The great hall of Voss Keep smelled of roasted venison, woodsmoke, and the faint sourness of rushes that should have been changed weeks ago. Torches guttered in iron sconces, throwing long shadows across the long oak tables where forty souls—servants, guards, lesser knights, and the steward—ate in uneasy silence. Everyone knew the baron was due back before nightfall.
I sat at the high table in the black tunic Mother had ordered for me last winter. The wool now hugged shoulders that had grown broader in the last few months. I kept my posture straight, every inch the proper second son, while twenty-first-century tactics spun behind my eyes.
Across from me, Steward Gorm cleared his throat. "My lord Eldrin, the miller's boy brought word from the eastern border. House Blackthorn has doubled their patrols along the river ford. They claim it's for 'bandit control,' but…"
"But they're testing us," I finished quietly. I leaned in, voice low enough that only he and the two nearest guards could hear. "The ford is shallow this time of year. Move two dozen archers to the high ground at dusk tomorrow and have the smiths hammer out a few dozen caltrops—iron stars, easy to scatter, impossible to ride over. Tell the men it's a training exercise. No one needs to know the real reason yet."
Gorm's bushy eyebrows rose. "Caltrops? Never heard of such a thing, but… the smith can manage it by morning if I set him to it tonight." He gave me a long, measuring look. "You've changed since that fever, lad."
I shrugged, offering a small smile. "Near-death does that."
It was the first time I'd used my modern knowledge openly, and it felt good. No System. No cheat skills. Just brutal practicality this world had never seen. If I played it right, I could turn Voss Keep into something the king himself would fear. And every improvement would make her look at me like I was the only man in the room who mattered.
Her.
Lady Elara sat at the head of the high table, claiming the baron's seat while he was still on the road. Thirty-nine years old and radiating the kind of effortless authority that made grown knights sit straighter. Her crimson wool gown was edged in black fur, the neckline high for propriety yet cut to follow the heavy swell of her breasts so perfectly that every breath drew the eye. The fabric clung to the dramatic flare of her hips before pooling around thighs I knew were thick, powerful, and soft beneath the cloth. Auburn hair braided and pinned with silver, a few loose strands brushing the graceful line of her neck.
She ate with precise, elegant movements.
But when the servants whispered about the baron's "new companion," her fingers tightened around the stem of her goblet until the knuckles paled.
Step 1 of her plan was already in motion. I could feel it humming in the air between us.
She glanced my way, caught me staring, and let the corner of her mouth curve in the smallest, most private smile. "Eldrin," she said, voice carrying just far enough to sound perfectly maternal, "you've been quiet since this morning. The physician truly cleared you?"
I met her eyes. "Never felt clearer, Mother."
Her gaze lingered half a second too long. Then she reached across the table under the pretense of passing me the salt bowl. Her fingers brushed mine—deliberate, warm, the faint callus from years of riding hidden beneath velvet skin. Heat shot straight down my spine.
"You've filled out nicely these past months," she murmured, low enough that only I could hear. "A man grown. It suits you."
The words were innocent to anyone else. To me they were gasoline on a fire I'd been feeding since the moment I woke up in this body. I wanted to tell her right then: I don't want your revenge. I want you. Every morning. Every night. Until you forget your husband's name.
Instead I answered softly, "Thank you. I've been… training harder."
She withdrew her hand slowly, letting the pads of her fingers trail along my wrist. My cock gave a heavy, aching throb beneath the table. I forced my breathing to stay even.
The hall doors banged open.
Baron Harlan Voss strode in, mud on his boots, cloak swirling. Forty-eight, broad, red-faced from too much wine and too little restraint. Behind him clung a girl—eighteen at most—in a gown far too fine for a merchant's daughter. Blonde, fragile, giggling at whatever filth he whispered in her ear.
The whispers in the hall died as if cut with a knife.
Elara didn't flinch. She set her goblet down with a soft clink and rose, every inch the gracious lady of the house.
"Welcome home, husband," she said, voice smooth as polished steel. "I trust the roads were kind."
Harlan's eyes flicked to her, then to the girl on his arm, and he grinned like a man who had already won. "Kind enough. This is Lira. She'll be staying as my… business partner in the capital trade. See that a chamber is prepared."
The insult landed like a slap across the face. Servants froze. Knights stared at their plates.
I felt my jaw tighten. This was the man she planned to destroy using my body. And some dark, possessive part of me wanted to watch him burn—not for her revenge, but for mine.
Elara's smile never wavered. "Of course. The east guest chamber is already made ready." She turned her head slightly toward me. "Eldrin, be a good son and show Lira the way after supper. Your father and I have… estate matters to discuss."
The double meaning in her tone was so subtle only I caught it. Her eyes met mine again—cool calculation layered over something hotter, something that promised tonight.
I stood and bowed my head like the dutiful son I was pretending to be. "As you wish, Mother."
The meal continued in strained silence. Harlan laughed too loudly. Lira simpered. Rumors spread like smoke: war taxes from the crown, Blackthorn pressing the border, the Voss name losing favor at court because the baron couldn't keep his cock in his breeches.
I ate mechanically, mind already working. Tomorrow I would speak to Gorm again—suggest the three-field crop rotation, a simple drainage trench that would double the south fields' yield. Small things. Things that would make the entire household see me as the future of House Voss.
And every time Elara looked my way, I let her see the hunger I wasn't hiding anymore.
After the last course was cleared, she rose. The baron was already dragging Lira toward the stairs, laughing about "private negotiations." Elara waited until they disappeared, then walked past my chair on her way out. Her hip brushed my shoulder—deliberate, soft, the heat of her body unmistakable even through layers of cloth.
"Tomorrow morning," she said under her breath, lips barely moving, "come to my solar after the baron rides out for the hunt. We have private counsel to discuss. Just the two of us."
She didn't wait for an answer. The scent of rosewater and warm skin lingered in her wake.
I stayed seated a moment longer, pulse hammering, the black tunic suddenly too tight across my chest.
She thought she was reeling me in for her three-step revenge.
She had no idea I was already planning the rest of our lives.
Outside, the wind rose, carrying the distant sound of hooves on the road—more riders, more trouble from the capital, more cracks in the world I was going to reshape around the woman I was going to claim forever.
Tomorrow, Step 1 would deepen.
And I would start turning her cold plan into something permanent.
End of Chapter 2