The Duke’s Journey to the Capital
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Creator of Supreme Spouse System
"Lord..." she said softly, stretching the word just so that Kyra would shoot her a look of alarm and Cynthia and Aria switch their gaze from her.
Leon regarded her. "Yes, dear?"
She looked down demurely. Now that Cynthia is your woman... then when will you claim me—or Kyra—too?
Leon blinked in shock.
Syra’s cheeks reddened as she added softly, "We want to serve you. too."
A shocked hush. Then—
Kyra playfully slapped Syra’s head, her face already ablaze. "W-What are you saying, Syra?! A-And why are you involving me in this?!"
Syra massaged the back of her head, frowning. "What? Don’t pretend like you don’t want the same."
Leon arched an eyebrow, and Aria eyed him with amusement. Cynthia, still reeling from her earlier embarrassment, blinked in astonishment at Syra’s cheekiness—giving herself a momentary lapse into forgetfulness of her own mortification.
Syra moved closer; her eyes glinting at her twin. "If you don’t even want to be Lord Leon’s mistress, then tell me so aloud."
Kyra opened her mouth—then froze. Nothing came out. Her lips moved, but her voice betrayed her. Slowly, she turned her head away, cheeks glowing brighter than ever.
"See?" Syra said smugly. "I knew it. So why pretend you’re shy now?"
Kyra’s head whipped back toward her, flustered. "Syra...!" she started, pointing an accusatory finger.
But before she could finish, Leon raised a hand, his voice calm and gentle. "Easy, both of you."
Leon shifted to face Syra, a slow, conscious smile spreading across his lips. He leaned forward slightly, golden eyes clashing with hers—steady, unhurried, and thick with unmistakable promise.
"For your question... dear," he whispered, his voice low and honey-smooth, "you and your sister will both be moaning beneath me—very soon. Just a little patience."
Syra’s breathing caught. Her cheeks erupted into a bright blush, but she didn’t glance away. Instead, a tiny, exhilarated smile twisted her lips. At her side, Kyra’s eyes grew wide as her face flushed a deep red, fingers fluttering nervously in her lap.
Aria and Cynthia shared a look—then both smiled quietly at the twins’ flush of embarrassment. Aria’s mischief flashed in her eyes as she shook her head affectionately.
"Okay," Aria murmured, chuckling softly, her tone filled with gentle authority. "Flirting’s enough for now. Eat breakfast before it cools off."
Her tone was a soft ending to the teasing, and all seemed to unwind simultaneously. The twins shared one last look—Syra still smirking, Kyra attempting to conceal red cheeks—before they nodded.
Leon smiled slightly and resumed eating with his fork, while Cynthia smiled shyly, still flushing but clearing. At the table, they all nodded in agreement, the atmosphere light with heat and soft laughter as they finally turned to the meal.
The group looked to their plates, the air light but filled with unspoken joy.
Rein, Lilyn stood quietly behind Leon, hands folded tightly in front of her. A residual blush still colored her cheeks as she listened to the banter. She stood like a ghost on one side of the room —invisible to the others.
As their banter reached her ears, a warm murmur moved within her heart: Will I... ever be able to stand alongside him like that? Or do I even stand a chance to become... his woman?
A tender flutter grew inside of her, tenuous but brilliant.
She cast her eyes downward, concealing a blushing smile while breakfast went on around her.
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The courtyard of the Moonwalker mansion glowed with the warm mid-morning sunshine. Light poured down like soft fire, heating the ground and filling the entire garden with a gentle, ethereal sheen. A warm breeze blew carefree through the open area, bringing the sweet fragrance of unfurling lilies, jasmine, and wild roses. The flower scent hung in the air as perfume, soothing, refined, ageless.
Each bush and flowerbed seemed neatly trimmed, as though to meet the sun’s kind kiss. Marigolds and tulips and silver-leafed vines spilled down walls and pathways, and stands of white daffodils tall and proud bent gently in the warmth of the sun. Butterflies danced merrily from bloom to bloom, bursts of color blowing like living confetti in the air of summer. Birds sang softly from under ivy arches, finishing the picture of peaceful paradise.
But the quiet didn’t last.
The large, ornate gate of the mansion swung open, shattering the peaceful quiet.
Out of the shadows of the corridor, Leon emerged into the sunlight, his gold eyes shining in the light like molten lava. Alongside him moved Aria, stately in white and purple, her purple hair billowing like silk. Cynthia, serene yet striking, preceded his right, while the twin sisters Syra and Kyra bracketed them on either side like sun-kissed mirrors—Syra in gold, Kyra in emerald. Lilyn, the shy head maid, followed discreetly behind.
Behind them came a procession of housemaids—at least fifteen—each of them outfitted in fresh maid uniforms, their heads slightly lowered, lips twisted in soft, sorrowful smiles that spoke volumes. A fluttering of the hems of their skirts and the dainty bowing of their hands lent an air of dignified beauty to the moment.
Not stopping in the courtyard, the procession marched steadily towards the main gate of the estate, the purposeful and unhesitant steps of their approach.
And as they arrived at the estate’s main gate, Leon’s golden eyes rose—and rested on the beautiful view in front of him.
There, mounted at the front, was an imposing carriage—slender and stately in form, painted a shining silver with delicate blue highlights that caught the eye like strands of silk. It was enormous, high-roofed, and long enough to accommodate six to seven comfortably. Gilded runes shimmered softly along its flanks—magical for haste and fluid journeying.
Strap tied at the leading carriage were four stunning white horses, each comfortably larger than average magical beast horse. Their manes glowed softly, and wise silver-blue eyes watched the environment quietly. These Windsteed-bred horses were celebrated in all Five Great Independent Kingdoms. Able to learn human language and remember routes on a single trip, they did not require a coachman for the ride—so great was Windsteeds’ genius.
This breed Breed only reserved for high nobility, these magical beast horses were living symbols of prestige, wealth, and noble blood—animals of elegance and intelligence, respected throughout kingdoms as the pride of aristocratic lineage.
Leon’s eyes glanced over the opulent carriage to the sight behind it, where there was a full contingent of guards standing in wordless formation, fifty sleek warriors. Their polished silver armor shone in the sun, not a speck of dent or buckle missing.
Every warrior stood tall alongside their own mount—ordinary magical creatures, strong and steady. Straight backs, eyes ahead, their faces were chiseled from granite, radiating discipline and pride. An aura of purpose surrounded them. Their silence was not hollow—it was a promise. A bulwark of loyalty and power, unspoken but irrefutable.
As Leon stepped up with the ladies on either side, the guards dipped in one efficient motion, the voices echoing together:
"Welcome to our Lord. Our Ladies,"
The guards sang back in impeccable unison, the voices deep and ringing—like steel clashing with stone. The seriousness of their devotion resonated in the morning air.
Before them stood Captain Black, an experienced fighter attired in darker, magical armor bordered with dark blue trim. He, too, bowed low.
Leon greeted their bow with a peaceful, sonorous smile. His voice held steadfast authority as he spoke, "Greetings, my obedient subordinates. Stand up straight."
When the guards uprighted themselves, Leon surveyed the formation—sharp and vigilant.
Leon sighed inwardly, as his mind wandered. Cynthia and I both at Grandmaster level, danger can hardly reach us. In these Five Great Independent Kingdoms, who would be able to hurt me and my crew without guards? The number would be in the single digits.
But now, as Leon was about to officially go to the capital to attend the ceremony, the duke needs to appear as a Duke. alone, if I go to the capital, nobles will think me weak for a Duke. And the nobility’s tongues are much keener than any sword.
He pondered this till the clinking of boots on gravel shook him out of it.
Black advanced. "My Lord, all is ready for your departure."
Leon smiled, nodding, shaking off his reverie.
Black turned smoothly, making a discreet hand gesture toward the group of guards standing at attention.
From the ranks, one guard advanced—a young man with sharp, firm eyes and an upright, confident stance. His presence had a quiet strength, as if he was prepared for whatever was coming.
"Lord Leon," Black said, "this is..."