The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 354: Meeting friends and foes

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the steps of the Ministry of Justice as Jolthar emerged with the group. He blinked against the brightness after the dungeon’s gloom, adjusting to the fresh air and open sky.

The transition from prisoner to free man had happened remarkably fast.

Prince Milan stood beside him, and Cleora immediately moved forward, her relief visible on her elegant features. She stopped just short of embracing him in public, maintaining propriety but unable to hide the emotion in her eyes.

"Jolthar," she said softly.

"I’m fine," he assured her.

Raayani came to stand beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

Jolthar nodded to her, smiling.

Cleora explained what happened in the minister’s office and how Prince Milan helped them.

Jolthar turned to Milan, giving him a respectful nod. Frankly, he didn’t expect to see Milan here, and to get help from him, Jolthar was surprised.

"Your Highness, I understand I have you to thank for my release."

Milan waved the gratitude away with an easy gesture. "The charges are absurd. Anyone with sense can see that. I simply ensured the law was applied fairly rather than as a political weapon."

Jolthar studied the prince for a moment.

They had met briefly before, during those war times with the barbarians.

Milan had struck him then as different from other royals, more direct, and less concerned with empty ceremony. That impression seemed accurate now.

"Still," Jolthar said, "your intervention matters. I won’t forget it."

Milan smiled slightly. "I’m curious to see what you’ll build with Tekkora. The reports are promising. The empire needs more people willing to try new approaches rather than simply maintaining the status quo."

His expression turned more serious.

"Though perhaps with less summary execution in the future."

"If the Ministry of Justice actually investigated crimes against commoners with any urgency," Jolthar replied calmly, "that wouldn’t be necessary."

Milan laughed at the blunt response. "Fair point."

He genuinely liked this young man; there was a strength to him that had nothing to do with age or rank. Jolthar was younger than Milan by several years, but he carried himself like someone who had faced real dangers and survived them. That was rare among the nobility.

Raayani and Bertelot had been speaking quietly to one side, but now they moved to rejoin the group. The Matriarch’s eyes swept over Jolthar, checking him for any signs of mistreatment. Satisfied, she gave a small nod.

"We should leave," Bertelot said.

"The longer we stand here, the more attention we draw."

Indeed, people were already gathering on the street, watching the group with undisguised interest.

A prince, two of the empire’s most renowned beauties, and the young baron who had just been arrested and freed within hours, it was the kind of spectacle that drew crowds in Cahns’ar.

They started down the steps toward the waiting carriages. Jolthar found himself between Cleora and Raayani, both women close enough that their presence was unmistakable. He was acutely aware of the stares and the whispers spreading through the onlookers.

They had nearly reached the carriages when a voice called out, sharp with mockery.

"Well, well. Prince Milan playing hero for murderers now? How noble."

The group stopped.

Jolthar turned to see a young man approaching from across the plaza. He was in his mid-twenties, dressed in expensive clothes that screamed new money trying to look like old wealth. His face was handsome in a conventional way, but there was something unpleasant in his expression, a sneer that suggested he enjoyed causing discomfort.

Milan’s expression cooled.

"Varnik."

Varnik Rothgard.

Jolthar recognized the family name immediately.

Milan leaned towards Jolthar and said about Varnik.

This was the son of Duke Hernais, nephew of the baron Jolthar had executed. The family connection explained both his presence and his hostility.

Varnik stopped a few paces away, looking over the group with obvious disdain. His eyes lingered on Jolthar with particular venom.

"So this is the famous Jolthar Kaezhlar. The man who murdered my uncle."

"Your uncle was a slaver and a torturer," Jolthar replied evenly.

"His death was justice, not murder."

"Justice?" Varnik’s voice rose, playing to the growing crowd.

"You executed a baron of the empire without authority or trial. You’re nothing but a commoner playing at nobility, thinking the rules don’t apply to you."

"I’m not interested in debating with you," Jolthar said calmly.

"Of course not. Murderers rarely want to face the families of their victims."

Varnik turned his attention to Milan, his sneer deepening. "And you, Your Highness. Always picking the losing side, aren’t you? Supporting a criminal, embarrassing the imperial family. No wonder you’re the least favored of the princes."

Milan’s expression remained neutral, but Jolthar saw the slight tightening around his eyes. The insult had landed, even if the prince wouldn’t show it.

"Varnik," Milan said quietly, "you’re making a scene. Whatever grievances you have should be addressed through proper channels, not street theater."

"Proper channels?" Varnik laughed harshly.

"Like the proper channels that let this murderer walk free hours after being arrested? The law means nothing when you have friends in high places."

He looked back at Jolthar. "Enjoy your freedom while it lasts. My father won’t let this go. You’ll answer for what you did."

"I look forward to it," Jolthar said with complete sincerity.

"At trial, we can discuss exactly what your uncle was doing to his people. Every detail. In public. I’m sure that will reflect well on your family."

Varnik’s face flushed with anger. "You dare—"

"We’re leaving," Milan interrupted firmly.

He placed a hand on Jolthar’s shoulder, guiding him toward the carriages.

"Don’t give him the satisfaction of a response."

Cleora shot Varnik a withering look as they passed. "Your family should be ashamed of defending a monster instead of condemning his crimes."

"My family knows the value of loyalty," Varnik shot back.

He had a very disgusting expression on his face.

"Unlike some widows who throw themselves at men young enough to be their sons."