The gentle orange rays of the sun poured into the room, illuminating the simple yet refined space, where high-quality furniture and exquisite objects seemed to whisper tales of elegance.
Outside, the chirping of birds filled the air, a symphony of melodic trills and cheerful tweets that harmonized with the soft rustling of leaves in the morning breeze.
A man stood before the bed, his snow-white hair still damp from a recent bath, with droplets of water trickling down onto his rugged, battle-hardened physique.
The muscles, honed from countless battles, rippled beneath his skin as he moved. His gaze, however, remained fixed on the neatly folded clothes laid out on the broad mattress, his attention drawn to the crisp white shirt that awaited him.
The scent of green tea wafted in from beyond his door, its subtle bitterness a familiar comfort that seemed to seep into the room.
He picked up the crisp white shirt and began to put it on, the soft fabric a subtle compliment to his finely tailored black breeches.
His knee-high black boots complemented his attire, the polished leather gleaming in the morning light.
As he strapped his sword to his waist, a knock echoed in the room, forcing him to shoot a sidelong glance at the door.
“Come in.” Almost immediately, the door opened, allowing a beautiful blonde woman, Cynthia, to walk into the room, her slender fingers grasping a delicate tray that held a single cup.
“My lord…” She dropped the tray onto a table placed beside the wall, her head still lowered in a bow, her golden locks cascading down her back like a river of sunset hues.
As Asher walked over and took a sip of the tea, her pupils shook with great intensity as she awaited his judgment, her eyes fixed on the floor.
It was a well-known fact that Asher barely finished any green tea not prepared by his wife, the grand priestess, whose culinary skills were as renowned as her mystical abilities.
The sound of him gulping thundered in her ears, and in the next moment, it was the sound of the cup lightly hitting the saucer. “Hmm…Almost tastes like hers.” Asher’s eyes softened, his gaze drifting into the past as nostalgia washed over him.
His thoughts wandered back to the days spent with his wife, the memories of their time together now a distant recollection.
He had taken two weeks to prepare for the battle against the orc horde, then one month and two weeks to journey to Clan El, where he stayed for a week before traveling to Nineveh in two weeks.
Now, a month had passed since his arrival, and the ache of separation had grown.
For almost four months, he hadn’t set his eyes on her enchanting face, but this tea was so perfect that it seemed she was the one who made it.
The empty cup reflected in his golden eyes, its delicate porcelain a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and love.
“I am pleased. I shall reward you with 5,000 gold coins.” The words hung in the air, a promise of gratitude and appreciation for the small yet significant gesture that had bridged the distance between him and his beloved wife, if only for a fleeting moment.
“Thank you for this honour, My Lord!”
Asher walked out of the room, his lips drawn into a soft smile as the warmth of the moment lingered.
Mary was supposed to return from the academy’s site today, and they had booked a meeting at the castle’s parlour. Though it was early, he would go sit and wait for her, his anticipation building with each step.
For some reason, Sapphira’s face was glued to his mind, forcing his train of thoughts down a line he had never focused on before.
His dream about her child delivery lingered, the possibilities swirling in his mind like a vortex. Would they truly have a child? Would he be of Ashbourne blood or fairy blood?
Both of them had strong bloodlines, but his had become stronger due to Kryos’ intervention; however, the chances that the child would be like an Ashbourne or like her hung in the balance.
He traversed the castle’s hallway, the soft rustle of his boots on the stone floor echoing through the corridor.
The moment he stepped into the parlour, his pupils trembled at the back view of a gray-haired beauty looking out the window, her slender figure silhouetted against the morning light.
The sound of his entrance spun her toward him, their eyes meeting in a flash of recognition. Their faces reflected in their bright golden eyes, a mirror image of warmth and affection.
Mary devoured the distance between them in a split second, wrapping her hands around him like a koala, her grip tight with a mix of excitement and longing.
“It’s almost been eight months since I’ve seen your face. I heard from Sapphira that you were in a coma for three months.” Her eyes moistened, the unshed tears glistening like dew on her lashes.
“I’m fine.” He caressed her back for a while, his gentle touch a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves, before they took their seats. Asher leaned back, exhaling heavily, his eyes narrowing slightly as he gathered his thoughts. “Mary, I have—!”
“You want to discuss His Highness’ proposal?” She said suddenly, her tone unwavering, not in the slightest, her voice a calm counterpoint to the turmoil that seemed to simmer beneath the surface. “Don’t you?”
Asher examined her closely, his gaze piercing as he searched for any hint of hesitation or doubt. “I do. What do you have to say about it?”
“I’ll do it.”
His eyes widened at that utterance, his voice growing cold, the temperature in the room seeming to drop a notch. “Why?”
“Because that’s best for the Dukedom. A woman like me without power has no say in matters like this. I understand my place and I would not want you to be in a disadvantageous position.”
Asher looked into her firm eyes and smiled softly, his expression a mask of calm consideration. “Good.”
Mary smiled back, but her hands, hidden beneath the table, clenched tight until her knuckles gained a different shade, the only outward sign of the turmoil that churned within her.
“You don’t have to force yourself into what you don’t want to do,” Asher’s voice was gentle. “Today’s discussion isn’t truly about what His Highness did but your desire? You’re close to 30, don’t you have plans for marriage?”
His warm smile broke Mary’s defences, causing tears to spill from her eyes like a waterfall, the dam finally breaking as the weight of her emotions came crashing down.
She had thought this was the end, that her fate had been sealed.
She had prepped herself, staring into the mirror and telling herself it was for the good of the Dukedom, but that was like stabbing her chest and ignoring the pain, the ache of sacrifice and duty.
“There are lots of options. Who have you taken a liking to—?!”
“Lucas!” Mary’s abrupt reply made Asher’s eyes widen, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
He recalled the flaming man in the night, the image of Lucas Adamos’ passionate demeanor flashing in his mind.
“The son of Count Adamos? He is currently the viscount of an estate in the county with no great records to his name.” Asher’s eyes were clearing, asking if she was certain, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. It wasn’t that he looked down on Lucas, but Asher doubted he had the strong mental fortitude to be engaged to the woman the prince had claimed to the entire world should belong to him.
“I want him. I believe he will turn out to be a great ally to you.” Mary’s confidence made Asher shrug, his shoulders barely moving.
“I will write a letter to Count Adamos then. But their reply might not be positive.” Mary’s lips curled upward, a sly smile spreading across her face as she brought out a letter from her bosom.
“Oh? It already is.” By the time Asher saw the handwritten letter of Lucas Adamos, shock found itself etched on his face, his eyes scanning the page with a mix of astonishment and introspection.
If Lucas could write so well to a woman he hadn’t married, what about him, who had given Sapphira a ring?
He had literally given the most beautiful woman known to man a ring and not once during his conquests wrote a letter to her.
A pang struck his heart, a dull ache that seemed to spread through his chest.
Even when she was traumatized after a near-death experience, and was holed up in her temple, he still didn’t write a thing!
His face fell, his eyes dropping to the floor as a wave of regret washed over him.
Picking himself together, he placed his hand over his mouth and cleared his throat, the sound a gentle rumble that broke the silence.
“I shall send a reply then.” He lifted his gaze, his eyes locking onto Mary’s, the connection a spark that ignited a sense of normalcy in the conversation. “How is your project?”
“We’ll soon be done with the construction. But I haven’t figured out a name for it yet.” Mary pouted, her lips curling downward in a charming display of frustration.
Asher gazed at her bright face for a while, his eyes drinking in the sight of her animated features.
Then, in a moment that seemed to suspend time, he uttered words that made her blink in surprise.
“The name should be Mary’s Academy. That way it would forever be in remembrance of you.”
The suggestion hung in the air, a gentle breeze that carried the weight of sentiment and meaning. Mary’s eyes widened.