The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 368: Meeting Prince Andrion

Milan walked beside him, with Cleora and Raayani following close behind. The steps leading down from the building were wide and grand, designed to make those ascending feel small and those descending feel exposed.

A crowd had gathered in the plaza below; word of the disruption had spread quickly. People pressed forward, craning their necks to see the young baron who had defied the imperial court and shaken the entire city with his power.

But Jolthar’s attention was drawn to a figure standing at the base of the steps, positioned as if he’d been waiting specifically for this moment.

The man was breathtaking in his beauty. There was no other word for it. He stood with casual elegance, dressed in clothes that were both refined and deliberately fashionable. His features were perfectly symmetrical, his posture effortlessly commanding. Even standing still, he seemed to draw light and attention like a lodestone. An aura of charisma radiated from him—not the crushing pressure Jolthar had released, but something more subtle and pervasive.

Prince Andrion.

Milan’s step faltered almost imperceptibly when he saw his brother.

The two princes couldn’t have been more different despite sharing the same mother. Both were sons of an imperial concubine, but where Milan had become something of an outcast, too idealistic, too willing to challenge the status quo—Andrion had built himself a powerful faction within the imperial court. He understood how to play the games of power, how to cultivate allies, and how to be everything the court wanted in a prince.

”Brother,” Andrion said with a smile that was both warm and somehow calculated.

”What an interesting morning you’re having.”

”Andrion,” Milan replied carefully.

”I didn’t expect to see you here.”

”How could I stay away?”

Andrion’s eyes shifted to Jolthar, studying him with open curiosity.

”When word reached the palace that someone was being interrogated by both ministries, I had to come see this remarkable individual for myself.”

He took a step closer.

”Baron Jolthar Kaezhlar of Tekkora. I’ve heard so much about you. The papers don’t do you justice.”

Jolthar met his gaze evenly.

There was something dangerous about this prince, not physically threatening, but politically lethal. Everything about him was calculated, from his positioning to his words to the timing of his appearance.

”Your Highness,” Jolthar said with appropriate respect but no deference.

Andrion’s smile widened.

”So direct. I like that. And traveling with not one but both of the empire’s most celebrated beauties.”

His eyes flickered to Cleora and Raayani.

”Lady Cleora, Matriarch Raayani, you both look as radiant as your reputations suggest.”

Before anyone could respond, the sound of marching boots echoed across the plaza. But these weren’t the heavy, regular steps of normal soldiers. These were synchronized and precise, carrying a weight of discipline that spoke of elite training.

The crowd parted rapidly, people scrambling out of the way with visible fear.

A formation of knights appeared, moving through the plaza in perfect unison. Their armor was distinctive, white iron, polished to a mirror shine, and marked with the imperial crest in black. Each knight moved with lethal grace, their hands near their weapons but not drawn. There were perhaps thirty of them, arranged in precise rows.

The Dreadmarchen.

Even Jolthar, who had faced many threats in his life, felt a cold assessment settle over him.

The Dreadmarchen were legendary, an army that was part of the Great Arshiks.

They were known as death givers, utterly ruthless in carrying out their orders. They followed the law with absolute precision and lived by a code that valued loyalty to the Emperor above everything else, including their own lives.

And they were exceptionally dangerous.

The formation came to a halt before the courthouse steps. The knights stood motionless, creating a barrier between Jolthar’s group and any escape route through the plaza.

Then she stepped forward from the center of the formation.

The commander of the Dreadmarchen was a woman in her thirties, her brown skin gleaming in the sunlight. She moved with the smooth confidence of someone who had killed many times and expected to kill many more. Her armor was slightly different from her knights’—more ornate, marked with additional insignia denoting her rank. Her face was striking, with sharp features and eyes that assessed everything with cold calculation.

She was also a princess of the imperial family, daughter of the Empress herself, born of the primary imperial bloodline rather than a concubine. Her status was considerably higher than either Milan’s or Andrion’s, and everyone present knew it.

And she was the youngest officer to reach the rank of great general..

”Who among you is Jolthar Kaezhlar?” she demanded, her voice carrying across the plaza with the force of command.

Jolthar stepped forward slightly.

”I am.”

Her eyes locked onto him, and in one smooth motion, she drew her sword. The blade was magnificent, folded steel that caught the light like liquid silver, with edges sharp enough to split air. She pointed it directly at Jolthar’s chest.

”How dare you,” she said, her voice dripping with outrage and authority, ”release your power within the capital city? Do you think you can provoke the empire with such flagrant displays and face no consequences?”

Milan moved forward.

”Princess Tamnarasi, this is a misunderstanding—”

Even though he was a prince, he had to address her formally.

”I did not address you,” she cut him off without even looking in his direction. Her attention remained fixed on Jolthar.

To her, Milan was beneath notice, an outcast prince with no real power or influence.

Andrion raised an eyebrow but said nothing, content to watch how this would unfold.

Jolthar’s expression remained calm, but his eyes had gone cold.

”I suggest you lower your weapon, Princess.”

”You suggest?”

Tamnarasi’s laugh was harsh and mocking.

”You, a baron from some backwater territory, suggest what I should do?”

She took a step forward, her sword still extended.

”I was in the middle of important duties when Finance Minister Richardus sent an urgent message. He informed me that a criminal had defied the imperial court and unleashed dangerous power within the city, which I felt myself.

That alone is grounds for immediate arrest and execution.”

”Richardus called you,” Jolthar said, understanding clicking into place.

That old fuck sure work faster.