The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm amber glow over the estate's front grounds where Jolthar stood and the maid Ilyra was beside him. They were watching the crowd, excited by the dragon's head.
Then, a faint rustle caught his attention.
Jolthar turned slightly, his gaze narrowing as Elara stepped onto the grounds, her silken gown shimmering with each stride. Beside her was Orimus, his demeanor relaxed yet somehow guarded. Jolthar immediately noted the contrast between them—Elara's confident sway versus Orimus's subtle but perceptible unease.
Elara's sharp eyes flicked toward Jolthar's maid, who was standing nearby, dutifully observing her master. Her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk.
"My, my, Jolthar," Elara said smoothly, her voice carrying the practiced warmth of someone who always had a motive. "I see you've already made an acquisition since your return. A maid, is it?"
