The Sinful Young Master

"I like surprises when they're useful. Like how you handled the mission. You proved resourceful, loyal, and, let's be honest, entertaining.

And about earlier, not many could go toe-to-toe with Lorryll and live to tell the tale, let alone without a scratch."

He shrugged, though her praise stirred something in him. "I just did what needed to be done. That's all."

"And that's exactly why I'm interested in you," she said, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone.

Her words caught him off guard, and she seemed to enjoy his momentary loss of composure. "You've got potential, Jolthar. And I want to see how far that potential can go."

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Is this about my place in your unit, or something else?"

Maena chuckled again, stepping back slightly but letting her gaze linger. "A bit of both, perhaps.

Let's just say I want you to stick around. There's something about you that feels… different. And different can be valuable."

She turned, heading toward the door but pausing to glance back at him. "Report to my office tomorrow. I've got plans, and you'll be a part of them."

With that, she left, the sound of her boots echoing faintly in the corridor.

Jolthar remained where he stood for a moment, her words replaying in his mind. There was a mixture of intrigue and warning in her tone, and he couldn't quite place her intentions.

Still, her praise felt genuine, even if laced with a certain calculated charm.

He shook his head and finished the milk in one long gulp before setting the cup down and grabbing his coat.

The encounter with Maena left him restless, and there was something he'd been meaning to do.

He made his way to the clan's grand library, his boots tapping against the polished stone floors.

While he was heading towards the library, he came across a young woman, in her twenties, dressed in a floral gown with silver snow hair. Her long hair was left freely, adding to the ethereal aura she exuded. Her soft caracel skin and oval-shaped face caught his attention, and he couldn't help but be intrigued by her presence.

She walked towards him, followed by two maidservants. Jolthar recognized her immediately. She was the eldest daughter of the patriarch; her name was Isorabella. Just like her name, she was certainly a beautiful young lady, Jolthar thought.

He watched her walk past him, and she didn't even bat an eye at him. What he got were the glares from the maidservants, probably the result of his lingering gaze.

He shook his head, watching her leave the corridor. From his memories, he had no memory of having any talks with her, nor did she spare a glance at him even in the past.

Then a thought crossed his mind: what if he married her? He could get significant hold in the clan. And going by the marriage thing in clan, she was his cousin, so he had a chance.

Putting the thought at the back of his mind, he resumed his walk to the library.

The library was a vast, cavernous hall lined with towering shelves of books and scrolls, illuminated by faintly glowing crystals embedded in the walls. The scent of old parchment and leather bindings filled the air as Jolthar navigated the maze of aisles. He approached a section labelled Clan Records, his eyes scanning the spines for anything that might hold the information he sought.

He wanted to know more about the clan's assets and the details of its members, particularly the knights.

Jolthar's mind churned with ideas and suspicions—his future plans might depend on how well he understood the clan's internal workings. His fingertips brushed across the books, pausing occasionally to pull out a volume or a scroll.

As he worked, a faint noise caught his attention—the soft scuff of a boot against stone.

He froze, his ears straining to catch any further sound. The library was supposed to be empty at this hour. Carefully, he set the book aside and peered into the dimly lit aisle, his hand instinctively moving toward the dagger at his belt. But after a tense moment, the sound faded, leaving him alone once more.

Jolthar exhaled slowly, brushing off the momentary paranoia. He returned to the ledgers, his mind focused on piecing together the threads of the clan's power structure.

Whatever plans Maena had for him, whatever ambitions he harboured for himself—understanding the Kaezhlar clan would be the key to navigating the treacherous waters ahead.

After that, he returned to his room and slept through the night.

-

Next morning,

Jolthar made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the Kaezhlar estate, his boots echoing softly against the polished stone floors.

He was now heading towards Maena's office. His encounter with Maena yesterday still lingered in his mind, her words an intriguing mix of praise and hidden intentions.

He yawned, stretching his hands as the night's sleep wasn't enough.

As he approached the doorway, he heard faint voices. Pausing briefly, he recognized one of them—it was Eran. Jolthar straightened and stepped into the room.

Maena and Eran were seated at the central table, poring over maps and documents.

Eran, with his chiselled jawline and ever-present calm demeanour, glanced up as Jolthar entered, offering a curt nod. His attire was practical—dark leather armour marked with the Kaezhlar crest, suggesting readiness for action.

Maena looked up as well, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Ah, Jolthar. Perfect timing," she said, motioning for him to step closer.

"What's going on?" Jolthar asked, his gaze shifting between them.

Maena leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "There's a mission that requires immediate attention. It's relatively straightforward, so I won't be accompanying you this time. You'll be going with Eran." Explore more stories with empire

Jolthar's brow furrowed slightly. "What's the mission?"

Eran stepped forward, his voice steady and direct. "We've been commissioned by the Jowaryan tribe in Daryen Valley. They're long-time allies of the clan, so it's important to handle this properly. It's not a complicated task, but it does require a certain level of tact."n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om