As Zaliyah sat in the secluded corner of the exclusive wing, the shock of his entrance began to fade from the room.
The conversations of the surrounding noblemen began to pick up again, their loud, arrogant voices gradually drowning out the soft music played by the courtesans. They spoke with the careless freedom of men who believed their wealth made them untouchable in this frontier territory.
"The cold is becoming unbearable nowadays," one older nobleman spoke, rubbing his wrinkled hands together near a small coal brazier in the center of their seating area.
"I swear, the frost gets deeper into the bones with every passing winter. The northern spirits must be angry." a man replied
"That's why you need to find yourself a new, younger wife, old friend," a third man replied with a booming laugh, patting his stout belly. "Married men don't complain about the weather. They have a warm, lively bed waiting for them every night."
"The Great Winter Festival is coming up in a few days," a fourth man interjected, raising his silver wine goblet toward the ceiling. "It always gets unbearably cold during this specific time of the year. It's the ancient curse of the North. We pay for our isolation in ice."
A fifth nobleman, dressed in flamboyant, brightly dyed silks that didn't match the rugged style of the northern territory, leaned forward with a smug grin. "I just left the Capital City a few days ago, brothers. Let me tell you, it is blistering hot over there right now. The air is thick enough to choke a snow monster, and the humidity is relentless. You all should be grateful for this crisp, clean northern cold."
The third man laughed, leaning closer to the flamboyant traveler. "So I have heard! My sisters sent a letter from the Capital City just last week. They told me the heat is so oppressive that the Empress herself is walking around the royal palace half-naked, draped in nothing but a few scraps of transparent silk to keep cool."
The first man let out a crude, wet snort into his drink. "Well, you know the Empress. She has always been lewd and shameless. A woman like that cares nothing for modesty, only pleasure and power."
The second man shrugged, taking a deep gulp of his spiced wine. "The King lets her do whatever she pleases, so long as the gold keeps flowing. Some people even whisper that she's the one who truly runs this entire kingdom, pulling his royal strings from the shadows while he plays at war."
The third man shook his head in mock pity, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "The King has a soft spot for her charms. I truly wonder what is so addictive about royal whores."
At that vile remark, the entire table of noblemen burst into a loud, roaring fit of laughter. Even the young courtesans sitting on their laps forced out high-pitched giggles, hiding their discomfort to please their wealthy patrons.
Behind his dark veil, Zaliyah remained silent, his hand steady as he set his porcelain teacup down on the wooden table. Beside him, Harun's jaw clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white as his eyes darkened with suppressed rage.
Harun knew first-hand from all his years of growing up in the Queen's "care" just how much power Kizari wielded over the crown
Zaliyah, however, knew intimately—from the deep scars hidden beneath the thick bandages wrapping his neck just how cruel a role she played in Malachi's decision-making.
Hearing these insignificant, low-tier nobles speak so casually of the monsters who ruled the kingdom was a jarring reminder of the realm's rot.
Suddenly, the crude laughter of the noblemen was cut short by a loud, piercing crack that echoed through the room. It was the unmistakable sound of an open-handed slap.
Every single head in the exclusive wing turned toward the source of the noise. Near the center of the lounge, a tall, burley built nobleman dressed in expensive, glittering silks was standing over a scrawny, trembling figure who had collapsed onto the floor.
The noble's face was twisted in an ugly, purple rage. He reached down with a snarl, violently grabbing a fistful of the fallen figure's bright pink hair and yanking his head back with force.
"HOW DARE YOU?!" the noble roared, his spit flying through the air as he shook the boy. "Do you have any idea how much these imported Southern furs cost?! A worthless, filthy lowly beast like you couldn't earn enough in an entire lifetime to pay for a single thread of my furs!"
The scrawny youth, Talha, was weeping bitterly, his frail body shaking as he scrambled on his hands and knees toward the man's leather boots. He held a piece of cloth in his trembling fingers, desperately trying to wipe away a small, barely noticeable splash of spilled tea from the hem of the noble's expensive furs.
"I am sorry! I am so sorry, my lord!" Talha sobbed, his voice cracking with terror as he clutched desperately at the man's shoes, pleading for his life.
"Please forgive me! The tray slipped... the floor near the door were slick with ice tracking in from outside! I didn't mean to defile your garments! Please, have mercy my lord, have mercy"
"Mercy?!" the noble snarled, his eyes wide with malice. He kicked the boy in the chest with his boot, sending Talha's scrawny frame skidding across the polished wooden floor until he crashed into a support pillar. "You are a diseased, clumsy whore! A piece of trash meant to be used and thrown away! If I kill you right now, the madam won't even dare to ask for the price of your burial!"
Zaliyah watched the display with indifference from behind his black veil. He had no intentions of interfering in the petty cruelties of the underworld. He had read about far worse atrocities committed on battlefields, and he had suffered far worse torture at the hands of the king.
He knew that in the grand scheme of things, the suffering of a brothel entertainer was insignificant. But the more he forced himself to look away and focus on his tea, the louder and more obnoxious the scene became.
The pathetic, echoing begging of the boy bounced uncomfortably in the enclosed space, ruining his rare moment of quiet.
Harun leaned down slightly, his voice barely audible near the brim of Zaliyah's hat. "Should we leave, Your Highness? The atmosphere has soured."
Zaliyah slowly shook his head beneath the veil. He had sneaked out of the castle that morning, carefully dodging Sylaris's watchful eyes and her exhausting demands for food. He had come to this brothel for a rare moment of peace away from the stifling castle, and he refused to let his limited leisure time be cut short by the boorish, loud disturbances of low-tier nobles.
But the enraged noble wasn't finished. Annoyed by the boy's continuous, loud weeping, the man stepped forward and delivered another heavy slap across Talha's face.
Zaliyah's violet eyes traveled down to the floor. A bright, crimson splatter of blood was now dripping onto the wood.
The noble raised his hand back, his face contorted as he prepared to deliver a third, potentially fatal strike. But before his palm could fall, Harun materialized beside him.
With blinding speed, Harun's hand shot out, catching the noble's wrist mid-air with a tight grip that instantly stopped the noble's momentum.
Talha sat embarrassed, broken, and terrified on the floor. He clutched his bruised, bleeding cheek, his bright pink hair disheveled as he looked up in shock at his savior.
"That's enough," Harun spoke, with a flick of his wrist, Harun yanked the noble's hand away, immediately bending down to help the trembling, scrawny youth up from the floor.
The noble's face twisted into disgust at the sudden interference. Sensing his pride was wounded in front of his aristocratic peers, his eyes flared with rage. He raised his leather boot channeling a spark of low-level mana through his veins as he prepared to kick Harun right in the spine while the chamberlain was distracted helping the scrawny boy.
In the blink of an eye, Zaliyah appeared out of nowhere, stepping between them with supernatural speed.
His red fur swirled around him like a sudden cloud of fresh blood. Raising his slender, gloved palm directly toward the noble's chest, Zaliyah spoke an icy command that resonated with divine authority: "Stand back."
A concussive wave of his celestial force exploded outward from his palm. The tall noble didn't even have time to gasp or blink before his body was flung violently across the room.
He crashed directly into the wall with a heavy thud. The kinetic impact of the blast shattered the delicate porcelain teacups on nearby tables and flipped several wooden desks upside down, scattering papers and wine bottles everywhere.
The courtesans and whores screamed in terror. They scrambled away from the flying wooden debris and gathered into a tight, trembling corner of the room, terrified of being caught in the magical crossfire.
Meanwhile, the surrounding noblemen quickly moved their chairs back to safety. Their terrified expressions slowly morphed into curiosity as they prepared to watch the unexpected entertainment.
Zaliyah didn't care about the audience or their judgment. He slowly turned his back toward the groaning noble, looking calmly at Harun. "Let's g—"
Before Zaliyah could finish his statement, Harun's eyes widened in terror, and he screamed at the top of his lungs, "YOUR HIGHNESS! BEHIND YOU!"
Zaliyah spun back around just as a massive, roaring fireball came hurtling through the air, aimed directly at his face. It turned out the noble was a trained, low-grade fire mage, and he had launched a desperate sneak attack while Zaliyah's back was turned.
As the blazing inferno approached his face, Zaliyah didn't panic. He slowly and elegantly tilted his head to the side with calculated precision. The roaring force of the passing fireball missed his skin by a fraction of an inch, but the intense, swirling heat caught the edges of his veiled hat. The fire instantly burned the black netting away and blew the hat off his head.
The fireball continued past him, slamming into the double doors of the wing, shattering the wood into splinters.
As the ruined hat clattered uselessly to the floor, the hairpin holding Zaliyah's hair snapped under the force of the wind. His long, cascading silver hair fell down to his butt like a waterfall of radiant light.
His ethereal, flawless face and striking violet eyes were now fully exposed to the entire room. He looked impossibly beautiful, like a divine entity that had stepped down from the heavens into a den of mortals.
The entire room fell into a breathless silence. All the noblemen looked like they had been suddenly cast into a hypnotic trance, their mouths slightly open as they stared at the figure before them. Even the noble who had launched the fireball stood frozen in place, his hands still smoking with residual embers, his eyes wide and dazed by the sheer beauty of the person he had just attacked.
Harun ran to Zaliyah's side, his sword fully drawn and gleaming in the firelight. "Your Highness! Are you okay?"
Zaliyah nodded of his head. Harun immediately moved to stand in front of him to shield him from further attacks, but Zaliyah reached out. His slender hand caught Harun's shoulder and gently pulled the chamberlain back behind him.
"I will handle this," Zaliyah whispered, his smooth voice echoing in the dead silent room.
The hypnotic spell broke, and the noblemen in the back began to whisper among themselves, their confusion rising as they tried to decipher his identity.
"Huh? A woman?" one whispered, squinting his eyes.
"Since when are women of such high nobility allowed to step foot inside a northern brothel?" another muttered.
"Did that guard just say 'Your Highness?' Is she a hidden princess, or perhaps a secret concubine to the King himself?"
The noble who had been flung against the wall finally snapped out of his daze. Hearing the mocking whispers of his peers, his face flushed crimson with humiliation. He pointed a shaking, soot-stained hand at Zaliyah, screaming at the top of his lungs, "How dare you, you filthy bitch! Do you have any idea who I am? I am an appointed lord of this territory! You will hang for this treason!"
Zaliyah's violet eyes narrowed into an unreadable expression. He looked at the screaming man as if he were nothing more than an insect to be crushed.
"Violence is what you have chosen," Zaliyah replied, his voice dropping into a register that made the iron lanterns hanging from the ceiling tremble and rattle against their chains. "I will show no mercy."
With a subtle tilt of his chin, Zaliyah unlocked the restrictions on his core. Instantly, the atmosphere inside the room became insanely colder. The temperature plummeted so fast that thick frost began to crawl up the glass windows and the pillars like living vines.
The noblemen began to shiver, their teeth chattering uncontrollably as their breath turned to thick white fog. Terrified by the sudden, unnatural drop in temperature, the remaining courtesans broke into a panic and ran outside into the main hall, leaving only the frozen nobles to watch.
Zaliyah raised his hand toward the broken windows. With a flick of his fingers, he summoned the swirling snow from outside, calling the storm into the room.