Datura Lucas, a man of scarce presence and snobbish tendencies, had spent his life within the castle walls, isolated from connections beyond the kingdom. His sole companions were his beloved mother and his cousin, Daemizio, whom he now struggled to believe had betrayed him. Trust was a fragile commodity, and allies seemed elusive. Lucas wondered if anyone within the castle would stand by him. Yet, in this moment, he gambled on fate and trust.
Beneath him lay Sera, a woman exuding a seductive vanilla scent. Her eyes, yellow as the sun, bore its heat. Her lips, slightly parted, resembled overripe cherries. Rage consumed him—the traitorous news he'd witnessed drove him nearly to madness.
How dared they? Daemizio and his bastard uncle, Daemon, had orchestrated this treachery against Lucas and his family. His mind churned with curses and slurs for them.
But Sera remained an enigma. Her intentions remained veiled—her desire for his fortune and body evident. Lucas possessed both, except for gold, which he hoped to reclaim upon ascending the throne. For now, he wagered his body as payment, knowing it paled in comparison to the strength she offered. Her prowess had been evident in that single, lethal blast that slain the drake which flung him about.
"Sera," he implored, voice raw. "Help me."
Her eyes held galaxies-secrets and promises. Datura's resolve wavered. "I'll reward you," he vowed, "with the world's fortune. Jewels, treasures-all yours." His gaze bore into hers, a pact forged in desperation. "Even my body," he confessed, heat flushing his ears.
"What do you need me to do, Datura?" Her voice, a quiet whisper, hung in the air like a delicate secret. Its softness, a lure that could ensnare any ordinary man with a single glance.
But he was no ordinary man. His determination radiated, unwavering. "Be my brawn," he implored, "for I know you can do it. Be my puppet, my doll—" His words trailed, a tantalizing promise. "Just follow me, leave those men behind. I can give you so much more."
Sera, visibly intrigued, suppressed a smile. A chuckle escaped her lips—a rare vulnerability. She craved those sweet words, the desperate plea of someone needing her. Words she both longed for and dreaded. "That's what I wanted to hear," she murmured, her eyes locking onto his. "My King, I'm yours. It's a deal."
Datura nodded, a smile playing on his lips—a bittersweet acknowledgment of the arduous path ahead. The journey would be no easy feat, but he was resolved to bear it. With a swift twist of their positions, he lay now on the bamboo mat floor, and she straddled him. Her hair cascaded around his face, a silken curtain, and her hands pressed against his chest, the rhythm of her touch echoing the serene ambiance of the courtesan house. The air thickened with tension, sultry and charged.
Datura felt the heat of her body, a warmth that could thaw even the coldest of winters. His voice, confident yet tinged with vulnerability, cut through the charged atmosphere. "Consider this an advance payment, Sera," he murmured, his hand finding its place on her waist. Her delicate form rested against his, a stark contrast to his own rugged strength. He pulled her closer until her face hovered inches from his. Datura Lucas, despite his aloofness toward the women in his castle—even the beguiling Sui De Valentine—was still a man, susceptible to desire.
Her gaze bore into him, a tempest of emotions swirling within. He couldn't decipher her thoughts, but he sensed the gravity of her decision. His eyes flickered to the left, lids closing as he awaited her next move. And then, unexpectedly, her body shifted, her hands gliding upward to rest on his stomach. Chills raced through him. "I'll claim this when the time is right," she declared, her voice a velvet promise. "So keep it healthy and strong for me—unless you're too impatient to wait for the claiming."
Datura's scoff was a brittle facade, a flimsy armor against the vulnerability that surged within him. He pushed her aside with an abruptness that belied his true emotions. The crimson hue staining his ears betrayed him—a reminder, he thought bitterly, of why he had once despised her. She remained a force to be reckoned with, even now.
Sera, undeterred, met his gaze head-on. Her laughter danced on the precipice of defiance. "Suit yourself," she retorted, her voice a velvet blade. "But remember this: I hold the key to powers you crave. Don't underestimate me." The tension between them hung thick in the air, a delicate balance of need and mistrust. And as she rose from the bamboo mat, leaving him with the echo of her promise, Datura Lucas grappled with the realization that perhaps, just perhaps, vulnerability was the price he'd pay for salvation.
The captain's rage reverberated across the ship as he hurled his whiskey-filled bag against the wooden planks. Shards of glass danced in the air, a symphony of fury. He had paid a princely sum to glimpse her, the elusive courtesan, only to be unceremoniously ejected from her opulent abode. The sting of rejection fueled his wrath.
Determined to teach the scoundrel who had disrupted his stolen moment with Sera a lesson, the captain stormed out onto the deck. His crew, still unloading goods, watched him with wary eyes. They knew better than to interfere when their captain was aflame.
The plank bridge connected the ship to the bustling dock, and there, amidst the chaos, lay the mermaid—a rare and valuable commodity. She was the final item in their clandestine auction, her ethereal beauty captivating all who beheld her. But fate intervened. The glass box that had imprisoned her shattered, and water surged forth, flooding the dock.
The mermaid writhed, her iridescent tail flicking wildly. Panic rippled through the crowd as people stumbled back, their shock mirrored in wide eyes. She slid free, slipping into the water like a siren escaping her cage.
"What are you waiting for, you idiots?" the captain bellowed, his voice echoing over the chaos. "Catch her!" His precious product, worth a year at Seraphine's Ember Veil, was slipping away. The crew scrambled, driven by greed and fear. The mermaid's value was beyond measure—a fortune in a single creature. And so, they lunged, desperate to reclaim their prize from the sea's embrace.
In that moment, the captain's anger merged with desperation. For he knew that capturing the mermaid meant more than gold—it was a chance to reclaim his wounded pride and boast the wealth that he'd amassed from her. But fate, it seemed, had other plans, and the mermaid's slippery form eluded them, disappearing into the depths. And so, the captain stood on the busy dock, torn between fury and regret, as the waves whispered secrets of lost treasures and forbidden desires. The mermaid was gone, like his chance to reclaim honor and pride.
Datura and Sera, their footsteps etched in the sun-kissed sand, retreated from the chaotic dock where the mermaid had slipped through their fingers. The beach beckoned—a haven of white grains that shimmered like forgotten dreams.
"What are your plans, Datura?" Sera's voice carried a hint of curiosity, her eyes scanning the horizon. The salty breeze tangled her hair, and she squinted against the brilliance of the sun.
Datura's gaze remained fixed on the distant waves. "Eldri," he replied, his tone resolute. "I seek their Knights—the finest warriors, honed in the crucible of battle. Their reputation precedes them—they have the highest winning rate among all kingdoms."
Sera scoffed, her disdain palpable. "Not him," she muttered. "Their King is a tempest of whims and caprice. That man favors no one, he's a petty man I believe" Datura's resolve didn't waver. "He once graced Adri with his presence," he said. "I believe I can sway him."
Sera wrinkled her nose. "He likes to play," she warned. "Tread carefully, my King. Eldri's ruler is a puzzle—one whose pieces shift with every tide."
"King of Adri, I must tell you something later." The echo of Ydric's voice reverberated within Datura's mind, a sudden intrusion after hours of silence. He halted mid-step, puzzled by the unexpected communication. Why now?
Sera, ever observant, pointed toward the distant shore. "I see something," she said, her eyes sharp as a hawk's. Datura followed her gaze, squinting against the sun's glare. There, a glistening figure lay half-submerged in the shallows."It's a dying mermaid," Datura whispered, his shock mirrored in Sera's expression. For all his uniqueness—a man who conversed with spirits and glimpsed hidden truths—he hadn't anticipated her keen perception.
They reached the wounded creature, her upper tail marred by jagged wounds. Glass shards, remnants of her escape, had punctured her delicate skin. Yet she clung to life, her breathing labored, blood seeping into the water. Datura hesitated. Mermaids were not his concern; he had weightier matters to attend to. But tales whispered of their magic—the fortunes they could bestow. And so, he weighed the scales of greed against compassion.
"I think I've found my gold maker," Datura grinned, his eyes fixed on the mermaid. Her value transcended mere currency; she held the promise of destiny rewritten, of secrets whispered by the tides.