The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 396: Letters from brothel - 1

The Central Temple District

The Temple of Great Deity King Inadrys stood at the heart of Cahns’ar’s religious quarter, a monument to divine power and mortal devotion that dominated the skyline for blocks in every direction. It was, quite simply, breathtaking.

The entire structure was constructed from the finest marble, white stone that seemed to glow in sunlight, veined with gold that caught and reflected light in mesmerizing patterns. The temple rose in tiers, each level supported by massive columns carved with intricate reliefs depicting the deity’s legendary deeds. The roof was adorned with golden tiles that blazed like captured sunlight.

But the true marvel was inside.

The main hall was vast enough to hold thousands of worshippers, its ceiling so high that clouds occasionally formed near the painted frescoes depicting celestial realms. The floor was polished marble inlaid with precious metals, forming geometric patterns that were said to channel divine energy. And at the far end, elevated on a platform of pure white stone, stood the statue.

Inadrys, rendered in solid gold, stood thirty feet tall. The deity was depicted in his prime, powerful, beautiful, commanding. Every detail was perfect, from the flowing robes to the expression of benevolent authority. The statue’s eyes were gems the size of a man’s fist, and they seemed to follow observers as they moved through the temple.

It was a statement of power, wealth, and devotion that few structures in the empire could match.

Aphyana, Myron, and Elara entered through a private entrance reserved for those of divine lineage. They were expected, a message had been sent ahead, and the temple hierarchy had prepared accordingly. It was about important people who will visit the temple today.

The Head Priest met them personally.

He was an elderly man named Vaeltaris, with a shaved head marked with ritual tattoos and robes of white and gold. His eyes went wide when he recognized Myron, or rather, when he sensed the deivruta’s divine heritage.

”Lord Myron,” Vaeltaris said, bowing deeply.

”The temple is honored by your presence. And your companions—” his eyes flickered to Aphyana, clearly sensing something divine about her as well, though he couldn’t identify exactly what.

”We require privacy,” Aphyana said, her voice carrying divine compulsion that made the priest’s bow deepen instinctively.

”Take us to the Chief Priest’s residence. We have matters to discuss that require discretion.”

”Of course, of course,” Vaeltaris said quickly.

”This way, please.”

He led them through corridors that were less public but no less magnificent. They passed prayer chambers, meditation rooms, and halls lined with offerings from wealthy patrons.

Finally, they reached a door that led outside the main temple structure.

Behind the temple proper stood a palace, smaller than the temple itself but still grand. This was the residence of the Chief Priest, the highest religious authority dedicated to Inadrys within the capital. It was a position of tremendous influence, both spiritual and political.

They were shown to a receiving room that managed to be both luxurious and austere, expensive materials and expert craftsmanship used to create a space that spoke of refined taste rather than ostentatious display.

”The Chief Priest will join you shortly,” Veltaris said, bowing again before withdrawing.

Myron looked around the room with satisfaction.

”This is appropriate. The reverence we deserve.”

”Don’t let it go to your head,” Aphyana said, settling into a cushioned seat with the ease of someone accustomed to such surroundings.

”We’re here for a purpose, not to bask in worship.”

Elara moved to a window overlooking the temple grounds.

”What exactly is the plan, my lady? You mentioned stirring trouble in the capital, but you’ve been frustratingly vague on details.”

Aphyana’s smile was cold and calculating.

”Jolthar Kaezhlar has made himself vulnerable by staying in Cahns’ar. He’s a foreigner, an outsider, someone with no deep roots or established alliances here. That makes him susceptible to social and political pressure.”

”He has Prince Milan’s protection,” Myron pointed out.

”And apparently Selma’s as well now.”

After their departure from the battlefield, they came to the capital, unnoticed by others.

”Milan is a weak prince with limited influence,” Aphyana dismissed.

”And Selma is a recluse who rarely involves herself in court politics. She will not be a problem when she is in the capital.”

She leaned forward.

”We’re going to use the temple network, the noble houses, the merchant guilds, every lever of power available to us. We’ll make life in the capital so uncomfortable, so hostile, that Jolthar will either flee or become isolated enough that dealing with him becomes simple.”

”And the Chief Priest will help with this?” Elara asked.

”The Chief Priest serves our father, after a fashion,” Aphyana replied.

”And can be persuaded that a mortal who has wounded a deity represents a threat to divine order that must be addressed.”

Her eyes gleamed.

”Religion is such a useful tool when wielded properly.”

The door opened, and a figure entered who made even Aphyana pause slightly.

The Chief Priest’s identity was known to few outside the temple hierarchy, and now it was clear why. The figure was androgynous, beautiful in a way that transcended conventional gender, with features that seemed to shift subtly depending on the angle of viewing. He wore robes of shimmering gold and silver, and his presence carried a weight that suggested he was more than merely mortal.

”I am Thessarim,” the Chief Priest said, his voice carrying harmonics that suggested divine blessing or heritage.

”And I know why you’ve come, daughter of Inadrys.”

Aphyana smiled.

”You’re well-informed.”

”I make it my business to know what concerns the divine,” Thessarim replied.

*

Milan’s Villa - Evening

Jolthar was resting in the sitting room when Milan entered with a stack of letters, his expression somewhere between amused and concerned.

”You’ve received invitations,” the prince said, setting the letters on a table.

”Several of them, all arriving within the past few hours.”

Jolthar picked up the first envelope. The paper was expensive, perfumed lightly with something exotic. The seal was distinctive—a pink flower rendered in wax.

He opened it and read the elegant script:

Baron Jolthar Kaezhlar,

Your reputation precedes you. The Pinkblossom House would be honored to host you for an evening of refined entertainment. Mistress Rani Muccari extends a personal invitation to experience the finest pleasures Cahns’ar has to offer.

At your convenience.