Inside a lavish tent adorned with expensive silks and fine décor, the young master of the Emberhart family lounged in a large, overstuffed chair, his legs casually draped over the armrest.
A smug grin spread across his face as he swirled a goblet of wine in one hand. His laughter rang through the tent, a sound of self-satisfaction as he looked at the soldiers standing before him, fresh from their brutal raid.
"So," he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance, "how many women did you gather for me today?"
One of the soldiers stepped forward, his armor smeared with dirt and blood, his face grim but eager to please. "Quite a lot, young master," he replied, his tone respectful yet full of pride for the day's work.
The young master's eyes gleamed with delight, his grin widening as he leaned forward slightly in his chair. "Good. Very good."
