Chapter 285: Girls night

The night settled over the Reedings estate, wrapping the sky in a shroud of quiet stars.

Inside Aria’s sprawling master bedroom, the crackle of burning wood from the grand fireplace filled the chamber with soft amber light, easily holding back the crisp early winter chill.

Spread out directly across the lavish, plush white fur rug before the fire, three of the most striking women sat huddled together, completely untethered, relaxing from the exhaustion of the past seven days.

They wore soft, delightfully cozy nightwear. Aria wore a backless, midnight-blue silk camisole that hung loosely from her slender shoulders, paired with matching tap shorts that showed off her soft legs. Emma was lounging back in an oversized, faded crimson tank top that casually showed her defined collarbones and muscular arms, worn over loose charcoal cotton shorts that revealed her thick thighs. Curled tightly between them was Norelia, enveloped in an oversized cream-colored cashmere sweater, with fuzzy knit socks pulled past her knees.

A crystal bottle tilted as Aria tipped a generous measure into Emma’s tumbler.

Emma sipped in one motion, the fiery alcohol sliding down her throat without her so much as flinching. She let out a contented sigh.

"Damn, lady Aria," Emma muttered, rolling the heavy glass between her palms. "This stuff is smooth, but it kicks like an armored warhorse."

Aria raised the bottle with a cheerful, wicked little smirk, her golden eyes twinkling in the fire’s glow. "Naturally, darling. That vintage has been aging in the Reedings’ private cellar for fifty years. After surviving an entire week of hell and that rogue’s terrifying stunts in Rujgard, we have officially earned the right to spoil ourselves in luxury. Drink until the room spins, ladies—tonight is on my tab."

"The alcohol content is practically a hazard," Norelia grumbled softly from the center of the rug. Her cheeks were already an adorable shade of rose, her red eyes glassy and heavily lidded as she clutched her glass with both hands, taking another deliberate sip.

Emma let out a hearty chuckle, affectionately ruffling Norelia’s messy chestnut hair. "Rich coming from you, Professor. You’ve been lecturing us on liver toxicity while quietly draining more glasses than the two of us combined."

"Unhand me, you violent brute," Norelia slurred faintly, squirming as Emma’s large hand squished her head down into the rug.

Aria took an elegant, leisurely sip from her own glass, watching the two squabble with an expression of affectionate warmth.

"Look at us," Aria murmured, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she leaned back against the plush velvet divan. "If someone had told me four months ago that I would be sitting by a fireside, happily drinking top-shelf spirits in my sleepwear with the very women who share my fiancé... I would have tried to kill them."

She set her glass down, sliding over to pinch both of Norelia’s flushed, doughy cheeks with teasing affection. Norelia let out an indignant squeak, but made no real effort to pull away.

"Yet honestly... this might be the most genuine peace I’ve felt in years," Aria continued, her gaze turning tender. "Surrounded by fierce, brilliant women who actually see past the gilded mask of a villainess. It is strange how that idiot managed to hand me a family."

Emma pulled her long legs up against her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her storm-grey eyes softened as she stared into the fire.

"It really is strange," Emma said quietly, her voice carrying a rare, vulnerable huskiness. "I... I think about where I started sometimes. Just a filthy war orphan the Duke brought home from the Valdora kingdom."

She rested her chin on her knees, a bittersweet smile on her lips.

"Eren... gods, he was a nightmare to me back then. He mocked my rough manners, called me an unrefined brute, sneered that I lacked a single feminine grace. I had so many instances where my hand almost went to my hilt to silence him for good. The only thing that stopped my blade was my loyalty to the Duke."

She paused, taking a slow breath.

"Then... that skirmish happened. He took that blow to the head from Reinhardt. And when he opened his eyes again, it was like a completely different man had taken over his skin."

Emma looked down at the soft fur rug, a soft, helpless flush warming her tanned face that had nothing to do with the liquor.

"At first, I was terrified it was another trick. But the insults stopped. He actually looked at my calluses without disgust. He respected me... and then, piece by piece, he tore down every insecurity I spent a lifetime building. He showed a hardened, broken killer what it actually feels like to be loved."

She lifted her head, meeting Aria’s understanding golden gaze without a single drop of jealousy.

Aria stared at Emma through the warm haze, her eyes softening with defenseless, and impossibly sweet.

"Look at you," Aria murmured. She leaned sideways across the rug, not stopping until her bare shoulder bumped warmly against Emma’s defined, muscular arm. "The terrifying Swordmaster of the Volsver, the infamous angel of death... turns out you’re just a massive, soft-hearted romantic who completely surrendered to her young master."

Emma flinched slightly, her grey eyes darting sideways. A deeper, darker red swept across her tanned skin.

"Shut up, lady Aria," Emma muttered with a defensive, embarrassed huff. "You’re drunk."

"I am exquisitely intoxicated, which means I am fundamentally incapable of lying," Aria giggled, the sound light, melodic, and entirely stripped of her usual icy aristocratic armor. She stroked Emma’s short pink locks behind a pointed ear, gazing at the warrior woman with raw, unabashed fondness. "You truly are magnificent, Emma. Strong, fierce, breathtakingly beautiful... and so utterly devoted to him that it makes my chest ache in the best possible way... it makes me grateful he chose you to stand beside us."

Between them, Norelia gave a muffled grunt, her face buried completely into Emma’s shorts, hugging the Swordmaster’s thick thigh like a giant bolster pillow. "Stop being so sentimental... the room is spinning... and both of you are being disgustingly sappy..."

Aria laughed softly. She shifted on the fur rug, leaning in closer until her fragrant breath, scented with dark cherries and oak-aged spirits, brushed against Emma’s ear.

A wicked, feline little spark flared in her eyes.

"So tell me, Captain," Aria purred, her lips curving into a mischievous, delightfully unhinged smirk. "I heard you’re aiming for his first child."

Cough—!

Emma choked on her own breath, coughing so hard her shoulders heaved.

Beside them, Norelia’s eyes snapped wide open beneath her oversized sweater, her drunkenness momentarily paralyzed by pure, unadulterated shock.

"Wh—what?!" Emma sputtered, her voice cracking into a high, mortified squeak that no one had ever heard in their life, even the Duchess who raised her. Her hands flailing in the air. "A-Aria! What kind of deranged, drunken question is that?!"

"A legitimate inquiry among sister-wives," Aria replied with immaculate, teasing innocence, resting her chin in both palms as she watched the mighty Swordmaster disintegrate into a flustered, stammering mess.

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[Image of them]