"Haven't you waited long enough?" Lorryll pressed, his voice dropping even lower. "Shouldn't you do something? Otherwise, that woman Cleora will be long gone."
The name caused Eude's jaw to clench visibly. The desire in his eyes flickered for a moment thinking about her. He had been waiting for the barony to finish its construction, as he had ulterior motives.
So, he didn't say anything.
They reached the outer premises of the temple, the massive gokraums now looming directly overhead, casting long shadows across the processional way. The carved figures along the pillars seemed to watch their approach with knowing stone eyes.
Eude scoffed, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation in such a public setting. "Enough about me," he deflected.
"What are you going to do about the brat?"
Lorryll's face darkened at the question. The "brat" they referred to was Jolthar.
"His name is spreading like a wildfire since the war. Even the trades are now flocking towards the barony he is now living in."
Lorryll's expression turned sour; his wife held his hand, and then Lorryll looked at her. Just her gaze made him calm down.
Eude scoffed, "Aren't you a lovely pair!"
Before Lorryll could respond, however, a commotion arose ahead of them.
The steady flow of worshippers entering the temple suddenly halted, people murmuring and pointing as they parted to create a path.
Craning their necks, Eude's party observed a group being escorted toward the temple's private western entrance—an honour reserved for those of exceptional importance.
Leading this procession was the High Priest of the temple himself, resplendent in ceremonial golden robes that caught the light with each dignified step.
Behind him walked a woman whose bearing commanded immediate respect. Her presence was divine, and her demeanour was regal.
She walked ahead, led by the high priest and Elara; Myron followed behind. She was Apyana.
Lorryll, who saw them, stopped in his tracks. His gaze immediately found Elara, and he was surprised to see her and the man beside her. Liliana was also watching her, curious about her presence here, far from the clan.
"Now, who are they?" Eude asked, looking at the front.
Lorryll replied, "I don't know about the woman, but the man with her is called Myron, and the woman to his side is Elara, my cousin."
Eude turned to Lorryll, confused. "What?"
"Yes, she is. But more importantly, the woman leading them – I wonder who she is?"
"Even the high priest came out personally to lead them in; it can mean many things. And I don't care about it. We shall leave once we are done here."
Lorryll remained silent and so was Liliana. They didn't understand why Elara would come here with them. Lorryll could tell that woman leading them wasn't simple.
He could see the temple guards stopping everyone in their path. They were not letting anyone go near them. If Lorryll caused any commotion, it would become troublesome to deal with the temple people.
He wasn't going to let the matter rest until he talked to Elara.
For now, they walked inside the temple as the procession resumed after the group entered the temple.
The Barony of Tekkora hummed with celebration, banners fluttering in the spring breeze as minstrels played and vendors hawked exotic wares from across the lands.
The people have gathered in the small temple which they built for Inadrys. It was now lavishly decorated, and people were going in and out of the temple, worshipping their deity king.
Yet amid this revelry, Jolthar stood apart, his piercing gaze scanning the festivities with detached interest. He wasn't the least interested in the festival of those damned deities he detests.
He wondered why people are so devoted towards such a cunning, egoistic and lecherous deity. People overlook his affairs and seem oblivious to his schemes.
This morning, after a brief discussion, Bertelot left the barony.
Bertelot's departure had sealed their bargain. The old merchant lord had agreed to deliver the gold and resources required to continue the construction of the barony. He had made a deal with a Bertelot; it was more of a business transaction for him than a family transaction. Of course, Bertelot considered his love for Nora; otherwise, he wouldn't have come.
"You seem distant, darling," Cleora whispered, appearing at his side.
The Baroness of Tekkora wore a gown of rich azure silk, her platinum hair woven with pearls.
She carried herself with regal bearing, every inch the noble ruler of these lands—yet her eyes held something else when they met Jolthar's.
"Your father really helped us this time," Jolthar replied, his voice low.
"Tonight isn't for worrying about tomorrow," Cleora said, her fingers brushing his. She wasn't going to let him indulge in his discussion, as she had a plan in her mind.
"Tonight will be our night, our long-awaited night."
"Come. The people and everybody will be occupied with the festival games for hours. I want to take you to a place."
Jolthar felt the pull between them; he couldn't suppress his desire for her, not anymore.
As dusk painted the sky in deepening purples, Cleora led Jolthar away from the festivities.
Her children were thoroughly engrossed in the celebrations, freeing the Baroness from watchful eyes. Nora was dancing around the fire along with the young girls of her age. She seemed to be happy after the visit of her grandfather. And Roblan was somewhere in the crowd, flirting around with young ladies.
"This way," she whispered, guiding him through the manicured gardens behind the mansion and into the dense woods beyond.
The sounds of revelry faded, replaced by the song of night birds and the growing rush of water.
They walked for a couple of minutes, silently. Not one of them talked; Cleora held Jolthar's hand and led him further into the woods.
Jolthar gaze dropped to the waist and below, watching her hips dance as she walked before him.
He understood what she wanted—and he was done being a boy. No more hesitation, no more retreating. It was time he held her close and claimed the love that had always been his.
As they walked deep into the woods, a small waterfall came into view—a silver ribbon cascading down moss-covered stone, gleaming in the moonlight. A pool of crystalline water gathered below, surrounded by old oaks that seemed to guard this secret place.
"The waters here are said to be sweet," Cleora murmured, her voice soft with reverence. "This stream feeds into the barony—it's where we get our drinking water."
Jolthar stepped closer to the edge, gazing down at the clear, rippling surface. "So," he said, glancing back at her with a teasing smile, "you brought me all the way here just to have a drink?"
Cleora's lips curved into a knowing smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Exactly. Drink, then leave. That was the grand plan."
Jolthar let out a short laugh, bending down to scoop a handful of the cool stream water. He took a sip, then exaggerated a thoughtful hum.
"Huh. Sweet, like you said. But not nearly as sweet as the woman who dragged me all the way here."
Cleora arched a brow, crossing her arms. "Flattery won't save you. That's strike two, Lord Jolthar."
"Strike two?" he asked, standing up, water still dripping from his fingers.
"What was the first?"
"Calling me sweet", she said, stepping closer, "you'll ruin my reputation."
Jolthar shrugged with a grin. "Too late. I think you ruined it yourself the moment you brought a man alone to a place this quiet and beautiful."
Cleora stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell the earthy scent of wild herbs clinging to her clothes. She tilted her head.
"You think this place is beautiful?"
"It is," he said, his voice lower now. "But it's not the stream I'm talking about."
She laughed softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Careful. That almost sounded genuine."
"That's the problem," he said, not breaking her gaze. "It was."
What followed was inevitable—a culmination of desire and destiny.
Under the watchful gaze of stars and surrounded by old magic, they came together.
His throat tightened, words dissolving under the weight of her gaze.
Her eyes were molten amber, sparking a fire in his blood that no battlefield could match.
"Cleora," he rasped, stepping closer, his boots sinking into the soft earth. "You're all I see, all I want—every damned night."
Her lips curved, a slow, feral smile that promised ruin and rapture. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NoveI~Fire.net
She closed the gap, her fingers brushing his jaw, tracing the stubble with a touch that sent shivers down his spine. Her scent—jasmine and rain—enveloped him as she pulled him down, their lips crashing together like a storm breaking.
The kiss was fire and velvet, her tongue teasing his, tasting of spiced wine and hunger.
Jolthar groaned, a low rumble in his chest, his hands seizing her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath her gown.
Cleora pressed herself closer, her curves moulding to his hard planes, her nails scraping his scalp as she devoured him, each kiss a claim.