Chapter 298: Private talk

It felt as though an exceptionally spiteful dwarven blacksmith had set up an anvil directly behind Aria’s eyeballs, casually swinging a heavy hammer against her skull with her pulse. Her stomach churned and her lower half felt entirely disconnected from her nervous system—a dull, electric ache radiating through her hips and inner thighs like she had spent twelve straight hours riding an untrained horse through rocky mountain terrain.

A beam of pale morning sunlight filtered through the velvet drapes, hitting straight into her face.

Aria winced, squeezing her golden eyes shut with a sharp hiss. "Ugh... The hells..."

She forced her eyes open, staring blankly up at the bedchamber ceiling. Then the scent hit her nose: the unmistakable, decadent stench of whiskey, melted candle wax, sweet vanilla, and an overwhelmingly shameless, musky haze of raw carnal debauchery.

"What in the hell..." she grumbled, rubbing her temples with one trembling hand.

A soft, rhythmic rustling drew her attention downward. Feeling an odd, heavy warmth pinned firmly against her, Aria slowly lifted the heavy blanket.

Norelia nestled contentedly against her bare waist, sleeping like a ball of fluff. She was curled up like an exhausted kitten, her cheek squished against Aria’s stomach, letting out the softest, most adorable little whistling snores imaginable.

For a brief, warm second, Aria’s heart melted.

’Well, that’s rather precious,’ she thought hazily.

Then her gaze drifted three inches down.

She was completely naked. Norelia was completely naked too.

Aria blinked, slowly propping herself up on one elbow, and immediately froze.

Sprawled facedown on the opposite side of the mattress was Emma. The Volsver captain was sleeping, drooling peacefully onto a pillow; she was completely naked, while the sheets barely clung to the round ass.

Aria stared at the ceiling, her foggy brain desperately trying to piece together the shattered fragments of her memory.

"What... what did we do?" she muttered aloud to the empty air.

She remembered sitting by the hearth. She remembered the fire crackling, some tears, some heavy emotional confessions about children and future wars, and then... opening the decanter.

Ah. The whiskey.

The cursed spirits had a notorious reputation for vaporizing her aristocratic inhibitions—even surrendered her feelings to him for the first time.

But surely, Aria reasoned with herself, they hadn’t lost their minds entirely. They had probably just gotten a little carried away, shared a passionate, romantic evening with that pervert, and drifted peacefully off to sleep like dignified ladies.

Her golden eyes swept the rest of the room, and that optimistic delusion died.

The room was a disaster area. Silk camisoles hung from the tops of dressing screens. Leather shorts were balled up near the fireplace. Empty crystal glasses and tipped-over decanters cluttered the hearthstones. And the priceless, imported white fur rug—her personal pride and joy—was crumpled into a bunched heap near the cushion.

’Wait,’ Aria’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. ’Where is that shameless rogue right now?’

Before she could scan the room for Eren’s lurking form, a faint metallic glint caught the morning light on the nightstand beside the headboard.

Sitting right there, resting atop a neat, thick little pile of heavy paper, was the instant portrait capture device.

A creeping, icy dread settled in the pit of Aria’s churning stomach.

Moving with caution, she reached out, taking the stack of glossy, magical photographs into her lap.

She flipped the top card over and her lungs instantly vacated all air.

A strangled squeak died in Aria’s throat.

Her trembling fingers frantically scrambled to the second photograph.

The second one was worse.

The third photograph. The fourth photograph. The fifth.

A blinding wave of red rushed straight from Aria’s chest, up her neck, and exploded into her face with the force of an erupting volcano. Her golden eyes widened until they nearly bulged from their sockets, her heart hammering violently.

The monumental realization that she had not only orchestrated this utter degeneracy, but had physically handed him the camera and posed pulverized whatever was left of her sanity.

"EREN, YOU ABSOLUTE, SHAMELESS IDIOOOOT—!"

***

Down in the sunlit dining hall of the Reedings estate, the morning was progressing with an almost offensive amount of peace.

Eren sat comfortably at the long table, fresh from a hot bath, dressed in a crisp linen shirt and tailored black vest that gave him the deceptive aura of an upright gentleman. On his lap, the Shadow Panther cub was currently on its back, happily batting its oversized paws against Eren’s fingers while letting out high-pitched, purring squeaks every time he scratched beneath its chin.

Opposite him, Princess Seraphina sat with pristine, imperial posture, an ivory teacup balanced near her elbow while she scanned the morning edition of the Royal Gazette.

Her red eyes flicked over the top edge of the paper, landing on the empty chairs flanking the table.

"Nine-fifteen," Seraphina observed, her cool, melodic voice slicing through the clinking of porcelain. "The diplomatic summit with Earl Reodeo is scheduled for precisely ten o’clock. I heard Emma hasn’t missed morning training since she was twelve and Aria is always punctual about timing. Why are they late?"

Eren didn’t even look up from rubbing the cub’s belly. "Maybe they’re finally learning the art of being lazy on a vacation. You know, taking a breath of fresh country air, relaxing their stiff shoulders, and avoiding the tragedy of becoming a chronic workaholic... unlike a certain imperial princess."

Seraphina’s brow twitched, a faint scowl pulling at her lips. "This is not a vacation, Volsver. It is a political alignment."

"Right, right. Serious business," Eren chuckled, feeding a strip of sausage to the cub, who inhaled it with gratitude.

Seraphina returned to her paper, but the brief amusement in her eyes vanished as she reached the center fold. Her slender fingers tightened against the edges of the newsprint, her jaw tightening imperceptibly.

’Emperor Cassian’s Royal Vanguard Enters the Gates of Rujgard.’

"My father’s northern division has already established a forward operating fortress," Seraphina murmured, her tone dipping into solemn quiet. "The imperial banners fly over Rujgard. Do you think the invasion will conclude quickly?"

"Faster than we can imagine," Eren answered smoothly, his blue gaze having that sharp, analytical clarity she secretly leaned on. "Rujgard may be an untamed pit filled with thousands of the fiercest rogues, exiled knights, and cutthroats, but raw muscle is entirely useless against a mechanized military. A lawless land only survives when it has solid pillars anchoring the foundation. Without unified leadership, they don’t do anything to defend."

Seraphina stared at the headline for a moment longer, a soft sigh slipping past her lips.

With practiced elegance, she folded the paper into a neat square and set it beside her plate. She propped her elbow on the table, resting her cheek against her palm, studying him as a servant approached to refill her cup with steaming, aromatic tea.

"Leave us," Seraphina commanded quietly, not taking her eyes off Eren. "All of you. Clear the hall until Lady Aria descends."

The attendants bowed in synchronized, silent discipline, their footsteps fading down the marble corridor until the heavy double doors clicked shut.