The Sinful Young Master

The drake moved alongside the horses, its pace steady and its presence reassuring.

As they travelled, the memory of the Red Flaming Lion remained etched in everyone's minds. It was a beast of legend, rarely seen and even more rarely survived. The fact that they had encountered one—and that Jolthar had faced it without violence—was something none of them would forget.

The forest seemed almost surreal now, as though they had stepped through a threshold into a place where myths came alive.

Though the lion did not reappear, its absence was almost as unsettling as its presence. The men couldn't help but glance over their shoulders, half expecting to see those burning eyes in the shadows. But all they saw were trees, stretching endlessly as they moved closer to the edge of the forest.

Eran rode beside Jolthar, stealing occasional glances at him.

He wanted to ask, to demand an explanation for what had happened, but he knew better than to pry. Jolthar was not the kind of man to give answers freely, especially not about matters he himself might not fully understand.

The journey continued in relative silence, but the unspoken weight of the previous night lingered.

***

The Blue Rose Seragilo was a place hidden in the mist, a place far from the empire lands, not visible to the naked eye. Not anyone goes into the compound of the seragilo; only the women of seragilo move through the maze-like forest and enter the seragilo.

The seraglio was the pride of the blue rose and their home. It nestled far to the northwest of the continent, surrounded by forest on all sides; they would call it a forest of misoyete.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Inside the Blue Rose Seragilo, within a chamber that was a place of indulgence and power, veiled in heavy clouds of aromatic smoke that spiralled lazily from a bronze pot in the centre of the room.

The air was dense with the mingling scents of sandalwood, myrrh, and a hint of clove, designed to soothe and intoxicate. Low cushions in varying shades of deep blue and gold were scattered around, creating an inviting, decadent atmosphere. Velvet drapes adorned the walls, their embroidered roses catching the dim, flickering light of the hanging lanterns.

At the far end of the room, Yoana lounged carelessly on a sprawling bed draped in silk. Her hair was a riot of curls, spilling over the pillows as she exhaled a plume of sweet-smelling smoke from an ornate pipe. Her skin glistened faintly in the warm light, and her posture spoke of languid confidence. She observed the room through half-lidded eyes, her lips curved in an amused smirk.

Her big mounds rose and fell every time she breathed in and out. Her robe, which wasn't doing much to cover her nakedness. The bush in between her thighs could be seen through the slit of the robe, and the big cleavage peeking out from the robe added to her allure. Her presence exuded an air of sensuality and mystery, drawing all eyes to her in the dimly lit room.

Every man in the room peeked, one or two glances at her tall and curvaceous figure. She was a mature, charming woman.

Raayani chuckled seeing her men couldn't hold their lust in their eyes.

Belan stood near her mother, Raayani, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her presence was a stark contrast to the indulgence of the room. Her posture was tense, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her sharp eyes darted between her mother and the others present. She was really flustered being in the room with half-naked men, serving her mother.

Raayani, ever composed, reclined on a plush chair, her long, elegant fingers tracing the rim of a goblet filled with a ruby-red liquid. She wore a gown of indigo and black, the fabric shimmering like liquid ink as she shifted slightly. Her aura was one of effortless command, but Belan's anger simmered in her glare. A man in his thirties named Gunter sat on the floor, massaging her legs, unbothered about her daughter.

"Mother," Belan began, her voice sharp, cutting through the languid murmurs in the room. "You've gone too far this time. The things you said to Jolthar—"

She paused, her fists tightening. "It was disgraceful. How could you embarrass us like that?"

Raayani raised an arched brow, her expression unfazed. "Disgraceful? My dear Belan, you're far too sensitive. The boy was far too interesting to let him out of my sight," she said, her voice a lazy drawl as she swirled the liquid in her goblet.

"Interesting?" Belan repeated, her voice rising. "He is not some tool for your amusement, Mother! He is my enemy, and I won't rest until I kill him myself."

Raayani tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Oh, I understand perfectly, my love. But I didn't see any hatred in you when you were with him."

Belan growled, "No, I don't hate him now, but I won't rest until I defeat him. He will always be my enemy."

Raayani, with one eye closed, looked at her. "Are you sure, dear?"

Belan's frustration boiled over, her hands gesturing wildly. "This isn't a game! You think you can manipulate him like all the others in this room? Jolthar is not one of your harem toys!" Her gaze swept over the men lounging around the chamber, each one silent but attentive.

Gunter chuckled as he played around Raayani's feet.

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Belan looked at him angrily. "What's so funny, Gunter?"

"Nothing, young lady," he looked at her. He was a very handsome man, muscularly built, sitting with his only pants on. His long black hair tied back, he leaned back against the chair. His origins traced back to the Feoron Bastion, a fortress city famed for its indomitable fighters. His allegiance to Raayani was a mix of personal loyalty and the promise of influence through her connections.

The harem now included an elf man and two human ones. She was happy with these three right now, and she had stopped taking men into her harem a decade back when she lost a member of the harem.