anwhile, at the once-proud manor of Mayor Roder Fuerte—which beca Odin’s residence in Carles, but now General Turik’s temporary residence—
The grand halls of the estate echoed once more with life, though not of the kind its forr owner would have welcod.
That evening, General Turik hosted a raucous banquet for his commanders—a final indulgence before the Zuran army marched on Savadra at first light. The feast was not rely a show of excess; it was a calculated morale boost, a final reward before bloodshed.
The manor’s grand dining hall, once reserved for nobles and diplomats, now bore witness to a very different kind of gathering. Two massive crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the long mahogany table that could seat forty n. The scent of roasted ats and spiced stews mixed with the tang of sweat and leather filled the hall. Servants, trained under the prim expectations of Northem’s aristocracy, moved stiffly between the guests, horrified by the utter lack of decorum. The commanders gorged themselves with greasy fingers, slurping wine straight from goblets, belching and roaring with laughter like beasts in uniform.
What kind of banquet would it be without won and wine? one of them had jeered earlier, and so both were provided.
When the butler hesitated at the request for Lord Odin’s prized wine collection, one sharp look from Turik sent him scurrying to the cellar. Yet, before returning, a thought struck him—a quiet defiance. He reached for a special brew: Lara’s homade wine, a deceptively smooth drink fernted from wild mountain berries. Sweet and tangy on the tongue, its true strength revealed itself hours later—brutal even to those who prided themselves of high alcohol tolerance.
The wine was served, and as the hour deepened, so too did the debauchery. Commanders grew rowdy, their voices rising above the music, hands wandering too freely over the courtesans provided for the night.
The butler could only grit his teeth. A few of those won were serving as maidservants in the manor. They were forr courtesans who decided to change their fate when Lady Freya chanced upon them and offered them the opportunity.
But their fellow courtesans had spotted them, invied them and had instigated General Turik to let them serve the his n as well.
The butler was hopping that the commanders would drop unconscious before they could do more to those won.
Crassssh...
A goblet fell on the floor and a servant hurried to clean it up.
The butler seethed with restrained anger.
Lady Freya’s porcelain plate collection—once a symbol of refined taste—was now clanged together like cymbals, so pieces smashed in careless amusent.
Turik watched, amused but distant. With a curt nod to his second-in-command, he slipped away from the chaos and retreated to the rear of the mansion.
Beyond the flower gardens that still clung to so semblance of order, and the vegetable plots to the east, the back of the manor remained largely unchanged. Until he ca to a hot spring pool nestled behind a ring of wooden fencing, covered with jasmine vines and red roses, the intoxicating scent adding a romantic vibe to the evening.
The general pushed open the wooden gate, stepping into a pocket of calm and naturally scented mist.
There, reclining against a stone chair partially subrged in the steaming water, was a woman. The moonlight painted her in silver and shadow. Her naked form was blurred by the bubbling surface, but her silhouette was unmistakably sensual.
The pool, he had learned, was a wedding gift—constructed by Odin’s youngest daughter Lara, for her eldest brother Asael and his wife Arabella. A long bamboo pipe, tapped from the mountain above, fed the spring, and the excess water trickled into a fish pind sowhere beyond the garden wall.
"Did I make you wait long?" Turik’s voice was low, his tone thick with anticipation as he began shedding his clothes.
"No, Supre General," the woman replied, her voice smooth and deliberate. "The water is... quite enjoyable."
Turik didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the spring, the water rising around his chest as he drew close.
From the edge of the pool, Briella watched him approach. Under the silver light, she could not deny that Turik was handso—broad-shouldered, well-built, with the dangerous confidence of a man used to conquest. And yet, her heart remained untouched.
It belonged to soone else.
Bener.
The na stirred an ache inside her chest. He was the only man she had truly loved. She had cherished their fleeting ti together, convinced he cared for her—until Lara had arrived, uninvited and unrelenting.
She could still rember Lara’s unwavering stare as she spoke in an icy voice.
"Your soul is dark, and your heart is wicked. You intend to use my brother to achieve your ambitions. I won’t let you."
"But I love your brother! Are you really going to co between us? We love each other." Briella protested, almost pleading.
"Love?" Lara had laughed, bitter and sharp. "You don’t know the aning of it."
"Why? Is it because of my background and I am no longer pure?" Briella asked, her eyes envoked sympathy.
Lara chuckled. "It is beyond that. You are manipulative. You would do anything to survive, even seducing n. If you have a brother, would you let him marry a woman like you? And my brother didn’t fall for you. He pitied you."
The words had struck Briella like arrows. And worse—all part of what she said was the truth.
A woman like you.
Lara had seen through her like glass, and Briella hated her for it. She hated her loving family. Hated her unshakable brothers and her perfect fiancé who doted on her and treated her with reverent respect.
While I... Briella clenched her teeth, ...was only ever a plaything to n. Even to Bener. He did not want . Of course. He could not want a woman like her.
The warmth of the spring did little to soothe her grief. Her mind swirled with the pain of rejection and the bitterness of longing—until two strong arms circled her waist from behind, pulling her against a solid chest.
She gasped, blinking back to the present, as Turik’s lips brushed her ear.
"Let’s forget the world tonight," he whispered.
And she tried.
But even under the moonlight, even in another man’s arms, she could not forget the one who had truly seen her—and walked away.
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