This chapter contains mature adult content (R18). You can freely skip to the next chapter or read at your own will. The choice is yours.
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That evening, the grand hall of House Ardent rang with laughter.
Roran's return from Volgard was no trivial thing—it was a statement of strength, a reminder to the realm that the blood of Ardent still birthed warriors worth fearing.
Torches lined the stone pillars casting
dancing light across a sea of armored warriors, servants, and red and gold-dyed banners fluttering from the ceiling.
Above them all, on a raised podium, the high table stretched like a judging throne. At its center sat Lord Torren Ardent. On his left were seated the older members of the council—the oldest blood of House Ardent.
Beside them were the high captains and key figures of the House: Beast hunters, masters of arms, and warriors who had earned their place through spilled blood and broken bone.
And of course, Roran Ardent, the returned heir, seated proudly beside his father, his sharp jawline and cold eyes mirroring Lord Torren's younger days.
Below them, the true celebration roared like wildfire.
There were dozens of the long wooden tables with house warriors—armored, half-drunk, and laughters mixing with the flutes and harps played from the corners.
Meat was passed around in heaping trays—roasted deer legs, blood sausages, and thick cuts of wild boar slathered in peppered sauce.
Wine flowed like rivers, poured from silver pitchers by maidens dressed in silken garments that revealed their smooth bellies glistening with soft sheen of oil, bare and smooth.
Their hips moved with every step, the flash of candlelight following the curve of bare flesh between their short skirts and tight-cut tops. Their beauty was no accident—it was designed to stir, to provoke.
One of the warriors stretched out as a serving maid walked by, grabbing her around the waist with a wolfish smile and drawing her down into his lap.
She gasped softly, her surprise melting into a sultry smile as she leaned into him, her curves pressing against the hard dock beneath him.
His hand slid along the side of her body, fingers trailing down her bare hip, then upward again—slowly, possessively.
As she shifted on his lap, his other hand found its way beneath the thin silk of her blouse, caressing the gentle curve of her soft breast.
The girl let out a breathless laugh, biting her lip as his thumb teased around the sensitive skin near her nipple, circling with wicked patience. Her head tilted back, a low moan escaping her lips as he grazed the hardened peak with the edge of his thumb.
"Mm… careful, soldier," she breathed, her voice honeyed wine. "You keep that up and I'll forget I'm working.".
The table burst into laughter, the other warriors raising their cups in approval.
She let her fingers drift along the soldier's jaw, her nails teasing his stubbled skin. she leaned in against his ear.
"Too many eyes here," she whispered, breath hot against his skin. "Come, soldier. I'll show you what it means to make a woman moan louder than war drums."
Her voice curled around him like a spell—sultry, commanding and irresistible.
He didn't hesitate.
He pushed his chair back with a low laugh. She stood, her hands closing around his fingers as she pulled him along after her.
The noise of the feast faded behind them slowly, swallowed by the pounding of footsteps.
They slipped through the side of the hall, past drunken warriors and distracted captains. No one stopped them. No one dared. Desire had its own licence in House Ardent.
The heavy oak doors creaked open to the outer courtyard. Cool night air washed over them, scented with wild roses and wet stone. The moon hung low, full and watching.
She led him through the garden walks, half-running, half-stumbling, to a secret fountain, half-covered by weeping vines.
The sound of trickling water mingled with the rustle of leaves and the soft gasp that broke from her mouth when he turned her around and pushed her against the cold rock.
Her back bent at the shock of it, but her eyes never left his. She grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him down into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and hunger.
"Take off the armor," she said, her voice low and commanding. "I want to feel you—just you."
He obeyed.
The leather straps came undone, metal clattered quietly onto the grass. Chestplate, pauldrons, bracers—until he stood in his undershirt, breath heavy, chest rising.
She moved closer, fingertips trailing down the middle of his chest, then lower, tracing the ridges of muscle. Her touch was flame, and he burned willingly.
Their tongues slid against each other, slick with shared heat. She moaned into him, tasting the wine still clinging to his breath, mingling with her own. Every lick was a challenge.
He groaned in his throat, his hands traveling down her body with purpose. When he reached the hem of her silk skirt, he didn't hesitate. He slid underneath, palms gliding over bare skin, over the soft curve of her hips… until he grabbed her ass—naked, smooth, perfect.
He squeezed hard, fingers digging in, pulling her against him with a growl that vibrated against her lips. Her legs clenched tighter around his waist, grinding her pussy against the growing hardness pressing through his pants.
"You weren't wearing anything under this?" he growled into her mouth, running his tongue along her lower lip and biting into it.
"Wasn't planning to keep it on," she whispered breathless.
He pressed his face in her neck, inhaling her scent—sweat, silk, oil, arousal. His tongue traced along her throat, licking the salt of her skin, tasting her, pleasuring her. She tilted her head back, lips parted, a shiver racing down her spine.
"Gods," he muttered, kissing up to her ear. "You're soaked."
"And you're still dressed," she murmured back, voice thick with heat.
Her hand slipped between them, rubbing against the bulge in his pants with a wicked smile.
"Aren't you going to do something about that, soldier?"