laid before the dais, the fur trim on her armor brushing like a whisper.

Noon came and went. We shared a light lunch of bread, cold meats, and more fruit, eaten in companionable quiet broken by Lyra’s occasional quips. I took the opportunity to stretch my legs, feeling the ache from sitting too long, and wandered to a window for a moment, looking out at the manor’s grounds. The gardens were neat, flowers nodding in the wind, but it all felt premature, like we were dressed for a party no one showed up to.

The afternoon dragged on in that same vein. Lyra had been drawing the throne room on her notepad now, while Isobel had been doing her best to hide yawns as she paced about the room every other minute.

As for me, my mind was starting to wander. To Meredith, wondering if she’d even heard about the tryouts. To the city beyond, teeming with adventurers, who were likely having more fun right now than I was. Hell, it’d even wandered to Jolyne. What was she doing right now? What was her life like? Did she have these same problems?

As the sun dipped toward the west, casting long shadows across the floor, Isobel finally moved with purpose. She turned to us, her face etched with disappointment she didn’t try to hide.

"I have unfortunate news," she said, voice low. "Nobody showed up worth keeping. People came, sure, but the clone downstairs sorted them all."

Lyra bolted upright. "What? Like, how many?"

"A dozen or so," Isobel continued, stepping closer to the thrones. "But they weren’t worth mentioning. Most were simply Adventures without skill. Others were literal children. One man claimed to have magical ability but couldn’t light a candle. Another woman boasted sword skills but tripped over his own feet in the demo. All sent home.*

I frowned, leaning forward. "It’s because we’re a Fledgling House, isn’t it?"

"Precisely," Isobel confirmed, her fur-trimmed cloak settling as she crossed her arms. "I took the liberty of dispatching a clone undercover into the city at dawn. She overheard plenty. The good recruits are already being scouted by nearby Standard and Great Houses. They aren’t even considering us. Simply put, there’s nothing we could offer that a Standard House couldn’t provide in spades."

Lyra deflated, sinking back into her throne. "You know, even though I was secretly hoping this would happen, that still kinda stings."

"I agree," Isobel said, her tone softening with empathy. "But this is a temporary state of affairs, is it not? We won’t always be a Fledgling House."

I pushed myself up, pacing a step or two on the dais. Sitting around whining wouldn’t build anything. "So, plan B then."

Lyra perked up, nodding vigorously. All traces of sadness gone. "It’s Meredith time!"

Isobel nodded approval, a small smile breaking through. "I’m trusting your judgment. Perhaps when we meet, I’ll begin to see just what it is that you two see in her."

We rose together, the thrones groaning faintly as we left them behind. Lyra trailed her fingers along the armrest one last time, a wistful look crossing her face. As we walked out of the throne room, the doors thudding shut, she sighed deeply. "Still a shame we don’t get to use the Throne Room."

I sighed in agreement, my hand on her shoulder as we headed down the corridor toward the manor’s grand exit. "I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities in the future."

"Oh, there will be. When we’re established, and we’ve entered the "forging alliances" phase, you two will come to hate this room."