Chapter 94: Chapter 94: Mine Mine Mine
It was afternoon, when they finally reached the duchy, the duchy of the house Merlin. The giant city, where the sage guild was located, the guild of magic casters, scroll makers, and magic engineers, and everything.
The walls rose before them not as mere stone but as mountains hewn into shape, etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the dying light.
Towers spiraled skyward, impossibly slender yet unyielding, their tops crowned with rotating crystal lenses that caught the sun and refracted it into prismatic beams across the clouds.
The entire city seemed less built than conjured, as though willed into existence by centuries of accumulated thought and ambition.
The convoy slowed to a crawl as the gates loomed, their arch framed by carved serpents swallowing their tails.
The smell of incense drifted from braziers mounted on the walls; beneath it lingered the musk of sweat, horses, and iron.
Aiden inhaled it all—the scents, the sounds of countless gears, bells, and voices echoing within the city.
They stopped their horses just outside the duchy mansion.
Aethal the son of the earl of Wessex swung down first, his armor clanking in rhythm, blue hair catching the late sun like threads of sapphire. His eyes locked on Aiden—not with suspicion, but with something sharper. Curiosity laced with calculation.
"I watched you," Aethal said, voice calm, too calm for a boy his age. "On the road. How you let that fool hang himself with his own words. How you whispered poison into his father’s ear when all eyes were turned. I saw it."
Aiden tilted his head, face unreadable beneath his helm. "Did you now?"
"I did," Aethal continued, stepping closer. "And I liked what I saw."
Aiden raised a brow. "Most would call it dangerous."
"Most," Aethal agreed, lips curling into a smile. "But most aren’t me. I’m not here to threaten you. I’m here to join hands." He extended his gauntlet, palm open, unhurried.
"Because I see what Augustus saw in you. And because men like us—" his voice dropped to a near whisper "—don’t bow. We bend others."
The words lingered like incense, heavy, intoxicating.
Aiden let a slow silence stretch. He could hear Big John shifting behind him, uneasy at the heir’s brazenness. The horses snorted, their reins creaking.
"And what is it you want?" Aiden asked finally. His voice was soft, but it carried the edge of a blade just barely sheathed.
Aethal’s smile deepened. "Simple. To make sure when the wind changes, we are not standing on opposite sides of it. You know as well as I do—power shifts. Fathers fall. Sons rise. And when that day comes, I’d rather have you beside me than across from me."
Aiden studied him. He could feel the slyness woven into the boy’s words. There was honesty in them, yes, but the kind of honesty that always had teeth.
"You speak like you’ve already inherited your father’s seat," Aiden said.
"I will," Aethal replied without hesitation. "It’s not a matter of if. Only when." His eyes flickered toward the mansion, where Augustus’s banners fluttered. "The Wessex name will be mine to command. And I would see it sharpened, not dulled by complacency."
For a moment, silence again. Aiden’s fingers flexed against his reins. The temptation to laugh came and went, replaced by something colder.
"You sound," Aiden said slowly, "a great deal like me."
"Good," Aethal said, grin widening. "That means we understand each other." He finally let his offered hand fall, but not with disappointment—rather with the confidence of a man who already knew the bargain was struck, whether Aiden admitted it or not.
"I like you," Aethal said plainly, his blue eyes reflecting the shimmer of the towers above. "And I feel like this is gonna be the start of a profound friendship."
His hand lingered on Aiden’s gauntlet, the gesture neither threat nor mere courtesy. It was invitation. Pact. A tether waiting to be tied.
Aiden’s silence was not emptiness—it was shield. He studied Aethal’s expression, the slyness mirrored in those bright eyes. It was a reflection of himself.
Then Aethal turned, armor clanking, walking toward his father’s shadow, leaving Aiden with the echo of his words.
Aiden saw that slyness in him, same slyness that he himself had, when in a hurry, Flora comes from the carriage to him, worried, hearing something happened when they were in the road.
Her arrival was sudden, the carriage door swinging wide. Her hair spilled like sunlight over silk, her steps urgent, unmindful of the mud beneath. Concern carved her brow.
"Aiden," she whispered, as though his name itself steadied her. "I heard something happened—Father said someone dared besmirch our house."
Her words trembled with both worry and pride. Her closeness, the way her hand brushed his arm as if seeking reassurance, sent a current of heat through him.
"Nothing you need fear, my lady," Aiden said, his voice low, softened with the curve of flirtation. His eyes lingered a fraction too long on her lips, his posture tilting subtly toward hers.
For a breath, their distance shrank. The noise of the city dimmed. The world was only her hand on his arm, her breath against his cheek.
Then—Luna’s voice cut like a bell in the silence. "You are still in public, flora ."
Flora flushed, stepping back. Aiden’s lips curved in the faintest smile, not apology but acknowledgment of interruption.
His eyes immediately found the sad baron, emerging from his own carriage, hollow-eyed and trembling.
The loss of his son had carved grief deep into his face, and every movement seemed to weigh him down further. The baron clutched the carriage door as if it were the only thing holding him upright.
Aiden sneered—not mockery, but recognition. Weakness was a scent he could smell, and here it was, raw and unshielded. ’A pawn too shattered to play... easy to manipulate. Pathetic.’
After a few moments...
Then the duke appeared.
Old, bent, bald-headed, yet his golden eyes cut through the crowd like honed steel. Four scarlet-clad mages flanked him, each radiating quiet but palpable power.
The air hummed around them, taut with unspoken force, as though even the stones themselves recognized the authority here.
Even Augustus bowed. Fire of ambition burning in his chest, the Viscount of Leonidus lowered himself to the frail figure, reminding all watching that nobility was always a ladder—and the apex never empty.
Beyond dukes waited emperors. Beyond emperors, perhaps, only gods.
And then Aiden saw it. The sight that made heat curl in his stomach like molten iron: the duke’s hand resting on Sabrina’s shoulder.
Gentle, almost tender—but possessive. The old man drew her closer, a subtle claim pressed into her body, as though she were prize and not wife.
Aiden’s jaw clenched. Blood hammered through his temples. ’How dare he touch her?’ His pulse thundered in his ears, a storm of desire and jealousy coiling tighter with every passing second.
He stepped closer, voice low and cutting under his breath. "Hands off her," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes never left the old man, measuring, calculating.
Inside, his thoughts twisted darker, sharper:
’I will take her from you oh duke.... Just as I took Catherine in Augustus’s own arms... I will take Sabrina ..your precious wife and load my cum inside her. And when I do... it will not be mere lust. It will be conquest. I will mark her body, her mind, her soul. Every inch will know my claim.’
A flicker of movement from Sabrina caught his eye. She glanced at him, subtle hesitation in the tilt of her head, almost imperceptible, and it ignited something deeper—protectiveness, possession, a hunger he could not name.