4. The Maid
Emily could see the exit to the second-floor staircase just ahead. Once she reached her room, she planned to wait for the young miss to wake, attend to her in the evening, and then continue reading her pink novel while the young miss studied ancient languages.
Olivier was studying diligently in her spare time to enter Templeton Academia, which any noble could attend upon enrollment. The academy typically accepted students after age fifteen, but given the long journey from the western continent to the eastern continent—and the fact that nobles traveled on swift luxury liners far pricier than the passenger ships used by commoners—it was uncertain if she could enroll right away. Still, whenever Olivier mentioned the academy, her eyes would sparkle dreamily, as if lost in the vibrant campus life or the rosy visions of the capital, Leon, described in her beloved romance novels.
Other things Olivier yearned for, at least from what Emily had heard, included the grand Debutante Ball for noble ladies over fifteen, hosted by the Templeton imperial family during the January Founding Festival; the summer festival where one could stroll the festive streets of Leon in a deeply plunging dress; Leon's famous teahouses and noble salons; and Raffinement, the extravagantly ornate dress shop that exclusively crafted imperial gowns. These had all been commonplace for a noble lady once she came of age—back when the Belpharos baron's family still resided in Leon, the glittering capital of Templeton. But as Olivier grew up, the family's fortunes declined; they lost their home and wealth, forced to settle in the harsh western continent. Now, those dreams shimmered like distant starlight, forever out of reach.
Her brother Olens, meanwhile, had enrolled in Templeton Academia to maintain his noble dignity, but it hadn't been smooth sailing. According to Olivier, Olens's personality—already somewhat off-kilter during his growth years amid the family's misfortune—had twisted even further after enrollment, growing more warped and defiant. Located in Leon, the dazzling capital of the Templeton Empire and a hub where nearly every noble in the empire gathered to study, the academy inflicted considerable mental strain on children from lesser baronial houses with names but little substance, Olivier had added gloomily.
Letting out a short sigh, Emily placed her foot on one of the few remaining steps ahead. Beyond the stairs lay the guest room corridor, then the office space, and finally the private quarters. Suddenly, she paused. She sensed a presence.
—Thud, whirr.
From the corridor above came the sound of something small hitting the wall and spinning.
—Click.
Then, what sounded like a door. Tilting her head, Emily quickened her pace and emerged from the staircase. The space at the foot of the stairs, between the empty guest corridor and the office, was deserted. It wasn't even midday, and Marie, the room attendant, had clocked out long ago—so the second floor being empty was only natural.
But that sound. As Emily scanned for the source, her eyes caught a small object on the distant corridor floor. She approached it. On the floor lay a tiny brown bottle, empty inside, its surface slick and gleaming with oil residue. She reached out slowly.
As Emily bent down and grasped the empty brown bottle, a fragment of memory flashed through her mind. Liaison Oil, they called it—the oil from some place called Toyu. In her hand was the very bottle that had held the liquid Olens used while molesting Olivier in the VIP room.
As she examined it, a memory stirred her consciousness. Her mother fretting over an inexplicable brown stain on the bed linens.
A sudden connection clicked in her mind. Emily crept silently toward the room at the end of the corridor, her heart pounding. Was Olens inside?
She hesitated long before the door. Opening it terrified her. Olens was already someone she dreaded—his usual thuggish defiance and the cruelty he'd shown in the VIP room made her want nothing to do with him. But curiosity won out. She turned the knob gingerly.
Thankfully, the second room from the end was empty. Yet, as suspected, a brown stain marred the pristine white bedsheets.
Emily closed the door softly and stared at the empty brown bottle in her hand. That liquid, used only during sex, was a deep caramel brown. Up close by the bed, the stain was right beneath a framed picture on the wall. Today, the frame hung straight.
That later door sound had definitely been... Emily swallowed dryly to calm her racing heart and climbed onto the bed. Bracing against the wall, she tilted the frame askew, revealing the peephole.
Voices drifted from within—a man's and a woman's, both familiar to her ears. Emily peered through.
Her heartbeat thundered in her skull. In the room next to the end room, Ellie—lightly sweat-sheened—sat on the bed facing the door. Opposite her, arms crossed and chin tilted arrogantly, stood Olens, glaring down imperiously.
"So you're the one taking Lotte's place as the new cunt-house for Baron Belpharos."
Ellie, languid-faced, said nothing to Olens's mocking tone, merely sweeping a sweat-dampened strand of brown hair from her forehead.
Olens continued glaring at her with fiery eyes. But Ellie paid him no mind, smoothing her wavy locks and the wrinkles in her dress. It was a commoner's everyday dress—ivory, with a plunging neckline at the bust and shoulders, flowing into a long skirt below the waist. Her white hands busied themselves straightening the skirt folds.
"Father's so heartless. No loyalty—once Lotte got old and loose, he finds a younger one."
Olens spat the barbed words arrogantly. Ellie found it amusing; her red lips curved up, the mole beneath dancing seductively. She lifted her white chin, gazing up at him provocatively through lowered lashes. Olens smirked crookedly.
"You'll be discarded soon enough, just like old Lotte. Age a bit, get loose down there, and every thrust'll whistle through the sloppy winds."
"We'll see, my lord," Ellie's moist red lips parted wetly. "I never imagined I'd stay here long enough for that, but thank you for the reminder."
"Ha, not even denying it."
Olens scoffed incredulously. Ellie smiled sultrily in response. He stared at her with heated eyes, then strode forward.
"You... filthy bitch."
His hand seized her white chin hard, twisting it up to meet his gaze. Ellie, chin gripped, softened her eyes slightly and stared back. Their gazes locked—his blazing fiercely in the air, hers lazily upturned, tangling stickily.
Olens's eyes burned black. Ellie's red lips twisted. Her white hand reached out, pressing against the bulge in his trousers. She squeezed lightly, and his brow furrowed.
"Oh dear, my lord. Craving that bitch so much you've got this thick thing standing rigid."
Her voice was languid as her other hand tugged at the knot in his waistband, loosening it. The trousers slid down, and his erect cock sprang forth rigidly before her face, veined and throbbing. The purplish head glistened slickly.
Ellie trailed her pale, slender fingers along the rigid shaft, then gripped the base lightly.
"...It's slippery, my lord. Jerking off to thoughts of this slut with Liaison Oil?"
Olens twitched slightly. Seizing the moment as his grip on her chin slackened, Ellie pursed her red lips, then parted them wide. A pointed tongue, slick with saliva, emerged to slowly lick around her lips. Watching, Olens scowled, but his cock below twitched slowly up and down.
"Bill extra as you see fit."
He growled hotly. Ellie laughed languidly.
"...Should I bill it to the young miss Olivier, not the baron?"
"What?"
Her eyes narrowed in amusement at his sharp cry.
"For saving her from her rutting brother."
"You bitch!"
Olens twisted her chin viciously in rage. "Eek!" But Ellie clamped down harder on his cock's base. He grimaced in pain. She yanked it forward, forcing him to thrust his hips out. Dragging it to her face...
"Urgh..."
Her saliva-slick tongue, teasing his lip, extended long to coil around the swollen glans like a serpent. Olens groaned low. She leaned in, her freed chin forward, positioning the thick head's underside between her pursed red lips and flicking it with her hot tongue. His eyes blurred.
As her tongue wrapped relentlessly, the tip soon gleamed dark and slick with spit. Olens's face grew languid.
"Women like me can tell at a glance, my lord. Where your burning desire wants to end. No use hiding it. Let me ease that black-flamed lust just a little today."
Her tongue extended further, coiling fiercely around the thick shaft's underside. As the veiny skin pulsed under the slick serpent-grip, her red lips enveloped it, sucking deep.
"Ah..."
Olens groaned, face twisting as if unable to hold back.
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