The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 397: Letters from Brothel - 2

The second letter was similar, though from a different sender—a noblewoman named Lady Jazmin Akupa, inviting him to a salon she was hosting.

At the Pinkblossom House.

The third was from another noble, also suggesting they meet.

At the Pinkblossom House.

"They’re all inviting me to the same place," Jolthar observed.

"The Pinkblossom House is the most exclusive pleasure establishment in the capital," Milan explained.

"It’s not merely a brothel, though that’s part of its function. It’s where the wealthy and powerful gather to socialize, to network, and to conduct business in settings more relaxed than formal court."

Andrion entered, clearly having been listening.

"It’s also where you’ll find the most beautiful people in the empire, trained in arts both conversational and carnal. Mistress Rani runs it with impeccable taste and absolute discretion." He grinned.

"I told you that you needed to experience the pleasure houses."

Cleora appeared in the doorway, and her expression when she saw the invitations was thunderous.

"The Pinkblossom House," she said flatly.

"Of course."

"You know it?" Jolthar asked.

"Everyone knows it," Cleora replied, moving into the room with deliberate calm that didn’t quite hide her anger.

"It’s famous, or infamous, depending on your perspective. It’s where nobles go to indulge themselves with beautiful companions who are very, very skilled at making people feel desired."

"It’s also legitimate networking," Milan pointed out diplomatically.

"Many business arrangements and political alliances are formed there."

"How convenient," Cleora said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"And all these invitations just happened to arrive at once? From multiple sources, all wanting Jolthar to visit the same pleasure house?"

"It is suspicious timing," Andrion admitted.

"Though not entirely surprising. Jolthar’s become famous, or notorious, in the capital. People want to meet him, assess him, curry favor or establish connections."

"Or see if he can be seduced and compromised," Cleora added sharply.

The conversation continued through the afternoon, with Andrion enthusiastically advocating for Jolthar to accept at least one invitation, Milan maintaining diplomatic neutrality, and Cleora making her displeasure increasingly clear.

By evening, when the others had withdrawn to their own affairs, Cleora found Jolthar in his chambers. She entered without knocking, closing the door behind her with more force than strictly necessary.

"Are you planning to go?" she asked directly.

Jolthar looked up from the book he’d been reading.

"To the Pinkblossom House? I haven’t decided."

"Because you’re tempted by the offer of beautiful companions?" Cleora’s voice was tight.

"Because it might be politically useful," Jolthar corrected.

"You heard Milan; connections are made there. And I need connections in this city."

"You have connections," Cleora said, moving closer.

"You have me. You have Raayani. Apparently, you have Selma Belat now, who looked at you like you were the most interesting thing she’d seen in years."

Ah, so that was part of what was bothering her.

"Cleora—" Jolthar began.

"I’m not enough, am I?" Cleora interrupted, and there was real pain beneath the anger.

"You need multiple women. The most beautiful, powerful women you can find. And now you’re getting invitations to a pleasure house full of people whose entire purpose is to be irresistible."

Jolthar set down his book and stood, moving to where Cleora had stopped near the window. She was looking out at the city, her back to him, her shoulders tense.

"You’re more than enough," he said quietly, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"You always have been."

"Then why—"

"Because the world is complicated," Jolthar interrupted gently.

"Because I didn’t plan to fall in love with you or Raayani, but I did. Because connections and power matter in ways I’m still learning to navigate. But none of that—" he turned her to face him "—none of that changes what I feel for you."

Cleora’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"I saw how Selma looked at you. And I’ve heard about the Pinkblossom House. About how no one who visits leaves unchanged. About how the pleasure they offer is... transcendent."

"Then maybe," Jolthar said, his hands moving from her shoulders to cup her face, "I should experience it with you."

Cleora blinked.

"What?"

"You said you have another meeting with the Madam Secretary," Jolthar continued.

"That you wouldn’t be able to accompany me. But that’s tomorrow night, isn’t it?

Today, tonight, you’re here. With me." His thumbs traced her cheekbones.

"And I have a perfect remedy for jealous moods."

Understanding dawned in Cleora’s eyes, followed quickly by desire.

"Jolthar..."

"I love you," he said simply.

"You. Not some fantasy in a pleasure house. Not some goddess or deivruta who saved my life. You. The woman who transformed a dying barony into something magnificent. The woman who stood beside me when I was arrested. The woman who’s elegant, intelligent, passionate, and mine."

He pulled her close and kissed her, deep and possessive and full of intent.

When he pulled back, Cleora was breathing harder, her anger transformed into something very different.

"Your leg," she said weakly.

"You’re still injured."

"Then I’ll have to let you do most of the work," Jolthar replied with a slight smile.

"Think you can manage?"

Cleora’s expression shifted from vulnerable to confident, from worried to hungry.

She reached up and began unfastening his shirt.

"I’ll manage," she promised.

And for the next several hours, neither of them thought about pleasure houses, invitations, or jealousy at all.

Later, much later, as they lay tangled together in the aftermath, Cleora traced patterns on Jolthar’s chest.

"You still haven’t decided about the invitations," she murmured.

"No," Jolthar agreed.

"Though I’m leaning toward declining."

"Because of me?"

"Because I have more important things to focus on," Jolthar replied.

"Like recovering from fighting a deity. Like planning our next moves. Like making sure the barony continues to thrive despite all this chaos."

He kissed her forehead.

"Though I won’t deny that disappointing you played a role in the decision."

Cleora smiled against his chest.

"Good answer."

They lay there in comfortable silence, while outside the villa, the capital continued its endless dance of politics, pleasure, and power.

The invitations remained unanswered.

But the people who had sent them would soon learn that Jolthar Kaezhlar was not easily swayed by conventional temptations.

He had his own path, his own priorities.

And they would have to deal with that reality, whether they liked it or not.