Chapter 137: Rosalind Was Watching?

Vesperia gave a low, questioning hum, her golden-hazel eyes lingering on his face with an amused, searching squint.

She knew that look, the quiet, dangerous calculation of a predator who had just set an intricate snare and was already savoring the catch.

"Cryptic little devil," she murmured, leaning into his side as they navigated the crowded boulevard.

"Consider that a promise," Azriel chuckled softly, his fingers flexing against the curve of her hip.

They cut through the northern arterial thoroughfare, bypassing the lively tavern rows and trading stalls of the merchant quarter.

Once past the defensive perimeter and out of the line of sight of the city sentinels, Vesperia tapped her silver illusion band.

The honey-blonde tresses dissolved back into a waterfall of shimmering, moonlight-silver hair, and her hazel gaze sharpened into the lethal, slit-pupil gold of the Bastati Matriarch.

Azriel followed suit, his features snapping back to the striking, sharp jawline, long black mane-like hair, and piercing violet eyes of his true form.

Without a word, Vesperia scooped him up against her chest and, with a slow, thunderous snap, flew into the air.

In an instant, the ground dropped away.

The bustling frontier city of Oakheaven shrunk into a miniature cluster of grey stone and timber, quickly swallowed by the rolling, endless expanse of white clouds as they cut eastward at blinding speed.

The flight across the province was a blur of whistling high-altitude winds and surging aether.

Within two hours, the sprawling, White-walled perimeter of the Bastet Ducal Estate broke through the misty mountain ridges below.

Vesperia banked sharply, descending like a silver comet toward the secluded, private courtyard adjoining the main residence.

The landing was feather-light, the ambient wind bowing outward in a clean ripple as her feet touched the smooth flagstones.

The courtyard was quiet, save for the rhythmic rustle of midnight-leaf arbor trees.

Yet as the air settled, the heavy double doors leading to the grand manor swung inward with an ominous, deliberate click.

Standing in the arched doorway was Rosalind.

The Duchess was dressed in an immaculate, fitted gown of deep red velvet, her posture as rigid and commanding as a drawn bowstring.

Her white hair fell over one shoulder, but it was her eyes, glowing with an intense, razor-sharp golden light, that dominated the terrace.

Her gaze swept over Vesperia first, cool and analytical, taking in her mother’s unreadable composure.

Then, like a striking viper, those crimson irises locked directly onto Azriel, and that golden gaze became warm and filled with love.

But then her brow twitched.

Her nose flared with an imperceptible inhale, testing the wind currents.

"Mother," Rosalind spoke, her voice smooth, formal, and coated in a veneer of royal detachment.

"You’re late. The scouts reported the dungeon breach collapsing over three hours ago."

Vesperia brushed a stray strand of white hair behind her ear, her sovereign mask seamless and unyielding as she strolled past her daughter with slow, dismissive grace.

"We encountered a minor disturbance upon our exit," Vesperia said smoothly, not breaking her effortless stride.

"A body-possessed scout. Traces indicate it stems from the very same shadow faction that ambushed you and Azriel prior. The matter has been contained. I am retiring to the private bath chambers. The boy is entirely yours."

As Vesperia vanished into the shadowed corridor, a ghost of an amused, wicked smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, deliberately abandoning Azriel to face the Duchess’s interrogation alone.

Rosalind didn’t spare her mother a backward glance.

The sharp, rhythmic click of her heels echoed against the marble flagstones as she closed the distance, stopping mere inches from Azriel’s chest.

Tilting her head up, her piercing golden slit-eyes raked over his violet irises with unbridled, possessive scrutiny.

"A scout?" she murmured, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous purr that reverberated with suppressed tension.

Rosalind crowded directly into his personal space, her sharp heels pinning the boundary between them as her slender, manicured fingers seized his lapels.

Her golden slit-pupils flicked down his frame with frantic precision, scanning the seams of his leather coat, the contours of his ribs, and the quiet flow of his blood veins for any trace of structural trauma, lingering miasma, or soul-rot.

"You’re unharmed. But you were gone hours longer than calculated, Azriel."

Her eyes narrowed with a sharp, possessive burn.

Standing mere inches from his sculpted, unmasked face, where his unsuppressed divine charm radiated outward like a warm, intoxicating tide, Rosalind’s throat bobbed.

The stern, untouchable authority she wore like plate armor began to crack.

Her feline senses drowned in his scent, clean and steady.

Azriel didn’t counter with tactical timelines, guild politics, or reports on dungeon tiers.

His lips simply softened into a disarming, breathtaking smile.

Reaching out, he closed the remaining gap and wrapped his arms securely around her slender waist.

He pulled her flush against his chest, tucking her chin over his shoulder and burying his face into the fragrant, silk-smooth curve of her neck.

It was an embrace wholly devoid of predatory urgency or carnal demand.

It was slow, anchoring, and fiercely protective.

The steady, rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat pressed directly against hers, pouring a radiant, tranquil warmth through her chest that systematically uncoiled the vicious knot of anxiety resting in her spine.

A shuddering breath escaped her parted lips as her fingers slowly uncurled from his lapels, flattening against his broad shoulders before sliding around his neck to hold him just as tightly.

"I was late because I made a detour to find something worthy of you, Rose," Azriel whispered softly against her heated ear, his broad palm resting tenderly against the dip of her spine.

"Not with your credit card, and not with the resources of your household. With my own blood, my own kills, and my own coin."

A vibrant, rose-petal flush bloomed across Rosalind’s fair cheeks, her golden eyes parting in breathless astonishment.

In the rigid hierarchy of matriarchy, dominant noblewomen bestowed wealth, land, titles, and enchanted heirlooms upon their favored consorts.

Most men were treasured, pampered, and shielded behind palace walls, they were never the providers.

To have the man she adored, a lethal predator who refused to hide beneath her shadow, step out into the wild and return with a tribute forged from his own perilous hunts struck a chord deep within her soul.

It shattered the cold, transactional weight of high-born courtship, replacing it with an intoxicating rush of genuine, reverent devotion.

Slowly, deliberately, Azriel eased back from the warmth of the embrace.

The tenderness in his violet eyes subtly shifted, hardening into a sharp, grounded gravity.

"Before I show you the gift, Rose... there’s something I need to tell you," he said, his tone dropping into a serious register.

Noticing the shift in his gaze, Rosalind drew a slow breath, quickly rebuilding a veneer of composure despite her flushed cheeks.

"What is it, Azriel?"

Azriel met her gaze without flinching.

"Your mother and I...I...."

"W-we crossed that line. In the dungeon. We slept together."

Rosalind didn’t erupt with fury, nor did her expression freeze in horror.

Instead, a serene, knowing smile curved her lips, her golden slit pupils carrying an amused, dangerous glint.

"I know," she said simply.

Azriel froze, blinking in stark disbelief.

"You... know? How?"

His mind raced through the clearing of the Verdant Hollow.

There hadn’t been another living soul within miles of that grove.

Even if an elite phantom scout had somehow shadowed them, Vesperia’s sovereign-tier perception would have detected their aether instantly and crushed them into paste.

There was zero chance they had been watched.

Rosalind let out a rich, breathy chuckle at his rare, bewildered expression.

Lifting her slender hand, she gave a delicate flick of her manicured fingers toward his left hand.

From the interior rim of the custom spatial ring she had gifted him, a microscopic black speck detached itself, floating into the air between them.

Under the ambient moonlight, the speck pulsed with faint spatial aether, an intricate, microscopic cluster of tens of thousands of interwoven thread-runes.

"Don’t furrow your brow like that, it wasn’t an espionage array," Rosalind purred, closing the remaining distance until the faint fragrance of midnight lilies on her skin washed over him.

"It’s an emergency life-tether. Even with Mother acting as your escort, I couldn’t bear the thought of you getting ambushed again. I wove a locational beacon into the band so I could tear open a direct rift to your side if your vitals ever plummeted."

Her golden slit-pupils narrowed into a sultry, dangerous glare, her crimson lips curling with vicious amusement.

"What I didn’t account for was that the greatest threat to your virtue wasn’t an aberrant dungeon boss, but my own mother. I always knew that territorial predator would eventually try to taste what’s mine... but I never imagined that shameless old hag would completely discard her centuries of warrior pride just to pounce on you during your very first hunt."

Azriel arched a brow, eyeing the floating speck.

"So you were actually watching us through the rift?"