At the doors of Duke Mormont’s inner chambers, two soldiers stood guard, their hands resting lightly on the hilts of their swords. Their bodies remained poised and statuesque, yet their minds wrestled with the tempting sounds that leaked from beyond the heavy wooden doors — giggles, sultry laughter, and the playful rustle of silken sheets.
Neither dared lean closer to eavesdrop; the Duke’s punishments for indiscretion were legendary.
Beyond the ornate doors sprawled a magnificent chamber, awash in the orange glow of countless candles perched on silver-framed candelabra and a grand chandelier suspended from the ceiling like a crown of fire.
The room smelled of scented oils and rich wine, and the heavy air carried the fragrance of violets and burning wax.
Through the sheer, diaphanous curtain draped over the four-poster bed, two figures could be glimpsed, lounging amid tangled sheets.
Duke Ohad reclined on his back, his barrel chest exposed, the dark hairs glistening under candlelight as a woman tenderly combed her fingers through them, a soft smile playing on her lips.
The Duke cradled a silver goblet in one hand, its surface catching the light. As his deep, boisterous laughter ebbed into a chuckle, he raised the cup to his mouth and drained its contents with relish.
Jessica’s eyes gleamed with a hidden spark. With a graceful motion, she took the empty goblet from his hand, sliding from the bed like a serpent. Her purple silk garment flowed about her ankles, trailing across the gleaming white marble floor.
Though her gown was modest in length, it bared her shoulders and upper chest, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of her womanly curves — a sight that made Duke Ohad’s eyes glitter with predatory hunger.
Despite being fifty-nine years of age, Jessica’s body bore not the ravages of time. Her skin remained supple, her cheeks smooth, her figure as youthful as a maiden’s — a feat achieved through Duke Ohad’s lavish devotion to the preservation of his concubines.
The cost to maintain such perfection was staggering — hundreds of thousands of gold coins poured into rare ointments, elixirs, and forbidden treatments — but to Ohad, it was a price gladly paid for the pleasures they granted him.
His gaze remained locked on her as she approached the carved oak table, where two silver jugs rested. Jessica lifted the second jug without hesitation, ignoring the first even though it was still half-full — a detail that should have stirred caution in a keener mind.
But the Duke, intoxicated by wine and lust, noticed nothing.
Jessica filled the goblet with the dark crimson liquid, her movements slow, almost ceremonial. She returned to the bed with a playful smile, pecking Ohad’s lips before placing the refilled cup into his eager hand.
He grunted in satisfaction, and Jessica slid back beside him, the mattress dipping under her weight. Her voice turned teasing, the edges of her words dipped in honey.
“Your Lordship,” she purred, twirling a lock of his coarse chest hair between her fingers, “I recently came across something curious in the library — a fruit, most dangerous, they say. Do you know what happens when a man eats it?”
The Duke raised an amused eyebrow. “Are you speaking of the Crimson-Spotted Grape?” he rumbled.
Jessica tilted her head in feigned innocence. “Oh?”
Ohad laughed, the sound rumbling deep within his chest. “My grandfather used it for executions… until he found it too cruel. The victim…” he paused, clearing his throat with a grimace, “…first begins to cough and— cough!”
The Duke’s body jerked as a harsh cough tore from his throat. He frowned, reaching for the goblet, and took another swig — but the wine burst from his lips in a red spray, splattering across the sheets and Jessica’s gown.
“My Lord?!” Jessica cried, her voice high with alarm.
The Duke convulsed, hacking violently. Blood gushed from his nostrils, from his ears, even from his eyes, staining his pallid skin. Black veins slithered like worms across his neck and face, the color draining from him so rapidly he seemed to wither before her eyes.
“Guards! Help! Help him!” Jessica screamed, clutching his shaking body.
The door slammed open with a deafening crash as the guards stormed in, swords half-drawn — only to freeze in horror at the sight before them.
Their Duke — mighty, proud Ohad — lay sprawled on the bed, lifeless. His mouth hung open in a grotesque gasp, his bulging eyes glassy and protruding, his body marbled with black veins and bathed in his own blood.
He resembled not a man but a corpse already weeks dead.
The goblet lay on the floor, its contents bleeding into the marble.
Jessica sobbed uncontrollably, still shaking the Duke’s corpse as if she could will life back into him. Her gown, now stained with splatters of blood, clung to her trembling frame.
The guards stood paralyzed, the enormity of the scene shackling their limbs.
Word spread like wildfire. Within minutes, the halls were in chaos — servants whispering, soldiers barking orders, maids weeping in corners.
Lady Kira — Duke Ohad’s first concubine — arrived breathless, her daughter Yuna trailing close behind, her face pale and fearful. Kira stopped dead in the doorway, her hands flying to her mouth as she beheld her lord’s ruined body.
Tears brimmed in her eyes, blurring the corpse until it seemed a cruel mirage.
“W-What happened to him?” she whispered hoarsely, turning to Jessica, who remained a crumpled figure clutching the Duke.
Jessica’s head snapped up. Her face, a portrait of grief moments before, twisted into something darker.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, raw and broken.
“Are you not supposed to know?” she hissed, voice cracking. “It was your personal handmaid who prepared the wine tonight!”
The room fell deathly still.
Every gaze, every accusing finger of suspicion, turned upon Kira.
Jessica pointed a shaking hand toward her, her voice rising to a shriek. “Find that cursed maid! Drag her here! She will tell us who dared plot such treachery against her lord!”
Kira’s face drained of all color, her lips parting in shock, as the full weight of suspicion crashed down upon her.