5. Nobility
Leon's night streets blazed like midday even in the dead of night. Festive energy pulsed everywhere, with brightly lit restaurants and teahouses teeming with people. Drunken revelers staggered along the roads. A carriage illuminated by magical lamps cut through the heart of Leon's city streets, heading straight for Radubal at the center of Frongten Street.
Inside, Shaylin wore a meaningful smile, while Gophrid sat across from her, gazing with keen interest.
"Choosing lodgings at Radubal—quite unexpected for a proper lady. A thoughtful gesture for your friends, or...?"
"Who knows. I booked two rooms, but I didn't expect we'd actually use them."
"A swift, certain action, far from mere uncertain hopes. I hear Radubal books up completely well before the Founding Festival even begins."
Shaylin's lips curved upward. While staying in Eliyum—more precisely, when Evril had summoned Olens to Poenneu Street—she'd instructed Laura to start the reservation process. Before boarding the fast ship, she'd paid in full through Exxton Bank.
The street came into view, its pillars adorned with lavish wreaths of flowers and ribbons. Under the soft glow of the night lamps, the decorations caught shadows that made them sparkle, their outlines sharply luminous.
Passing crowded shopping districts and upscale restaurants, the grand stone facade of Radubal loomed ahead on the wide boulevard. The entrance buzzed with carriages coming and going; noblewomen in voluminous, colorful gowns and aristocrats alighted, attended by servants who hurried forward. Porters trailed behind, lugging baggage with haste.
"Leon truly is splendid. A lodging this bustling at the witching hour—unthinkable in Leysha, isn't it?"
"Palace balls aside, dances and parties are happening everywhere tonight. Many nobles showed their faces briefly at the imperial ball, then slipped out to the masquerades."
"Masquerades—how thrilling. Leon really is something."
"Leysha hosts its share of masquerades too."
Shaylin shot him a subtle glance. "Sadly, a chaste lady can't attend such affairs. Did you enjoy them, my lord?"
"Well..." Gophrid evaded.
"Come to think of it, unlike other nobles, I've rarely seen you at social gatherings outside official events. Devoted to some private pursuit...?"
"Family comes first. Fulfilling my duties leaves little room for more. In my spare time, I focus on pursuits the late Kingston dukes favored."
The Kingston line, true heirs of the imperial blood, had inherited Grand Emperor Ashton's genius intellect and flawless features across generations, while excelling as swordsmen.
"I'd love to witness your swordsmanship someday." Shaylin smiled.
At last, the carriage halted before Radubal's main entrance.
"We've arrived at Radubal. Now, tell me the price for earlier, Lady Pratt."
The door swung open, neat-uniformed attendants waiting. Shaylin extended her hand for assistance, rising gracefully. "The Radubal I mentioned means all the way to the room. No one discusses business right at the entrance. I'll tell you once we're in a quiet room."
Gophrid's golden eyes darkened. He pondered. Their audience with the crown prince had ended deep into the night; the imperial ball's schedule was over, leaving only lingering socializers in a now-deserted hall. As Gophrid spoke with Valot, Shaylin had approached alone, insisting on her reward tonight. When pressed, she'd smiled enigmatically, promising to reveal it upon reaching her Radubal lodgings—a suspiciously intimate venue.
It fit the infamous Infertile Potion's stakes, but she was a lady of a central earl's house in the Ashton Empire. Among nobles, an unmarried lady's prime virtues were beauty, chastity, and purity. The morning after a grand wedding, displaying bedsheets stained with a virgin's blood was an honor for both bride and groom. Preserving purity until the wedding, alongside a lavish dowry, held profound social weight. Such unions praised the bride's family for raising a virtuous lady and assured the groom's of untainted bloodlines.
If the bride proved impure, the groom's house claimed insult, with rights to annul and withhold part of the dowry. Premarital virginity was thus sacred, and Shaylin surely knew it. Gophrid himself had sought pleasures discreetly before his betrothal, claiming Evril's innocence right after.
He furrowed his brow faintly. Imagining her demands in a Radubal room, none seemed dire. He nodded and rose.
—Ssshh.
Guided by attendants to a third-floor room, Shaylin shut the door and set her clutched reticule on the parlor table before the sofa. She crossed to the window and flung the curtains wide. Chandeliers blazed within, Frongten Street's lights gleaming beyond.
Gophrid stood by the door, watching. A private room rendezvous could spark scandalous rumors for an unmarried lady, but this wasn't rumor-plagued Leysha; Radubal catered to high nobles and tycoons' discreet affairs. Still, as the "queen of society" from a powerful earl's house—and a future social fixture as someone's wife—he'd cross paths with her forever. As heir to the Kingston duchy and a key pillar of Ashton's power structure, he treaded carefully to avoid stains on future honor.
"Now, state your desired reward, Lady Pratt."
From the door, he asked. Shaylin's smile bloomed as she gestured to the central parlor sofa. "If you care for my comfort, sit first? This stiff air won't loosen tongues."
Gophrid strode over and sat. Shaylin approached from the window, the chandelier's golden glow bathing her. The streetscape beyond shimmered in twilight's radiant gold. She drew near, her slow steps halting right before him. Her alluring aura prickled his nerves.
Shaylin wasn't strikingly beautiful—just prettily so. Yet suitors flocked, crowning her society's pinnacle, thanks to her eloquence, warmth, sharp memory, and artful detachment that charmed without overwhelming.
Now, in Radubal's room, she closed in. From the carriage, her eyes had trembled faintly, her poise laced with tension. She stopped stock-still. Gophrid, puzzled, tilted his head up from the sofa—only for her irresistible soft smile to extend arms toward him.
Under the lavish golden light, her ball-ready makeup glowed like misty asters. Her hands reached his cheeks, warm palms soothing winter-chilled skin. Delicate as any noble lady's, slender and small like her frame.
As Gophrid regarded her with conflicted eyes, hers narrowed tenderly—then moist, hot lips pressed to his.
His startled golden gaze met hers. "Lady Pratt."
He voiced his shock; a subtle smile ghosted her lips. Her palms slid slowly to his jaw, then kissed again. Plump red lips met leisurely, sweet breath mingling as they parted to suckle his hotly. She teased upper and lower gently, stimulating with care. Her finesse betrayed feigned calm's tremor. Caressing hands held affection.
With warm, wet kisses, a soft tongue parted his lips and slipped in. Unlike her usual psychological distance as society's queen, this was a deeply persuasive, honeyed kiss.
Finally breaking, she whispered huskily in his ear. "Gophrid, from the first moment I saw you, I've yearned for this. And I wanted to call you by your given name, not your title."
Meeting the golden eyes in his refined face, her gaze narrowed, subtle flames kindling within. "Be my first man tonight. That's my reward."
"But, Lady Pratt."
"Shh." As his voice stiffened, she pressed a finger to his lips. From her reticule, she drew a small purple vial, uncorked it before his eyes, and drank. "I want nothing else from you, Gophrid. No demands. Just once—gift me an ecstatic night."
At her unforeseen plea, confusion crossed his face. She leaned close, sensual temptation in her voice, hot breath whispering. "Take me, Gophrid."