5. Nobility
A cool sea breeze tousled his orange-tinted hair. The ship that had departed from the harbor glided swiftly across the water's surface. Far in the distance, Eliyum's port grew smaller and smaller, fading away. The three weeks of revelry on the western continent, relatively free from prying eyes, had now come to an end.
The deck of the top-class express vessel was deserted, devoid of people. His golden eyes gazed toward the distant sea, where massive waves churned. Beyond those waves lay the Mirror Sea. Smooth and pristine like a mirror, it reflected everything floating above it perfectly below the surface. Despite being an ocean, the Mirror Sea had no currents or waves, no whisper of wind—a stagnant, silent pool. Positioned midway between the western and eastern continents, it rendered ordinary wind-powered sailing ships utterly incapable of crossing. Only powered vessels equipped with magic engines fueled by mana stones could make the journey.
The purpose of this visit to the western continent had been to inspect the mana stone mines—essential sources of artifacts and fuel for magic engines. And...
His golden eyes narrowed for a moment as they fixed on the far sea. He recalled the platinum blonde hair like pale moonlight and the transparent gray eyes he had encountered just days ago.
A presence approached from behind. The four escort knights guarding him on the deck stepped aside in unison.
"What are you thinking so deeply about?"
Karl's voice came from behind, his white shirt unbuttoned, a wine glass in hand.
Bjorn didn't turn, his gaze locked on the distant sea. Karl leaned obliquely against the railing where Bjorn stood, bent at the waist. He tilted his head back toward the sky, eyes closed, basking in the warm afternoon sun and surrendering to the sea breeze.
"...Did you find out anything?"
At Bjorn's question, Karl smiled with his eyes still shut. Brown strands tickled his ears as they fluttered in the wind.
"Yeah. Jayden told me. The name listed in the shop's register that day was Olivier."
"Her family name? Age?"
"Paralroma Workshop only records the bare minimum for customer privacy unless specifically requested. And since it was just a reservation list for items, that's all there was."
"...I see."
Karl opened his eyes at Bjorn's deflated murmur, fixing him with a playful grin.
"But... were you satisfied at Stunel?"
"Ah, well. Two guys even faster than me were waiting eagerly at the gates of the Castle of Atonement."
Bjorn flicked a glance toward two of the escort knights standing at a distance, then returned his eyes to the sea. Karl chuckled beside him, wetting his throat with a sip from his wine glass.
"If that girl is a Templton noble, you'll probably see her at the debutante ball soon enough. Unless she's already married, that is. But Lady Valois won't sit idly by before then."
"Mm..."
Bjorn let out a low groan. Indeed, could those unusual hair and eye colors belong to a Templton noble? Some obscure border noble with northern kingdom blood he knew nothing about? But as Karl said, even if she appeared at the debutante ball, Bjorn couldn't approach her. Thinking of his fiancée, Ignes of the Valois Ducal House—greedy and cunning, just like her father—made his head throb.
"I heard Lady Dubneuve is attending this debutante ball."
"...Kate, you mean?"
"Yes. Rumors are swirling that the Duchess of Edelburg is taking a keen interest in her."
"Hmph. Jayden's no pushover, unlike me—the duchess won't manage him. And Kate's temperament is no joke either."
"In that spirit, a toast to Jayden and Kate. To their unbreakable resolve! Armarda!"
Karl cheered gleefully, raising his wine glass. The transparent glass caught the afternoon sun, sparkling like a gem in pale brilliance. As he gulped down the remaining wine, Bjorn smirked. Karl was always so cheerful.
"Hm. It's out of sight now."
At Karl's words, Bjorn turned. Eliyum, visible just moments ago, had vanished, replaced by the glittering horizon. A pang of regret tugged at him; he narrowed his eyes, staring into the distance. If he could at least catch a glimpse of her from afar at the debutante ball during the January Founding Festival...
*
Evril savored the sensation of Olens's brown hair brushing between her fingers as she stroked it. He had just gifted her waves of ecstatic passion and now slumbered deeply. Glossy, soft brown locks; a graceful jawline; delicate lashes closed in repose; gentle lips and a straight nose. His features resembled his sister Olivier's, but far more masculine—perfectly aligned with Evril's aesthetic ideals. Much like the firm member dangling between his legs.
They had fallen in love at first sight, impossibly quickly. The moment their skin touched, sweet sensations from him raced up her spine in shivers of thrill. Dazed with love thereafter, they burned through days and nights, panting in fervor whenever together. But winter break was nearly over. Tomorrow, they would leave Eliyum for Laysha. The moments of pleasure had to be set aside; she must return to her proper place.
She had duties, social obligations to fulfill. From birth, her station had been as the future Duchess of Kingston, Lady of House Loren. The dreamlike time on the western continent was over. Her relationship with Olens was precious, sweet—but merely that. The next Duke of Kingston would claim her as his rightful due, perfectly equipped in every way, then enjoy her with the flexible, encompassing indulgence he reserved for countless other women.
His brown lashes fluttered slowly amid his steady breaths. Dreaming, perhaps? Evril propped her chin on the pillow, gazing at his sleeping profile. This man fit her in every way. Unlike the kind but timid Ilroy, her fiancé, he made no comparisons. Unlike the Ashton nobles, he never pried into her private life. And in bed, he was the ultimate partner. He never rushed for his own pleasure. Unlike selfish, dissatisfying men, he guided her patiently to climax first, pausing his movements during her ecstasy to let her savor it.
From her experiences, Olens had scarcely any flaws. He demanded nothing from her, yearned for nothing desperately. He always accommodated her. Never anything impossible or uncomfortable. Always gentle, affectionate. Thus, Evril was confident she could end this relationship smoothly when she wished.
She kissed his fluttering lashes tenderly, cherishing every moment with him, committing it deep to memory. Sweeping his soft brown hair from his forehead, she kissed there too. After gazing at him a while longer, she headed to the dressing room to tidy her tousled hair.
Her reflection showed refined features, pale skin, sharp facial lines, an elegant neck flowing to graceful shoulders—the epitome of a high noble lady. Taking a bronze comb from the shelf before the dressing room mirror, she slowly brushed her wavy, orange-tinted brown hair over her shoulder. The ends were tangled and split from their recent bed romps.
Holding the tips with one hand, combing with the other—click. The dressing room door opened beside her. In the mirror, Olens stood with a sleepy, tousled face.
Evril smiled at him. His eyes, soft yet burning with passion, roamed her naked form. Weeks of ceaseless passion had sensitized her body to his every touch, every glance. Just his gaze now made her core grow slick.
Olens approached her seated before the mirror, wrapping her shoulders gently. Evril shuddered, recalling the chill of cold fingers on her bare skin. Déjà vu. In Laysha, in this same dressing room, naked before the mirror, someone had gripped her shoulders with icy hands.
Her fiancé was noble, courteous, polite by nature—but in intimacy, he turned cold, detached. He loved watching their reflections. Thrusting from behind, he'd gaze at her grimaced face in the mirror with a dazed, entranced look. When his demands grew too much and she begged to rest, he'd glare at her image with icy disdain, continuing silently. She'd bite her lip, enduring the raw pain of intrusion in her stiff body, waiting for his exhaustion.
Olens, utterly different, cupped her shoulders softly, turned her face to his, and kissed her deeply. His devoted lips trailed onward—to her jaw, collarbone, full breasts, lingering at her navel before descending to bury between her thighs.
"Mm..."
Warm, soft kisses delved into her slick depths. Evril threaded fingers into the brown hair between her thighs, relishing its softness. As he probed deeper, she gripped tighter.
"Ah... mm..."
Overwhelmed by unrelenting stimulation, Evril turned to the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her once prim, pale face flushed crimson; sweat beaded on her brow. The ecstasy twisting her features was soft, moist, scorching. Her dark brown eyes, half-lidded, clouded with passion, rapture, pleasure; swollen red lips spilled ceaseless lewd moans.
"Ah, ah..."
The woman in the mirror groaned long, grimacing. And for the first time, Evril liked what she saw.
One-line Summary: The revelry in Eliyum has ended.
Thank you for reading.