The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 43 About lady Cleora

The moonlight filtered through the canopy as the company rode hard through the forest. The rhythmic thunder of hooves on packed ground and the occasional jingle of armour filled the night air.

Jolthar guided his mount closer to Eranʼs, the older knightʼs grey stallion matching his stride with his own bay courser.

”What about the son?” Jolthar kept his voice low, though Lady Maena rode far ahead, deep in conversation with her scouts. The question had been gnawing at him since theyʼd left the camp.

”The baron didnʼt even speak about him to us. Where do you think he is? The bandits also seemed to be unaware of him.”

Eranʼs weathered face tightened, and he glanced around before leaning slightly closer to Jolthar.

The torchlight carried by the nearby riders cast dancing shadows across his scarred features.

”You need to know something,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. ”That lady, Lady Cleora, the baronʼs wife...” He paused, choosing his words carefully. ”Sheʼs one woman you shouldnʼt mess with.”

Jolthar raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The baronessʼ figure flashed in his mind, and he thought he was finally getting his answers about her.

”All that wealth the baron flaunts?” Eran continued, ducking under a low-hanging branch. ”The vast estates, the trading contracts, the political connections? All of it came from her and her... ideas.” The way he said ʼideasʼ made Joltharʼs skin crawl.

”Her father was a wealthy merchant-turned-nobleman,” Eran explained, his voice taking on the quiet tone of someone sharing dangerous knowledge. ”Had three sons too, all set to inherit the fortune. But then, well...” He made a vague gesture. ”They all died. Mysterious circumstances, each one. Hunting accidents, falling down stairs, food poisoning. Within a year, she was the sole heir.”

Joltharʼs horse snorted, as if sharing its riderʼs unease. ”And her marriage?”

”Ah, now thatʼs where it gets interesting.” Eranʼs eyes gleamed in the torchlight. ”She was first married to Lord Alryk, a man of noble birth but modest means. Lived with him for more than a decade and had a child with him. Then our baron came along, young and ambitious but land-poor. Next thing anyone knows, sheʼs carrying the baronʼs child while still married to Alryk.”

”She didnʼt bother to hide their affair,” Eran added.

”The scandal nearly broke both families. But Cleora?” Eran gave a dry laugh. ”She orchestrated everything perfectly. The baron suddenly had enough coin to buy his current lands. Alryk conveniently disappeared on a hunting trip. And there she was, free to marry her new love, with a daughter on the way.”

”And the missing boy? Heʼs Alrykʼs son?”

”Exactly. Thatʼs why our dear baron shows such little concern now—the boyʼs not his blood.” Eran spat to the side. ”Though, if you ask me, thereʼs more to this story than a missing stepson.”

Jolthar fell silent, processing this information.

He recalled the few times heʼd glimpsed the baroness. There had always been something predatory in her gaze, something that made even hardened warriors look away first.

The conversation died as they emerged from the forest.

The baronʼs manor loomed before them, its stone walls pale in the moonlight. Torches lined the battlements, and the iron-bound gates stood open, clearly expecting their return. The manor was an imposing structure, three stories of grey stone and dark windows, with four square towers at each corner. Yet somehow, it seemed more threatening than protective.

As they rode into the courtyard, the great oak doors opened before them, spilling warm light into the courtyard.