The carriage came to a slow, grinding halt, its iron wheels crunching deeply into the thick crust of the Northwest snow.
The journey from the castle had been grueling, a relentless travelling through mountain passes and choking blizzards.
Before the frost horses could even settle into their harnesses, Harun quickly stepped down into the freezing wind. The wind howled like a wounded beast, tearing at his clothes, but he paid it no mind. Pulling his dark cloak tighter around his shoulders to block out the invading bone chilling cold , he extended a gloved hand toward the carriage door offering support to the figure emerging from the velvet-lined insulated interior.
Zaliyah stepped down from the carriage, his winter boots sinking slightly into the white ground. He was draped in a lavish cloak of red furs that contrasted with the bleak, colorless landscape of the northern territory
Under normal circumstances, Zaliyah's core made him immune to the biting chill of the Northwest territory. His blood ran with an inner fire that the cold could rarely affect.
However, Iruna wasn't taking any chances with his health. She had practically cornered him in his bedchambers that morning, her eyes flashing with that familiar, stubborn determination. Disregarding his quiet protests, she had forcefully commanded the castle maids to bundle him up in the thickest, most expensive furs available in his amory before letting him pass through the castle gates.
Zaliyah had relented, more to avoid her endless lecturing than out of any need for warmth.
Standing beside him now, Harun was cloaked in thick black furs. Unlike his master, Harun was a demon , he wasn't immune to the cold. His shoulders hunched as he shivered against the bone-chilling wind.
Yet Zaliyah stood perfectly still. His posture remained elegant, and unbothered by the cold as his violet eyes stared out into what looked like a vast, empty expanse of frozen land.
To an ordinary observer, there was nothing here but death and ice. But Zaliyah saw the faint magic markers glowing beneath the snow.
When Xulthas had proudly brought him the black-wax scroll in his chambers the previous night, boasting that the imperial decree had been signed and that the new orphanage would be built in his honor, Zaliyah had smiled to his face. But Zaliyah did not trust the warlock's words completely.
He had spent too many years learning the cutthroat politics of the demon realm, learning the hard way that promises in the underworld were written in sand and blood. If you did not verify a claim yourself, you were inviting a knife to your back.
He needed to see the land with his own eyes. He had to verify that the ground was actually being cleared, that the materials hadn't been siphoned off by corrupt nobles, and that construction would indeed resume immediately as Xulthas had promised him.
For almost thirty minutes, Zaliyah stood motionless in the biting wind. His eyes scanned the horizon, silently inspecting the perimeter of the frozen plot. He spent the time Calculating the exact distance from the main military fortress to ensure rapid defense.
Scanning the lay of the land for hidden magical anomalies or traps.
Ensuring the stone foundations laid beneath the snow drifts were real and structurally sound.
When he was finally satisfied that Xulthas hadn't deceived him, he let out a faint breath that bloomed like white smoke in the freezing air. The project was legitimate, and for now, the children of the displaced northern clans would have a place to call home.
Harun, his teeth faintly chattering despite his best efforts to maintain a stoic demeanor, stepped closer. He rubbed his gloved hands together, his breath pluming . "Where to now, Your Highness?" he asked, eager to return to the safety of the heated carriage.
"To the brothel," Zaliyah replied. His voice was indifferent, devoid of any hesitation or shame.
Harun didn't bat an eye. He had long ceased questioning the whims of his master. He nodded his head in obedience, quickly walked to the front of the carriage to inform the shivering driver of the new destination, and climbed back onto his elevated perch.
The carriage took off once more, its frame swaying as it cut a fresh path through the accumulating snow, leaving the desolate construction site behind as it headed toward the pleasure district.
When they finally arrived at the edge of the town, the atmosphere shifted drastically. This was a settlement built on the fringes of the territory surviving purely on military commerce and illicit trade.
Harun dropped down from the carriage first, once again extending his arm to help Zaliyah step onto the weathered wooden boardwalk.
Zaliyah stood beneath the creaking wooden overhang of the street, looking up at the massive structure before them.
The brothel in this specific district had always looked fabulous, colorful, and wildly extravagant compared to the dreary black-stone architecture of the surrounding military fortress.
Today, however, it looked extraordinary. The establishment had undergone a massive transformation.
Colorful winter banners fluttered vibrantly from the upper balconies, cutting through the gray mist.
Intricate flyers advertising special holiday performances and exotic dancers were pasted neatly on every support pillar.
The entire facade smelled strongly of fresh, high-grade liquor and expensive cedar wood.
It had clearly been recently renovated.
Harun noticed the subtle pause in Zaliyah's posture and the silence, confusion radiating from him.
Stepping closer to Zaliyah's side, Harun muttered quietly under his breath, "It seems they renovated the entire establishment to prepare for the coming of the Great Winter Festival, Your Highness."
Zaliyah gave a small nod. Before they stepped toward the threshold and into the public eye, Harun reached into his satchel. With care, he adjusted a wide-brimmed veiled hat over Zaliyah's silver hair. He ensured that the thick, layered black netting obscured Zaliyah's face from curious eyes.
He then handed Zaliyah a pair of fine, wool gloves to cover his slender fingers. Securely disguised as an anonymous wealthy merchant, the two of them made their way toward the door of the establishment.
The moment their boots crossed the threshold, it felt as though they had stepped through a portal into a completely different world. The outside world was a silent tomb of ice, boring gray skies, and howling wind.
The inside of the brothel was bursting with an almost suffocating warmth. The heat of the packed room hit them like a physical blow, thick with the mingling scents of roasted winter spices, floral perfume, spilled ale, and burning exotic incense.
The room was deafeningly loud, a chaotic assault on the senses. The roaring sounds of wealthy merchants and nobles talking over one another, drunken laughter bouncing off the low wooden ceilings, music plucking away from stringed instruments, and women dancing half-naked on elevated wooden platforms draped in silks.
As they walked through the dense crowd, the sharp-eyed madame of the floor immediately noticed the newcomers. She was a woman trained to spot wealth from a mile away. More specifically, her eyes locked onto the expensive red furs and the flawless silk peeking out from beneath Zaliyah's outer cloak.
In this isolated, rugged territory, there was only one person who dressed with such opulent luxury. It was the mysterious wealthy benefactor the staff whispered about in hushed, reverent tones: ' The Veiled Lord'
Today wasn't one of the usual days Zaliyah frequented the establishment, and his sudden appearance caught the madame off guard. The madam came running toward them from across the room, nearly tripping over her own layered silk skirts in her haste. She bowed her head so low that her forehead almost brushed the polished floor, her palms sweating from a sudden spike of adrenaline.
"A thousand welcomes, my lord," she stammered, her voice shaking with immense anxiety as she tried to discreetly wipe her slick palms against her dress. "We are deeply honored by your presence."
Beneath the thick black veil, Zaliyah tilted his head slightly, projecting a silent question mark with his posture.
".....?" Zaliyah thought
He truly didn't understand why she was trembling, he had always paid her generously and never caused trouble. He slowly nodded his head, signaling that she could stand straight and cease her groveling.
The woman rose slowly, wiping a bead of nervous sweat from her brow, her voice still cracking with nervousness. "W-what b-brings you here so unexpectedly, my lord? Had we known, we would have cleared the finest hall."
"Am i supposed to send you a formal letter informing you of our arrival every time we wish to step inside?" Zaliyah asked. His tone was cold,
The madam's knees weaken and her face instantly drained of all color, she quickly shook her head, waving her hands in panic. "Pardon me! Pardon me for my rudeness, my lord! It is only... Talha is a little occupied at the moment, and I feared we were unprepared to serve you properly in his absence."
Zaliyah frowned beneath his veil, unfamiliar with the name she had just spoken. He turned his head slightly toward Harun, giving him a ".....?" questioning look through the dark netting. Harun instantly understood the cue. Stepping forward to bridge the gap, he demanded clarification from the trembling manager.
"Who is Talha?" Harun asked, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his unsheathed sword.
"The... the scrawny entertainer, sir," the madam whispered, pointing toward the back corridor leading to the private rooms. "The one who engages in sexual intercourse for your lordship."
"Oh. The pink-haired guy," Harun muttered, a look of realization dawning on his face as he remembered the peculiar-looking youth from their previous visits. He turned back to Zaliyah, confirming the youth's identity with a quick nod before addressing the madam again.
"We are not here for him. We are simply here for tea."
The moment the word tea left Harun's mouth, the madam's demeanor shifted instantly. The trembling in her hands stopped, and a smile broke across her heavily powdered face.
"Oh! Right this way, please! Please follow me, my lord"
She quickly turned on her heel, leading them away from the rowdy main hall and guiding them deeper into a highly exclusive, secluded wing of the establishment.
Usually, this entire brothel was reserved for wealthy local nobles , foreign merchants and high-ranking military officers, but the private section they were brought to felt like it had been designed exclusively for royalty.
There were no half-naked women dancing wildly on tables here. Instead, women dressed in elegant, modest robes sat gracefully on cushions, playing what Zaliyah would describe as "classical instruments " and singing soft, haunting melodies. A few young girls were sitting quietly on the laps of older, wealthy men, laughing softly at their whispered jokes.
The moment Zaliyah stepped into the exclusive room, his presence stole the attention of everyone present. Even with the veil obscuring his face, the elegance of his posture and the unmatched quality of his red furs drew every eye like a magnet.
The conversations died down to a low hum as all eyes glued to him. Ignoring the stares, Zaliyah quietly sat down at a secluded corner table. Harun took his place directly behind him, standing tall like an immovable pillar.
A serving girl stepped forward with trembling hands, delicately pouring a steaming glass of dark tea into a porcelain cup. Zaliyah lifted the cup to his lips, taking a slow sip.