Reika lay breathless on the bed, utterly spent. After a considerable time, she gradually regained her strength. She turned onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow to observe Cayman, who was engrossed in writing by the flickering light of a single candle.
"Did you stay up this late every night before I arrived?" she asked, finding it somewhat absurd. She had not anticipated that he would indulge in drink until the late hours, return to exhaust her, and then continue working as if possessed.
"My vitality surpasses that of ordinary men," Cayman replied without looking up. "Even before your arrival, I was never short of women, and work serves as one of my outlets for energy."
"Did you seek out courtesans?" Reika inquired, her curiosity piqued. It seemed to her he had a peculiar fondness for procreation. "Haven't those courtesans borne you any children?"
"I occasionally engaged with courtesans. Yet no matter how high-class they were, they remained mere courtesans, unworthy of lasting benefits."
A spark of something—hope, perhaps—flickered in Reika's chest. "What is my value, then? Is it simply that you have a unique taste for my complexion?"
Cayman set down his pen and gazed at her, his mismatched eyes unreadable in the dim light. He remained silent for an extended moment, the intensity of his stare making her shiver. Finally, he spoke. "Have you rested enough? Come over and take a look."
With that, he placed the meticulously written parchment on the table. Reika's eyes lit up, and she immediately sprang to her feet.
"Be careful not to soil the bed and floor," he cautioned.
"I know. I will be careful. Don't worry." She delightfully perched herself on the edge of the table, picking up the document. Over her years of wandering, she had learned the Valyrian language and could naturally comprehend its contents.
The parchment contained a complete and elaborate plan titled The Return of the Birds.
As she read, her initial excitement turned to a cold, calculating stillness. She bit her finger in silence, her posture forgotten.
The first phase was exactly what he had promised: he would assist her in assembling a formidable naval fleet and secure actual control over Valerano Island. Furthermore, their eldest child would ascend to the throne of Valerano, while a younger child would adopt the surname Ross, becoming the heir to her family line.
But this was merely the first stage of a grander design. The second phase entailed waiting for their children to mature. Cayman would then finance their endeavors to launch a unification war over the entire Summer Isles. This war was framed as a mere trial.
The third phase was the ultimate objective. Should their child successfully unify the archipelago and solidify their rule, Cayman would bestow upon them a dragon egg and increase their backing, enabling the child to establish a new dragon-king lineage, ruling the Summer Isles and the surrounding seas. It was a long-term plan extending over two decades.
Reika found herself hesitating. Her original intention was to leverage his support to reclaim her family's seat and control Valerano Island, nothing more. The third phase of his plan essentially allocated the entire Summer Isles as a domain for his descendants. If this succeeded, was she not inviting a wolf into her home? The Ross family had flourished for a millennium. She aspired for her children to bear the Ross name, for her lineage to be the new dragon-kings.
Contemplating this, she slithered into his embrace like a serpent, her voice a playful purr as she began to express her thoughts, testing the waters for a renegotiation.
Cayman squinted slightly, a smile playing on his lips. Yet his right hand crept around her neck, his grip not playful, but firm. It gradually increased its pressure.
"Have you forgotten that you still owe me a life?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. "What kind of woman do you think I cannot find? Do you truly believe my support in helping you reclaim your family seat is solely for your body?"
His expression remained impassive, but the force of his grip intensified until Reika began to see spots, her breath catching in her throat. Only then did he release her.
"My objective has always been the Summer Isles," he stated coldly. "Assisting you in reclaiming your family seat was merely a matter of convenience. You should be grateful for this opportunity, rather than growing greedy and wanting everything. Do you understand?"
Reika gasped for breath, her face flushed. "I understand," she whispered. There was an indescribable meaning in her gaze—a mix of fear, resentment, and a newfound, absolute clarity.
"It is good that you comprehend," Cayman said. "I shall take a rest now. Clean your thighs before retiring to bed."
"Yes, I know," Reika replied softly.
Cayman stretched languidly and lay down to rest. Reika bit her lower lip, gazing at his silhouette in the dark. She had never encountered a man so challenging, so utterly in control. The seductive skills she had learned from her mother were not just ineffective; they were a liability. He was not a man to be manipulated. He was a force to be obeyed.