The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 356: Back in the villa

He stood, his movements graceful despite the substances in his system. "I want to know everything about this Jolthar Kaezhlar. Everything. His history, his capabilities, his plans. What makes him special enough to catch the attention of two women who could have anyone?"

One of his companions smirked. "Jealous, Your Highness?"

"Curious," Andrion corrected.

"There’s a difference." He looked at the knight.

"Make this a priority. I want a full report within two days."

"Yes, Your Highness."

As the knight departed, the conversation in the hall shifted to speculation about Jolthar.

Some were dismissive, assuming the women’s interest was political rather than personal. Others were intrigued, wondering what qualities the young baron possessed that set him apart.

Andrion returned to his cushions, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He was the prince, the most powerful person in the empire. He was accustomed to being the most interesting person in any story.

But this Jolthar Kaezhlar had managed to do something even Andrion hadn’t, win the genuine affection of both Cleora Aravain and Raayani, two women famous for being unobtainable.

That alone made him worth knowing.

*

As night fell over Cahns’ar, the name Jolthar Kaezhlar was on countless lips throughout the capital. In taverns and noble salons, in servants’ quarters and merchants’ halls, the story spread and grew.

A young baron was arrested for murder. Freed within hours by a prince. Defended by the empire’s most beautiful women. Confronted by the Rothgard family in the streets.

Some versions of the story painted him as a hero.

Others as a dangerous criminals. Many simply focused on his apparent luck with women, which sparked both admiration and jealousy.

But everyone was talking.

And in Cahns’ar, where information was currency and reputation was power, that attention could be either a blessing or a curse.

Time would tell which it would be.

*

The room Milan had provided was comfortable but understated. Clean lines, simple furniture, and a large bed with quality linens. The walls were painted a soft cream color, and a single window looked out over the villa’s garden. It was the room of someone who valued function over display, which matched what Jolthar had observed about the prince.

He sat on the edge of the bed, finally allowing himself to process the day’s events.

The arrest, the dungeon, the release, the confrontation with Varnik.

It had been a carefully orchestrated attack, and he’d walked right into it.

But that had been the plan.

Let them make their move, see the board clearly, then counter.

Milan had told him to rest, that they would discuss strategy in the morning. Sound advice, though Jolthar’s mind was still working through possibilities and contingencies.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Before he could respond, it opened, and Cleora slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her.

She looked tired, the strain of the day visible in the lines around her eyes. But more than that, she looked sad.

Guilty, even.

"Cleora," Jolthar said, standing.

"What’s wrong?"

She moved to him, her hands twisting together nervously.

"This is all because of me. Because of Hernais and his hatred of what I’ve done with the barony. If you weren’t involved with me, if you hadn’t helped me transform Tekkora, you wouldn’t be facing these charges."

"That’s nonsense," Jolthar said firmly.

He took her hands in his, stilling their anxious movement.

"I killed Rothgard because he was a monster enslaving and murdering his own people. That had nothing to do with you. If Hernais wants to use it against us now, that’s his choice, not yours."

"But—"

"No." He pulled her closer, looking directly into her eyes.

"Don’t take responsibility for the evil actions of others. Rothgard chose to be a tyrant. Hernais chose to be petty and vindictive. Those are their burdens, not yours."

Cleora’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"I just... I can’t bear the thought of you suffering because of connections to me."

She seemed more in pain and troubled about what was happening to him. As he watched her, he felt his chest fill with warmth, and he wanted to change her mood.

Jolthar knew exactly how to shift her mood.

His hands moved to her waist, then slid to her navel, beginning to trace slow, gentle circles through the fabric of her dress. The touch was intimate, familiar, and calming.

Cleora’s breath caught slightly.

The tension in her shoulders began to ease under his touch. "Jolthar..."

"You worry too much," he said softly, continuing the soothing motion.

"Everything will be fine."

She leaned into him, her body relaxing against his. "You always know how to make me feel better."

"I know you," he replied simply.

Cleora tilted her face up toward his, and they kissed.

It was slow and deep, filled with reassurance and affection. For a moment, the stress of the day faded away, replaced by the simple comfort of being close to someone who mattered.

The door opened without warning.

They broke apart to see Raayani standing in the doorway, her expression caught between amusement and annoyance. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her with more force than necessary.

"When did you get in here?"

Cleora tilted her head and smirked.

Raayani could read the room, and her expression wrinkled as she looked at them.

"I also want Jolthar," she announced, her tone matter-of-fact.

Cleora straightened, her earlier melancholy replaced instantly with territorial defensiveness.

"He needs to comfort me. You can wait."

"I’ve been waiting all day," Raayani countered, moving further into the room.

"Through the arrest, the Ministry, the confrontation with that Rothgard fool. I think I’ve earned some attention."

"Earned?" Cleora’s voice rose slightly.

"I’ve been beside him through everything we built in Tekkora. You can’t just walk in and demand—"

"I’m not demanding. I’m stating a fact. Jolthar is important to me, and I want time with him."

"Well, you’ll have to wait because—"

"Ladies."

Jolthar’s voice cut through their escalating argument.

Both women turned to look at him, their expressions still defiant but waiting to hear what he would say.

In another room of the villa, Prince Milan sat at his desk, reviewing documents.

The voices from Jolthar’s room carried through the walls, not the words exactly, but the tone was unmistakable. Two women arguing over one man, their voices rising in competition.

Milan smiled to himself and shook his head. Most men would envy Jolthar’s situation, the attention of two exceptional women. But those same men didn’t understand the complexity that came with it. Managing the emotions and needs of one strong-willed woman was challenging enough.

Two? That required a particular kind of skill.

He returned his attention to his papers, letting Jolthar handle his own affairs.

The young baron would either find a solution or learn an important lesson.

Either way, it wasn’t Milan’s problem.