The morning light did not gently filter into the townhouse; it sliced through the heavy velvet curtains like a blunt executioner's blade.
Cassian woke up with his face buried in a silk pillow, his soul feeling every single composite year of its existence as his muscles ached, his lower back felt like a battlefield, and his throat was as dry as the Iron Steppes.
Dominating seven elite courtesans for five hours straight to prove a tactical point had seemed like a brilliant, power-asserting move at 2:00 AM.
But at 8:00 AM, it felt like he had been run over by an armored supply wagon.
Cassian dragged his stiff body out of the tangled bed sheets, threw on a fresh, dark slate-gray silk lounge robe, and tied the sash tight around his waist. He ran a hand through his messy black hair, forcing his eyes into their default expression of cold, aristocratic boredom before opening the bedroom doors.
He needed coffee. Immediately.
When he entered the sunlit dining room, the atmosphere was thick with a suffocating, silent judgment.
Elias stood by the mahogany sideboard, his posture so unnaturally stiff he looked like a marble statue. The silver tea urn was polished to a mirror shine, but the face of the butler serving it could have curdled fresh cream.
*Clink.*
Elias set the porcelain cup down in front of Cassian with a micro-fraction more force than imperial etiquette strictly allowed.
"Your morning beverage, Your Highness," Elias spoke, his voice dropping into a flat, icy cadence that was entirely devoid of its usual warmth. He kept his eyes fixed strictly on the wall three inches above Cassian's head. "I have ensured the... *guests* were escorted out through the discrete rear carriage gate before the sun could expose the condition of their attire. The lounge is currently being fumigated."
Cassian took a slow, agonizingly quiet sip of the hot tea, his poker face immaculate despite the butler's blatant psychological warfare. "Your efficiency is appreciated, Elias."
"Naturally, My Lord," Elias replied, offering a borderline mocking, razor-thin bow. "I merely thought your sudden reformation over the past three months was born of a desire to elevate the Valemont name. I did not realize Your Highness simply required a more... geographically secluded venue to display such unmitigated, unruly degeneracy. My apologies for miscalculating your character."
'I am doing damage control, you dramatic butler!' Cassian's internal soul groaned in sheer, unadulterated exhaustion.
'I was establishing boundaries! I was showing the predators that I am the one who holds the leash here!'
Before Cassian could even attempt to verbally discipline his staff, the heavy double doors of the dining room swung open. Sir Lucien Arden stepped into the light.
The Knight Commander was pristine. He had spent the morning washing the dried tundra-beast blood from his armor, his silver armor now polished to a blinding, flawless shine. He looked entirely refreshed, as if he hadn't spent the entire night sitting in a dark corner watching his prince engage in a five-hour modern debauchery spectacle.
But his ice-blue eyes were different. They weren't dead anymore. They were locked onto Cassian's mouth, a slow, dark, and profoundly territorial energy radiating off his broad shoulders as he took his post directly behind Cassian's chair.
"Good morning, My Prince," Lucien murmured, his deep voice sending a subtle, unwelcome vibration through the floorboards.
"The perimeter remains secure. No information regarding last night's... performance... has breached the estate walls. Your secret is entirely safe with me."
Cassian didn't look back at him. He kept his eyes on his hangover tea, his jaw tightening as he felt the knight's heavy, suffocating gaze boring into the back of his neck.
"He's not disgusted and he's not intimidated,'
Cassian realized with a sudden, sinking feeling in his chest.
'The gaslighting failed. The theater failed. This psychopathic paladin liked it.'
Seeking to escape the dual-axis pressure of a judgmental butler and a lurking swordmaster, Cassian picked up his tea and strode into the primary lounge to check the structural integrity of his sanctuary.
He stopped dead in the archway.
The room had been cleared of the silk pillows and spilled wine, but the fireplace was currently occupied. Sitting on a low wooden stool directly in front of the unlit hearth, entirely bare-chested and wearing nothing but low-slung leather trousers, was Thoris. He hadn't left the estate. He hadn't returned to the Academy. He had simply waited out the morning fog indoors.
The Barbarian Prince was casually scraping a heavy whetstone against the jagged edge of his greatsword, the rhythmic *shhhk, shhhk* of steel filling the quiet room.
When Cassian entered, Thoris stopped. He slowly raised his head, his sharp amber eyes completely bloodshot, burning with a wild, intoxicating heat that was ten times more volatile than the previous night. He looked at Cassian's exposed collarbone, his chest heaving with a deep, gravelly breath and he smiled.
"You look tired, Second Prince," Thoris purred, throwing the whetstone onto the carpet and standing up to his full, towering height. The raw, primal scent of northern cedar instantly filled the lounge. He didn't look angry that Cassian had used other people instead of him; instead he looked completely, utterly consumed by a roaring bonfire of obsession.
"Thoris," Cassian sighed, his voice dropping into a freezing, venomous aristocratic rasp as he leaned against the doorframe, desperately trying to project total, unbothered dominance.
"Wandering into my private townhouse after a closed session is a rapid way to get your summit privileges permanently revoked. I believe I made my boundaries clear last night. I am a man of the Valemont line. I am not your submissive little prize."
Thoris let out a low, booming laugh that rattled the oil lamps. He took three heavy strides forward, stopping mere inches from the doorframe, completely cornering Cassian.
"You think that little show of yours pushed me away, Cassian?" Thoris whispered, leaning down so his hot breath fanned against the prince's cheek. His gaze was entirely fixed on Cassian's glistening lips.
"In the Steppes, a weak prince tries to hide behind his walls. But a prince who takes a room, commands the bodies of men and women alike, and rules them with absolute, unyielding dominance... that is not a damsel. That is a King. That is an Alpha. And seeing you move like that... seeing you take what you want without a single shred of shame... it didn't push me away. Instead it made me realize a townhouse is too small for you."
Thoris reached out a large, calloused hand, his fingers hovering just a millimeter away from Cassian's damp black hair.
"You belong in the North, ruling the horde right alongside my blade. I don't want to hunt you anymore, Cassian. I want to watch you command my empire alongside me."
Cassian's modern brain completely, utterly short-circuited.
'NO!' Cassian's internal soul was screaming in pure, unbridled existential horror.
'THE PLAN BACKFIRED! IT COMPLETELY BACKFIRED! Showing them I was a dominant man didn't make them back off—it just fed into their unhinged, high-tier political dominance kinks! They don't want a fragile prince anymore; now they want a tyrant!..fuck!, what do I do?'
"Step away from the Prince, northern stray."
The heavy, metallic clatter of silver armor slammed into the archway. Lucien slid effortlessly between Thoris and Cassian, his broadsword clearing its scabbard by a full, lethal three inches. The holy light radiating off the steel was dark, volatile, and entirely murderous.
Lucien didn't look at Thoris; his ice-blue eyes were fixed on the barbarian's hand near Cassian's hair. A slow, terrifyingly sharp smirk crept onto the Knight Commander's lips as he tilted his head.
"But if I must say, the barbarian is correct about one thing, Your Highness," Lucien whispered, his voice a freezing echo that chilled the room to the bone.
"Your display last night was quite–... magnificent. It proved you possess the true, sovereign spirit of a conqueror. And a conqueror requires a much more secure, heavily fortified cage to protect his genius. Therefore from this day forth... I will ensure your gates are entirely iron-clad. No one else will ever get to sit in your theater and watch as you indulge yourself in those–..."
A playful smirk adorned Lucien's lips as both men seemed to be cornering him on both sides.
Cassian slowly backed away from the two looming, hyper-fixated powerhouses, his hand trembling slightly as he lifted his herbal, hangover cup of tea to his lips. His crimson eyes stared blankly at the shattered remains of his pride.
'I survived fourteen timelines of warfare,' Cassian thought, his internal monologue weeping into the absolute void of total, catastrophic defeat.
'But I think I just turned my two biggest threats into my most fanatical, obsessive cultists. Somebody please just open a spatial rift and drop me into the deep of the Pacific ocean.'
*****
Meanwhile Cassian was dealing with his demons, it was a total contrast for the courtesans that had left his abode. The discrete rear carriage gate of the Valemont townhouse swung shut with a muted, oiled click, sealing the high stone walls against the burgeoning morning fog.
After the courtesans left the mansion, they left in high spirits. The prince's household, contrary to every rumor, had treated them with quiet care. Baths had been drawn. Warm bread and tea waited on silver trays. Fresh garments, fine but simple, were folded for each of them sparingly.
Even the prince's butler had personally seen to their comfort. He bowed his head as he handed them pouches and he never belittled them, he was the same as his master.
And now, inside the velvet-lined carriage, the air was thick with the scent of expensive rosewater, spiced cedar, and the lingering, intoxicating heat of a long, unyielding night.
The seven elite courtesans had not been thrown out into the cold. Instead, Elias had managed the aftermath flawlessly.
The six women leaned against the plush cushions, their bodies thoroughly exhausted but their faces flushed with a vibrant, giddy energy as they sat comfortably inside the luxurious carriage sent to escort them back. Their laughter filling the air as they reminisced about the unforgettable evening.
And they could already visualize the ecstatic look on their master's face when they returned with such wealth, and the sheer prestige that would now elevate their names in the registry.
'The Courtesans that served a royal blood abundantly.'
"Gods above," one of the older girls murmured, fan-cooling her face with the sleeve of her new robe, a dazed, dreamy smile playing on her lips.
"I still can't quite process it. When the master told us we were assigned to the Second Prince's private townhouse... I spent the entire ride here praying to the saints. With his reputation, I truly believed none of us would return alive."
"Tell me about it!, I still can't believe we survived the night," the other girl giggled, nudging her colleague's shoulder as she stared up at the carriage ceiling. Hopelessly caught in a vivid flashback.
And the others burst into laughter.
"Survived?" another teased. "I think you enjoyed yourself far too much to call it surviving."
"Can you blame me? When they said we were summoned by the Second Prince, I thought my funeral arrangements were already being made."
"Same."
"Absolutely."
The carriage erupted into agreement.
"The reputation of Prince Cassian Valemont is undeniably infamous throughout the Empire. About how ruthless, unpredictable and dangerous he is. Yet none of us had witnessed the monster the rumors described, did we?"
"Not at all, instead, we had seen a man overflowing with confidence, charm, and enough charisma to leave an entire room breathless."
A chorus of dreamy sighs followed with a trail of murmurs.
"But Ladies..." They all turned to look at her and the courtesan smiled.
"—can we please humbly discuss how utterly enticing he was for those hours he commanded over us?, Those techniques... the way he commanded the space, the rhythm... it was all entirely new. I've served high dukes and veteran generals, but the Prince... he moves like a storm wrapped in silk... And he's still young."
"They were new to all of us," Another chimed in, leaning forward with wide, sparkling eyes.
"Oh, he was handsome as well."
"Devastatingly handsome."
"His smile alone should be considered a national threat. What did I do to deserve such bliss!!?"
More laughter echoed through the carriage.
And amidst the cheerful conversation sat Sora Curzon. The only male courtesan among them, who remained unusually quiet.
His fingers had unconsciously brushed against his lips as he stared out of the window.
His thoughts wandered.
Back to those red eyes that seemed capable of seeing straight through him.
Back to those warm hands that had treated him with surprising gentleness.
Back to the soft words whispered near his ear whenever his nerves threatened to overwhelm him.
And it had been truly his first time.
A fact that had terrified him for weeks.
No, rather Sora had spent his entire youth dreading this moment, convinced his first night as a practicing courtesan would be a grueling, soul-crushing sacrifice to pay off his debts.
And the fear he had carried for so long now seemed almost foolish.
Instead...
It had been strangely comforting.
"But did you see how his highness kept drawing back into the center? I never thought the cold tyrant Prince of Valemont would swing that way, but he was completely, deeply drawn into Sora."
Sitting in the furthest, darkest corner of the carriage, Sora Curzon remained quietly enveloped in the prince's lingering embrace.
His mind simply refused to return to reality. Slowly, almost subconsciously, Sora's slender fingers were tracing the soft, slightly bruised contour of his lower lip. His thoughts were a chaotic, romanticized blur of Cassian's tender, surprisingly deep kisses.
And even now, beneath the fresh silk of his new tunic, his skin felt hot, tingling with the heavy, possessive ghost-touches of the prince's hands as Cassian had made love to him. It had been an unforgettable, breathtakingly intense initiation into intimacy.
And he loved it.
"Sora."
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
One of the girls beside him gently nudged his shoulder with a soft grin on her face.
"Sora, you were lucky, I must say," the girl murmured softly, reaching over to gently brush a stray lock of his long, silken hair behind his ear. Her eyes were warm with genuine sisterly affection.
But Sora blinked.
"What do you mean?"
She smiled knowingly.
"Not everyone in our line of work can claim such a successful, beautiful first night to show for it. Especially such a memorable first experience, you must have been scared."
The others immediately nodded.
"She's right."
"Most people's first clients aren't princes."
"Especially not princes who spend half the night staring at them."
Sora nearly choked.
"He wasn't staring at me."
The carriage exploded with disbelief.
"He absolutely was Sora."
"I thought it was obvious."
"I've never seen His Highness pay so much attention to someone."
Sora felt heat crawl up his neck.
"You all imagine too much."
The women exchanged amused glances.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
His smile gradually faded as he turned back toward the window.
"But next time..." he murmured quietly.
"I probably won't be so fortunate.... right?"
The carriage grew slightly quieter and the woman beside him gently brushed his long hair away from his face once again.
"Yes perhaps not."
Her voice was soft.
"But that's tomorrow's problem."
The others nodded.
"For now, enjoy this moment you beautiful boy. Don't you feel honoured for enticing the royal blood?"
"Exactly."
"We're alive."
"We're paid."
"And we have enough stories to make everyone at the house jealous."
That earned another round of laughter.
After a while, another courtesan leaned forward, smiling from ear to ear.
"Still, I noticed something."
"What?"
"The prince seemed truly particularly interested in Sora...like specifically."
The carriage immediately fell into a chorus of agreement and Sora sighed.
"Girls...just as I said, you've all misunderstood, the entire evening was political for Prince Cassian."
"Oh?"
The women groaned.
"No politics please."
"Please."
But Sora continued.
"There were observers you know?" The women exchanged glances.
"We noticed."
"The Eastern Prince."
"And that knight who never stopped watching His Highness."
Sora nodded.
"Exactly." He folded his arms.
"The prince wasn't focused on me. He was only sending a message through me."
"A message?" one asked.
"To the people watching." Sora admitted as his gaze drifted toward the passing city beyond the glass.
"People like him don't do anything without a reason."
Suddenly the carriage became thoughtful.
"Well," another courtesan interjected, shifting the mood back to the juicy political gossip they had gathered.
"With His Highness promised to the Crown Prince of the Eastern Continent, he was probably just trying to indulge himself, in learning about the... *alternative* lifestyle awaiting him before he gets shipped off across the sea."
"I wouldn't call it learning my darling," the oldest girl scoffed playfully, shaking her head. "The prince didn't look like a student. He looked like an absolute master who knew exactly which strings to pull to make a man lose his mind. Isn't that right Sora?"
The girls chuckled.
"Well I wouldn't know...but yes I actually do feel like I have lost my mind from all those things he had done to me."
"But anyway the prince was only trying to prove a tactical point by using me," Sora added, his voice quiet but remarkably steady as he brought the conversation back to earth. He looked around at the six girls, his calm, intuitive eyes focusing on each of them. "You ladies are fully aware of how powerful the audience who watched us from the shadows the entire night, correct?"
The six courtesans stopped their giggling, nodding in unison as a collective shiver ran down their spines.
"One of them was his promised groom of the Eastern lands—Prince Thoris," Sora added, leaning his head back against the velvet seat as he analyzed the memory.
"And the other was the Knight Commander, the one who sticks to his side like a shadow and is rumored to be ruthlessly jealous of the Eastern summit. The Duke of the Western gates. And Cassian was showing them that entire spectacle... it was 'His' Highness's way of asserting his raw masculinity. He wanted to prove he is a dominant force, forcing them both to back off and realize he cannot be tamed."
The girls murmured in fascination, but they couldn't truly bring themselves to care about the complex web of imperial politics. They were simply too intoxicated by the afterglow of the long night, their minds safely trapped in the memory of the prince's overwhelming charisma.
Eventually one of the women shrugged.
She couldn't care less about politics.
"Maybe everything is as Sora says."
Another nodded.
"Maybe."
Then a third smiled mischievously.
"Or maybe he genuinely liked you Sora."
The entire carriage erupted into teasing laughter and Sora shook his head laughing as well.
"How childlike of you ladies."
"Sora has an admirer."
"Sora has a prince."
"Sora is blushing."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
For the first time since leaving the mansion, Sora laughed.
A genuine laugh, warm and bright.
Yet as the conversation drifted elsewhere, his thoughts inevitably returned to Cassian.
Sora's gaze slowly drifted toward the carriage window, watching the morning fog roll over the imperial spires. A soft, melancholic smile touched his lips before it gradually faded.
'It felt so incredibly strange, yet so profoundly nice,' Sora thought, his cheeks burning a sudden, deep crimson as a highly scandalous memory flashed behind his eyelids.
'He even licked my toes... that prince truly has a mind full of beautiful, unholy debauchery.' he internally chuckled.
'But... it wasn't just physical.'
Sora placed a hand over his chest, feeling the deep, rhythmic pulse of his own life-force. Deep within his core, a foreign, incredibly pure spark of mana was settled in perfect, flawless harmony with his own. It was a fragment of Cassian's energy, left behind during their climax.
'Just like me... he has an old, weary soul. It felt so familiar. Or does he also carry the ancient blood of the elves in his lineage?'
The moment the word 'elf' crossed his mind, Sora sharply shifted on his seat, his posture instantly stiffening as a cold dread pierced through his romantic daydream.
He remembered the burning forests of his youth. He remembered how the tyrannical Elven Queen had cold-bloodedly annihilated his noble family, branding them as traitors and casting him out of the hidden elven sanctuaries to perish in the human realms as a stray. If it hadn't been for the pleasure house owner finding him shivering in an alley, taking him in, and raising him with proper care, he would have been buried in an unmarked grave years ago.
Now, Sora had finally reached the mature age to marry and work. He had willingly accepted this life, taking on the highest-paying clientele to pay back every single copper the house master had spent on his food, education, and safety.
He didn't hate his fate anymore. But as he looked back out the window at the distant, looming shadow of Cassian's estate, a profound, aching wish bloomed in his chest. He desperately hoped that his future customers would also possess even a fraction of the hidden, kind-hearted nobility that Cassian Valemont hid beneath his cruel, arrogant exterior.
Suddenly, a terrifying thought struck him, making his breath hitch.
'I... I didn't accidentally shift back into my true elven form during the intensity of the intimacy, did I?'
Sora frantically checked his reflection in the polished glass of the carriage door. His ears were perfectly round, his eyes human, his glamour entirely intact.
'No... no one noticed. No one can ever know what I am. I have to find a high-tier mana stone and significantly strengthen the concealment spell the moment I return to my room.'
Sora released a slow breath and leaned back into his seat as he watched the carriage continued down the road toward home.
Yet for reasons he couldn't explain, his thoughts lingered on the crimson-eyed prince he had left behind.
And somewhere deep within his heart, a dangerous curiosity had already begun to bloom.
'Will I ever see him again?'
*****