Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 105: Shelter from the Storm [Part-2]

Shelter from the Storm [Part-2]

”Open the gates!” the lord commanded, voice thundering over the storm. ”Let them pass!”

The massive wooden doors creaked open with a sigh. Rain continued to pour down as the caravan pushed forward, wheels splashing into deep mud under the careful eyes of guard-armed men. Lanterns burst to life in the town square and wary eyes looked out from behind closed windows, attracted by the tempest—and the fabled name spoken in wonder.

From the stone steps of the town gate, a tall man stepped out. His noble attire clung wetly to a wide frame. A jagged scar creased his brow, firming his face.

”I am Lord Tharn of Willow Town,” he declared, voice slicing through the rain. His eyes passed across the caravan, then narrowed and fixed on Leon’s carriage.

Leon descended from his carriage, rain splashing harmlessly off the thin border of mana glowing around him. His golden eyes locked with Lord Tharn’s unwavering gaze unflinchingly.

”I am,” Leon replied curtly.

Tharn bowed respectfully, inclining his head with the elegance of a seasoned noble. ”Greetings to Willow Town, Duke Leon Moonwalker—the War Hero of our realm. We are honored that you have come.”

The guards upon the walls responded with the gesture, bowing all at once in disciplined order. Armor creaking in unison filled the air.

Leon was not surprised. Due to the memories passed down from his predecessor, he well understood the legacy he bore. The former Leon had commanded armies into battle against a brutal invasion from a neighboring kingdom and turned the tide of it, gaining the title of war hero. His name commanded respect and fear throughout the kingdom. The title was deserved, and his reputation reached far outside of Silver City.

Tharn’s lips twisted into a soft laugh. ”Gods... you are younger than the tales describe, my lord.” His voice changed swiftly to something more serious in tone. ”Let me ask you, Lord Moonwalker, how may Willow Town support our war hero this day?”

A wry smile sketched across Leon’s lips. ”Lord Tharn, I and my men are traveling to the capital. This morning’s storm overtook us. We ask only for shelter under your city walls.”

Tharn’s eyes sparkled with comprehension, a swift nod in response. ”Please, my lord,” he intoned, deeply bowing, ”grant me the privilege of hosting you in my mansion tonight. It would be an honor.”

Leon raised a hand slowly, interrupting the offer halfway through. ”Thank you, Lord Tharn,” he replied, voice courteous but firm. ”But I would not intrude on you or displace your household. My men and I will quarter at an inn. Please, assist us in locating a good one.” ”You are not a burden, my lord. Stay at my house,” Tharn urged, his tone sincere.

Leon’s smile was still gentle but firm. ”We’ll be all right, Lord Tharn. Just help us find an inn, and you will have my thanks.

Tharn’s eyes wandered Leon’s face for an instant, hesitation darting and then disappearing as a soft sigh slipped from between his lips. A weak, imperfect smile developed. ”Very well, Lord Moonwalker. The Rose Palace Inn is Willow Town’s best—magnificent and appropriate for visitors of your standing. I will have an emissary tell the innkeeper you are coming.” Leon nodded in acceptance.

A short while afterwards, a neatly dressed messenger came back, bowing low to Tharn. ”Preparations are all made, my lord. Should we escort our honored guest to the inn?”

Finally, the party was led to the best inn in Willow Town—The Rose Palace, an old and impressive building with ivy-covered balconies and cozy lanterns flickering behind leaded windows. Leon quietly reserved the entire place, so his people could rest, eat, and heal in tranquility. The highest floor, with its breathtaking panoramas of the storm-battered landscape, was for him alone and his wives. Black and guards occupied the lower floors, their equipment clinking softly as they took up position.

Outside, the storm continued unabated. Rain lashed the windows like stoned gravel, and wind screamed around corners of the inn. Within the opulent suite, however, there was warmth. A fireplace crackled with orange flames, casting dancing shadows across the walls of stone. Wet robes and gown stood close by smooth magic stones, throbbing with low, soothing warmth. A warm supper was brought personally by the innkeeper—plates of roasted meat, steaming vegetables, warm bread, and mulled wine, pungent and strong.

Cynthia reclined against a pile of silk cushions; one arm draped over the back of the chaise. Her damp hair fell loose waves over her shoulder. She cradled wine glass in hand, glancing over Leon as he sat to slide off his wet boots.

”Know,” she whispered, her voice as silky as velvet, ”in the Moonstone Kingdom, your name is spoken more frequently than the king’s. Or should I say. more respectfully.”

Leon’s eyes met hers. A lone brow rose. ”Is that true?”

True,” chimed Kyra, curling next to Cynthia with a soft smile, her eyes shone like evening in candlelight. ”Even at the very backwoods of Galvia in prior to leave their detech from settlement, we heard stories of you— people talk about ’the Silver City Duke’ as if he were legend. Some referred to you as the ’Moonstone Lion.’”

A sound of splashing water and an audible giggle came from the bath.

Behind the bath door, Syra called out, mischievous and wicked. ”More like the lion who tames women with his tongue... and—”

The door creaked only a little way open. Syra looked out, steam wreathing around her bare shoulders, her wet hair stuck to her body. Her eyes, wicked with mischief, slid boldly downwards—staying between Leon’s thighs without the slightest semblance of shame. ”—with his very drunken dick,” she completed with a sultry smile.

The room burst into laughter. Even the storm was far away now.

Leon just shook his head, chuckling. ”Sweetheart,” he began, with a slow, mischievous smile, ”you tease like that, I’m liable to get in there with you—and tame you on the spot in the tub.”

Syra shrieked in pretend alarm, dramatically slapping her hand against her chest. ”No, no! Mercy, my lord! Have pity on your rain-drenched, helpless paramour!” She winked, and with a swirl of the door, disappeared once more into the steam.

Cynthia giggled for air. ”Goddess, she doesn’t have a filter.”

”None whatsoever,” Kyra concurred, still grinning.

Even Aria, always so collected, rolled her eyes—but refrained from disguising the smile playing around her lips. She sipped wine slowly and grumbled, ”Honestly, she’s impossible.” The huskiness in her tone gave away the love under the derision.

Leon laughed, and the others did, their merriment echoing in room like silver bell.

He sat back, golden eyes half-closed with contentment as the room relaxed into soft murmurs and gentle laughter. The fire burned low, etching golden shadows into their skin. Behind him, the others whom he trusted most—his lovers, his friends—filled the room not only with presence but with warmth.

Beyond the windows, the storm continued to rage and lash at the panes.

But here, clothed in dancing firelight and the unity of hearts pressed together, there was only peace.

Only warmth.

Only love.