After countless rounds of unrestrained, primal passion, we eventually found our way to the washroom, our bodies flushed and glistening with sweat. The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of our union, a heady mix of musk and satisfaction that lingered like a ghost of desire. The grand white bathtub stood waiting, its pristine porcelain gleaming under the dim, golden light of the sconces and chandelier. I watched as mother bent down her soft supple and marred body on full display as my cum leaked from both her holes as she turned the ornate brass faucet, and water cascaded forth in a crystalline stream, its rush a symphony that echoed against the polished tiles.
I stepped into the bath, the warmth of the water licking at my skin as it rose. The sensation was like a lover's embrace, soft and enveloping, washing away the remnants of exertion. I leaned back, sinking into the welcoming depths, exhaling a breath laden with contentment. Moments later, she followed. Mother—elegant, untamed, and undeniably radiant—lowered herself into the water, her body a vision of supple curves and pale, flushed and scarred skin. She slid onto my lap, her form fitting against mine as though sculpted for it. Her long white damp hair spilled over her shoulders, teasing my chest as she settled.
The water rippled softly around us, the silence between us companionable, broken only by the occasional plink of a droplet falling into the bath. For a while, we simply existed in this cocoon of warmth and intimacy, our breaths mingling, our bodies pressed close as if the universe beyond the washroom had ceased to exist.
Finally, I spoke, my voice calm and deliberate, slicing through the tranquil haze. "Tell Rowena to prepare a sewing room beside Lucian's quarters."
"For that girl?" she asked, her soft tone laced with curiosity and a hint of playfulness. After a pause, she added, "Elina Starwood."
"Hmmm," I murmured in assent, my fingers tracing idle patterns along her damp skin beneath the water.
"Are you interested in her?" she asked, tilting her head to study my expression, her eyes gleaming with mischief and a touch of something deeper.
"Not particularly," I replied truthfully. My lips curved slightly as I added, "She just seems... interesting."
"The Starwoods were known for their enchanting powers," Mother mused, her voice taking on a contemplative lilt, like the beginning of a story long forgotten. "They could sew garments imbued with supernatural abilities." She glanced at me, her eyes sharp and watchful, as if gauging my reaction.
"So, that explains her fascination with sewing," I murmured, the threads of her revelation weaving neatly into my thoughts.
"Perhaps. Clothes crafted by a Starwood were once coveted as treasures, the pride of any who could afford them," she continued, her tone tinged with a wistful reminiscence. "Their potency, of course, depended on the skill—and the power—of the one who made them."
"Interesting," I said, the word thoughtful, deliberate. "There's more to her than meets the eye. This sewing ability could prove... useful."
Mother shifted then, rising slightly, water cascading from her skin in shimmering rivulets. She knelt beside me, her movements slow and deliberate, her gaze unwavering as she reached for a cloth. With a tenderness that felt almost reverent, she began to wash me, her hands moving with languid precision over my chest and shoulders.
"Yes," she said softly, her voice barely above a sensual whisper, "but Lucian seems quite taken with her. He could complicate things."
"That's precisely why I've decided to leave her be—for now," I replied, my voice measured. My thoughts lingered briefly on Lucian, his recent behavior hinting at secrets yet untold. "But I've noticed something peculiar. Lucian acts as though he has something to say but keeps holding back."
"Oh?" she asked, her brow arching in curiosity. "Do you think there's something hidden in their relationship?"
"Possibly," I said, turning the notion over in my mind. "Time will reveal it. It's not as though I'm desperate to get my hands on her." My hand slid up her body, cupping her full breast with playful familiarity as I pinched the soft skin. She laughed softly, a sound as intoxicating as the lingering scent of our earlier passion. "Especially when I have you," I added, my voice low and teasing.
We lingered a while longer, washing one another with a languid intimacy that neither rushed nor faltered, before stepping out of the bath and drying ourselves.
I dressed in silver trousers and a simple robe, the fabric whispering against my skin as I moved. Mother chose a white robe from the wardrobe, the silken material clinging to her form with a modesty that only accentuated her allure. Her earlier attire lay discarded, a testament to our shared indulgence, tattered and stained in ways no servant would mistake.
"I should talk with father about Gunnar" I said turning to her.
""I'll tell Rowena to clean the room," she said, casting a glance back at the bedchamber. The air was still thick with the scent of our fervour, the sheets painted in vivid testament to our indulgence.
"Hmmm," I hummed in reply, pulling her into a deep kiss that lingered for a moment before I turned and strode out.
The white hallway stretched before me, its polished marble floors reflecting the muted glow of the sconces. My steps were measured, deliberate, as I made my way to the living room. There, Father sat on the central sofa, his massive, muscular frame commanding the room with an effortless presence. Eldon stood beside him, deep in discussion.
I approached, lowering myself onto the sofa beside them. "Greetings, Father," I said as I settled into the plush cushions.
"Greetings, my son. How has your day been?" he replied, his sharp gaze lifting to meet mine.
"Well, And yours?" I asked in return.
"Busy, as always. More work than usual," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his responsibilities. After a brief exchange with Eldon, he dismissed the man, leaning back into the sofa with a sigh, his broad form easing into the plush cushions.
"I wanted to talk about Gunnar," I said, my tone even but laced with intention. Without hesitation, I began outlining what I had decided.
Father listened intently, his expression calm but his eyes calculating. "He is getting greedy and defiant," he replied finally, his deep voice carrying the gravitas of his station. "But he remains an important part of the circle," he added, his words tempered with caution.
"If we're to remove him, we'll need a replacement ready," he continued, his sharp gaze narrowing as he studied me, probing for my intentions.
"After he's dealt with, Lucian will take his place as head of House Blackwood," I said firmly, the decision already a foregone conclusion in my mind.
"For that, a vote in the council will be required," Father said, his tone pragmatic.
I nodded, but he continued, "The elders are mostly in your favor. With Kai and Finnian publicly showing their support, Gunnar's allies will have no choice but to reconsider once they see what becomes of him." He leaned back slightly, the faintest flicker of approval in his eyes. "So it isn't impossible to make this work," he concluded.
"Gunnar is expected at the next council meeting," he said thoughtfully. "He'll come to request budget approval for new armor production. That might be the opportunity you need."
"I've already reviewed the report," I interjected. "There are three hundred thousand Bastion knights. Production of a single suit of armor costs five Crescent coins, but instead of creating new ones, the existing armor can simply be recalled and modified. Once passed to House Llewellyn for enchantment, the modifications would cost only two Crescent coins each. So the budget required would fall somewhere between six hundred and fifty to seven hundred thousand Crescent coins."
Father nodded approvingly. "We'll need to see how much he asks for. Anything beyond that would raise suspicion."
"Exactly," I said, already mentally preparing for the meeting to come.
There was a brief pause before he shifted topics. "How is your training progressing?" Father asked, his voice lighter now, though still tinged with paternal expectation.
"Good," I replied. "I've been training with Lucian."
He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You should visit the Inner Sanctum when time allows. Train with the Astral Knights—they are the most elite of our forces. It will do you good to learn from them."
I inclined my head slightly. "I will," I said.
"Lucian himself has ties to them," he added, his tone amused. "In a way, you're already learning their methods through him."
I allowed a faint smile to touch my lips. "I'll make it a priority," I said, my voice steady.
I regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then asked, "You seem energised, Father. Did something good happen recently?"
There was a flicker of hesitation—a pause so brief it might have been imagined. Then he regained his composure, leaning forward to pick up his tea. "Nothing of note," he said dismissively. "Just a bit of training."
I arched a brow but chose not to press further. "Of course," I said, inclining my head.
The conversation drifted to other, less pressing matters as the minutes slipped by. Eventually, Eldon appeared at the doorway, bowing slightly as he informed Father that the council meeting was about to commence.
With a nod, Father excused himself, his imposing figure disappearing through the arched doorway. I remained seated, my thoughts swirling in the quiet aftermath.
As I mulled over my thoughts, I felt a pair of soft hands slide over my eyes from behind. I didn't startle, having already sensed the presence lingering in the room. Instead, I remained seated, a faint smile curving my lips as I played along.
"Guess who it is?" came a sweet, teasing voice by my ear. The tone was hushed, as though attempting to sound dangerous, though it was anything but the effort only deepened my amusement. My hands rose to meet hers over my eyes, gently cupping them.