The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 338: Unexpected visitors

”The Emperor’s summons cannot be ignored,” Jolthar replied, though privately he shared her concerns.

”And with Nytheria watching over our lands, I fear nothing that might threaten the barony in our absence.”

Cleora nodded; she had already talked to Roblan and Nora, giving her motherly instructions.

Roblan would take care of the forge, and Nora would see to the well-being of the city. She was too excited to take the reins of the city.

Though, after the last chaotic event, she thought anybody would dare raise their voice against Tekkora. The heads of Eude and his goons still hung cold on the walls of the Tekkora.

She adjusted herself beside Jolthar, her head resting on his shoulder and her hand coupled with his.

The carriage lurched into motion, its wheels crunching over the frost-hardened ground as they made their way through the winding streets of the city that clustered around his keep. Citizens paused in their daily labors to bow respectfully as their lord passed, and Jolthar acknowledged each gesture with the gravity befitting his station. The familiar sights of home—the baker’s shop with its warm, yeasty scents, the smithy where sparks flew like captured stars, the inn where traveling merchants gathered to share news from distant lands—all of these fell behind as the carriage approached the great gates that marked the boundary between his domain and the wider world.

”I am so grateful to you, darling,” Cleora said as she looked up to him. She watched everyone bowing to him with such respect, as if he were their god. The devotion in their eyes was unlike anything she had seen.

Even the deities do not have such followers.

She pressed her lips against his, kissing him.

”And I also feel grateful to have people who love me.”

He looked at her, her slender lips, her deep blue eyes staring at him, and his hand moved to her waist, pulling her close to him as he kissed her.

It was there, just as the massive iron portcullis groaned open to grant them passage, that their journey took an unexpected turn.

”Hold!” called a voice both melodious and commanding.

Jolthar moved back, and Cleora, clearly annoyed, looked towards the driver.

”What is it?”

The carriage driver, a grizzled veteran named Marcus who had served three generations of barony lords, pulled the horses to a halt with professional smoothness.

Through the frosted glass of the carriage window, Jolthar could see two figures approaching—one that made his pulse quicken with both anticipation and apprehension.

”My lord, they want to talk to you.”

”What the hell do they want?” Cleora murmured, keeping her frustration under her calm expression.

They alighted from the carriage into the bitter winter air, their breath forming clouds that dissipated quickly in the wind.

Both Jolthar and Cleora stood before the carriage, Jolthar’s gaze fixed on the woman.

Before them stood a woman who commanded attention as effortlessly as a flame draws the eye in darkness.

Lady Raayani, Matriarch of the Blue Rose Seraglio, was a vision of mature elegance wrapped in winter splendor.

Her silver hair, prematurely white despite her years, was swept back in an elaborate style that showcased a face of stunning beauty unmarred by age. High cheekbones, full lips painted the color of wine, and eyes like chips of sapphire set in porcelain skin—all of this was enhanced by a gown of midnight blue silk that clung to curves that had lost none of their power to enthrall.

She had deliberately prepared with extra care, as she was coming to see Jolthar. It had been a while since she last saw him and was eager to meet him.

So she just came by herself, directly to his barony.

A big smile appeared on her face as soon as she saw Jolthar, but the expression turned sour when she saw Cleora, wondering what she was doing with him.

Beside her stood a figure that radiated barely contained irritation.

Gunter of Ivory Spire was a man of forty-three years whose scholarly robes did little to conceal the athletic build beneath. His dark hair was streaked with gray at the temples, and his strong jaw was set in lines of obvious displeasure.

Once, he had been Raayani’s favored companion, her intellectual equal and passionate lover. Now, he stood as living proof of her recent and dramatic change in preferences.

”Jolthar,” Raayani’s voice was like silk sliding over steel as she approached with elegance, ”how fortuitous to encounter you on this crisp winter morning.”

She didn’t reveal to him that she came especially to see him. She wanted the meeting to be an unexpected coincidence.

Her eyes, those remarkable sapphire orbs, never left his face as she spoke, drinking in his features with an intensity that made him acutely aware of every breath he took.

”Lady Raayani,” he replied with careful formality, ”what brings the esteemed matriarch to the barony of Tekkora?”

She laughed, a sound like silver bells touched by wind. ”I was coming to the city on some official business, and then I met you.”

Gunter stared at her, lying through her teeth. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut about how she wanted to meet that young man sooner; now she says she was here for business.

Her gaze traveled over his form with an appreciation that was anything but subtle.

”You have grown into quite the remarkable man, my dear Jolthar. Your deeds of saving the barony from that merchant lord had reached my seraglio too.

Now...” She paused, letting her eyes complete the sentence her words had begun.

Behind her, Gunter’s jaw tightened visibly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

The dismissal from Raayani’s harem had been public enough to become common knowledge throughout the region—a calculated humiliation that spoke volumes about the seraglio matriarch’s changing desires.

To see her lavish such attention on a man more than twenty years her junior, and one who possessed none of Gunter’s scholarly achievements or political connections, clearly struck him as both insulting and incomprehensible.

”You flatter me, Lady Raayani,” Jolthar replied diplomatically, though he could feel heat rising in his cheeks. She was the only woman who made him excited like this.

”Though you seem to have grown more beautiful.”

”Oh, Jolthar,” she purred, stepping closer until the winter air between them seemed charged with electricity.