The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 348: You are under arrest

Jolthar watched the captain and pondered what he should do now.

"This is outrageous," Cleora said, her voice rising.

"Jolthar acted on behalf of the people. Rothgard was using villagers as slaves in his mines. He was torturing them, working them to death. The execution was justified and witnessed by Kaezhlar clan representatives."

The captain shifted his weight slightly. "Then that will come out in the investigation, my lady. But I have orders to bring him in for questioning and formal prosecution. The charges have been filed by legitimate parties."

"Legitimate?" Raayani’s tone could have frozen water.

"Who filed these charges? Who dares to resurrect accusations from years past?"

"That information will be provided during the official proceedings," the captain replied.

He turned his attention back to Jolthar.

"Will you come peacefully, or do we need to do this the hard way?"

Jolthar stood silent for a moment, his expression blank as stone. His mind finished its calculations. Fighting would accomplish nothing except confirming guilt in the eyes of witnesses. And if this was a political scheme, it would play out whether he resisted or not. Better to face it directly, see who was behind it, and dismantle it from within.

The women were still arguing with the captain, their voices passionate and angry.

Cleora’s hands gestured sharply as she listed the crimes Rothgard had committed. Raayani was citing imperial law, her knowledge of legal precedent impressive and precise.

Jolthar reached out and placed his hand gently on Cleora’s arm.

The contact silenced her mid-sentence. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide with worry and frustration.

"Cleora," he said quietly, his voice steady and reassuring.

He then looked towards Raayani and called her.

"Raayani."

"Don’t worry.

Let them take me."

"But Jolthar—" she began.

He shook his head slightly. "We’ll see what this is all about when we meet the officials. There’s no point fighting it here."

"But this is madness," Cleora protested.

"You did nothing wrong. Rothgard’s death was justified. Everyone knows it."

"Then that will be proven," Jolthar said calmly. He could see the fear in her eyes—not for herself, but for him. It touched something deep inside him, but he couldn’t let emotion cloud his thinking now.

"Trust me."

Cleora opened her mouth to argue further, but Jolthar raised his finger and gently pressed it against her lips, silencing her with the intimate gesture.

The crowd around them murmured at the familiar action between the two.

"Don’t worry," he repeated, his eyes locked on hers.

Then he turned to Raayani and placed his other hand on her arm as well.

The Blue Rose Matriarch looked at him with those penetrating eyes that seemed to see through deception and pretense. She was analyzing him, he knew, trying to understand his strategy.

The crowd was watching with fascination now.

Here was a young man, surrounded by soldiers, about to be arrested for murder, and he was comforting two stunning women instead of showing fear.

Jolthar allowed himself a small smile. If this was going to be a spectacle, he might as well play his part. He looked at both women, then spoke loud enough for the onlookers to hear.

"Who am I?" he asked, his voice carrying confidence and even a touch of humor.

"I am the lover of the two most beautiful women in the empire. Nothing will happen to me."

The statement was absurd in context.

It made no logical sense as reassurance against a murder charge. But the effect was immediate and powerful.

Both Cleora and Raayani flushed, color rising in their cheeks despite the serious situation. Cleora looked away, embarrassed but unable to hide a slight smile. Raayani’s eyes widened fractionally before her composure returned, though her lips curved ever so slightly upward.

The crowd’s reaction was instantaneous.

"What the hell is he saying?"

"What even..."

Gasps, exclamations, and no small amount of cursing from the men watching. They were too focused on the women to register his words.

"Lucky bastard," someone muttered loudly enough to be heard.

"Two of them? How does a kid like that manage it?" another voice complained.

"That’s Matriarch Raayani," a woman whispered urgently, recognizing her as she watched her.

Soon, the realization dawned on everyone.

"The Blue Rose herself."

"And the other is Lady Cleora of Tekkora," someone else added. She was in the newspaper as the Baroness who led the swift development of the Barony of Tekkora.

"Elegant as moonlight," someone added.

The whispers spread like wildfire through the gathered crowd. Envy, admiration, disbelief, and fascination mixed together in the public reaction. Some cursed Jolthar for his fortune. Others looked at him with newfound respect. A few women in the crowd gazed at him with open interest, wondering what made him worthy of such companions.

The captain cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with how the situation had turned into some kind of romantic spectacle.

"If you’re quite finished," he said dryly, "we have business to conduct."

Jolthar turned back to him, his expression shifting back to seriousness.

"I’m ready. Lead the way, Captain."

The captain gestured, and two soldiers stepped forward with iron shackles. Jolthar held out his wrists without resistance. The metal clicked into place, cold against his skin.

Cleora made a small sound of protest, but Raayani placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. The Matriarch’s eyes never left Jolthar, studying his calm acceptance of the arrest with keen intelligence.

"Where are you taking him?" Raayani asked the captain.

"To the Ministry of Justice holding cells," the captain replied.

"He’ll be processed there and brought before a magistrate within three days, as required by imperial law."

"We’ll be there," Cleora said firmly.

"Every step of the way."

The captain nodded. "That’s your right, my lady." He turned to Jolthar.

"This way."

The soldiers formed up around Jolthar, creating a moving box of armed men. The captain led the way, cutting through the crowd that parted reluctantly. People craned their necks to keep watching, following the procession with their eyes.