“…But fret not…our business relationship has barely begun,” Asher said as the corners of his lips curved to form an unsettling smile.

Upon hearing his words, Esther’s emotions were a whirlwind, a maelstorm of anxiety, determination, and an unbidden flush of embarrassment that painted her cheeks a rosy hue, “I…I want to renegotiate the terms and make a new contract with more favors from my House towards you. But I want to destroy the present one,” she declared, her voice a mix of defiance and desperation, a gambit laid bare in the hopes of regaining some semblance of control.

Asher’s laughter, rich and unfettered, filled the space between them, a sound that made Esther’s resolve waver and her brows knit together in cold frustration. His gaze, alight with amusement, bore into her, “You signed the contract, lady. Nobody forced you. And now…you will never be able to escape me,” His words were a gilded cage, a declaration of power and possession that sent a shiver of dread down Esther’s spine. She realized then, with a sinking heart, that she had ensnared herself in a web from which there was no escape. She was afraid of what might happen to her mind and body if he continued with whatever he had done to her before.

Her entire House could be in danger if she gets compromised.

She could only blame her confidence in believing that nobody could make her feel anything. If only she knew…the last thing she would do was agree to those rules.

But she clenched her fists, determined to find a way to make him lose, for the last thing she could do now was to give up.

Asher smiled upon seeing despair and vain hope clouding her face, for he knew that she would have to let him warm her cold body whenever he wanted until she could actually make him lose 2 more times…which she never can.

—

Later, within the cold walls of the Dreadthorne Castle, Esther found herself seated in one of the cold, soft seats of the meeting hall. Her eyes, once icy and detached, now held a glazed look, a window to the turmoil that raged silently within. Even now, she was struggling to calm down her emotions, unable to focus, especially when thinking of the contract and the heat that raged within her. She didn’t even realize she was unconsciously rubbing together her thighs as if to get rid of a certain throbbing sensation.

Her hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically, feeling her inner struggle and the acute sense of failure that gnawed at her.

Suddenly, the heavy doors to the hall creaked open, heralding the entrance of Thorin, his presence as cold and stoic as ever. His features were schooled into an expression of impassive scrutiny as he regarded Esther, “I wasn’t expecting you to take this long to succeed. Nevertheless, we don’t have to worry about it anymore,” he stated.

The weight of Thorin’s words pressed down on Esther like a physical force, each syllable a stone added to the burden she already bore. Her heart, heavy with the gravity of her actions, beat a tumultuous rhythm against her chest, a drum of war against the silence of the hall. The truth of what transpired loomed over her, a specter too daunting to face. How could she reveal the depths of her failure, the peril she had woven around their House with threads of desperation and misjudgment? No, the full extent of the contract must remain her cross to bear. To disclose it could unleash consequences far beyond her ability to contain, especially with Thorin, whose reactions were as unpredictable as the storms that raged above their ancestral lands.

He wouldn’t hesitate to take extreme measures if he felt the House was in danger.

The very notion of sharing one of their most guarded secrets with Asher was anathema to everything their House stood for.

Their lineage was a fortress of silence, each secret a stone in its impenetrable walls, passed down through generations with a solemn vow: no secret shall ever leave this House. The ancestors had decreed it, their words echoing through the ages, and the penalty for transgression was as absolute as it was final: death…in the worst possible way.

Should she just reveal everything that happened, accept her punishment for her failure, and end this before it gets worse for her House?

Yet, facing the prospect of her own mortality, Esther found herself entangled in a well of emotions previously foreign to her. Where once the thought of death left her unmoved, a strategic calculation in the great game of power, now it stirred within her a tumult of sentiment.

She was not ready to depart this realm, not before ensuring the future of their House with a successor strong enough to wield its legacy.

She had lots of things still left to teach Sabina…things Thorin might not be able to impart to her, nor would he have the time. Even if Edmund was a lost cause, there was still Jarius, who had potential but was too lazy to use it. She can still course correct him and prevent him from becoming like his elder brother.

Sabina will then have somebody to support her from within the House.

Thorin’s gaze upon her was a cold, sharpened blade, cutting through the silence with its intensity upon seeing her not responding to his words and instead sitting with her head lowered.

His brows drew together, the lines of his face etched with concern and the dawning realization of something amiss, “You…failed. Did you?” His voice, a low rumble, broke the silence, carrying with it the weight of expectation and the shadow of disappointment.

Esther rose, her movements a study in grace under pressure, her posture regal despite the turmoil that churned within. Meeting Thorin’s gaze, she found herself at a crossroads of truth and necessity. To confess her failure openly and reveal the price they would have to pay would be the worst outcome for her. But if she doesn’t…how long can she keep it hidden? How long would she have to keep meeting him and experience all those things again?

Her mind wasn’t used to such chaotic thoughts, causing a storm within her.

But she then briefly closed her eyes and held her breath as her thoughts suddenly settled down and she knew what to do after weighing the cost of both decisions.

“Yes…” Esther began calmly and added, “I underestimated him. At least in the foreseeable future, I can’t think of a way to make him kneel before us. It has only become harder now that he is stronger and too cunning for someone of his age.”

Thorin’s face darkened while the atmosphere in the hall suddenly grew colder, making Esther hold her breath.

“How…How did you become so incapable? This has never happened before. That alien has barely a tenth of your age and experience. And you still failed despite what is at stake here?” Thorin asked, his low voice rumbling in the hall though his eyes were as calm as a pool.

But he then added as his eyes shone with a dangerous light, “I would have intervened if not for our kingdom’s precarious situation. But now…I can’t see any other choice but to do whatever is necessary to protect our House’s future.”

Esther’s brows furrowed as she immediately shook her head, “Don’t. Just give me some more time. It’s not too late. I can still turn this around. All I have to do is find his weakness, and I will find it. We still have time. By that time, we might find a better opportunity as well. Any alternative only puts our House at more risk than ever.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes, remaining silent for a couple moments before he finally spoke, “Hmm…Then so be it. We shall wait, but not for long.”

Esther felt her heart lighten but at the same time her eyes became icier with determination, wanting to bring down Asher at any costs. If she doesn’t, she won’t be the only one who would lose everything.

But for now, she had to figure out how to go behind Thorin’s back and deliver the secret arts Asher wanted. She couldn’t believe she was going against her House in by planning this.

—

Under a sky cloaked in darkness, the Bloodwing Mansion stood, its foreboding silhouette bathed in the eerie glow of the blood moon. Inside, the chamber of the Princess Consort was a stark contrast to the mansion’s grandeur, a sanctuary marred by the turmoil of its occupant’s heart. She lay upon her bed, a figure of distress, her gaze fixed on the ceiling above, lost in a tumult of worry and fury. Empty bottles of blood were littered around and on her bed.

Thoughts of Oberon, her son, trapped in a living hell, twisted her heart, while the memory of Asher’s demands ignited a fire of anger within her whenever she remembered it.

How dare that vile brat blackmail her into becoming his slave?! If only she could choke the life out of him with her own hands. The most update n0vels are published on ovl(F)re.et

Never in her life had she been looked down upon by anyone, let alone a junior.

Suddenly, the stillness of the night was broken by a soft glow emanating from the table beside her. The Sightstone Sphere, a conduit for storing and projecting messages across distances untold, began to illuminate the dim room with its arcane light.

With a frown etching her features, Rebecca reached for the sphere, her heart pounding in anticipation and dread. As she made contact, the sphere pulsed, revealing a message from a secret channel that made her blood run cold. Lysandra’s words, cruel and taunting, danced before her eyes, a spectral display of malice, “I told you I would make your son suffer for getting in my way. He kept calling out your name like a pathetic boy whose mother abandoned him…even after everything we did to him.”

Anger and agony intertwined within Rebecca’s heart, a venomous mix that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

With a desperate swipe, she commanded the sphere to reveal more, and it obeyed, unfurling images into the air that materialized with devastating clarity.

The images that appeared were a nightmare given form, showcasing Oberon in torment, his plight rendered in heart-wrenching detail, “Uhhnn…No…my Oberon….NO!!!!” Rebecca’s cry was a lance of pain, shattering the oppressive silence of the night. The intensity of her emotions unleashed a surge of power, the air within the room plummeting in temperature.

Doors and windows frosted over, the chill so profound that ice crystallized upon surfaces, encapsulating the room in a tomb of frost while her cry continued to echo throughout the room.