The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 250

Chapter 250: Tranquill life at the barony
“That seems true. But Raayani of all people – you have to be careful with her. She isn’t a simple woman.” She wasn’t showing any jealousy that Jolthar had got the attention of Raayani.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Your turn,” Jolthar said, setting down his cup.

“What transpired in the capital?”

Cleora leaned back, a satisfied smile playing across her lips. “I secured everything we need. The forge has imperial sanction now—and more importantly, my father’s protection.”

“Your father supported our venture?”

“Enthusiastically,” she confirmed. “After I explained that it was what Nora wanted and she was working hard for it. You know my father loves Nora too much, and he wouldn’t let it end by some petty nobles.”

“And the imperial court?”

“Believes we’re simply establishing a superior weapons manufactory for the border defences.” Cleora refilled their cups. “While I was in the capital, I attended a few functions, and there was a rumour of a boy who left the Kaezhlar.”

Jolthar’s fingers tightened around his cup. “And?”

“They say that he had been kicked out by the clan, and a few rumours in the shadows are that he left the clan of his own accord because he wasn’t their blood.”

Jolthar remained silent, just calmly sipping his tea, as though he wasn’t the boy of those rumours.

Though she knew it was him.

Cleora stared at him, her gaze unwavering, filled with something deeper than mere affection. With deliberate grace, she set her cup down and stepped toward Jolthar.

Without hesitation, she took the cup from his hands and placed it on the table beside hers.

Then, with a slow, fluid motion, she lowered herself onto his thighs, her body pressing against his chest, her warmth seeping into him. Her arms wound around his neck, fingers tracing gently against his skin. The scent of her lingered between them, something sweet, familiar, and intoxicating.

Her voice, now husky, almost a whisper against his ear, carried a weight that he could not ignore.

“Jolthar, let me say this to you now, and remember this, because I do not wish to say it again.

This is your home.

I am your home.

Wherever you go, no matter how far, I will always wait for you.”

The words hung in the air between them, unshaken by time, distance, or fate.

Jolthar froze for a moment, her body so close to him; her smell filled his nostrils, and her bosom pressed against his chest, a soft sensation which was starting to have an effect on him, and the words, they struck him.

Before Jolthar could answer, footsteps approached from the hallway.

Nora burst onto the balcony, words already spilling from her lips before she registered the scene before her.

“Jolthar! You’re finally—” She halted, her indignation rising at the sight of him.

“What the hell are you doing, Mother!!??” she shouted at the two of them who were lost in their own world.

Cleora, still sitting on his thighs, said, “Don’t be so prude, darling.”

“Mother!!!”

Roblan entered then and saw them; he was startled to see their mother sitting on Jolthar, but he shook his head.

Cleora kissed Jolthar’s cheek and got up. “All right, all right. Stop shouting; you will make me go deaf soon enough.”

Nora turned to Jolthar and yelled at him, “For the love of all gods, put on some clothes! We have a house full of servants!”

The tension of the previous moment shattered.

Cleora chuckled softly while Jolthar remained seated, one eyebrow raised at the interruption.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Cleora said, and she gracefully left the balcony.

“Perhaps with more appropriate attire.” Her hand trailed across his shoulder as she passed, a deliberate touch that didn’t escape Nora’s notice.

“Mother!” Nora protested, her cheeks flushing.

Cleora merely offered her daughter an enigmatic smile before departing, leaving Jolthar alone with the fuming teenager and her son.

“You could at least pretend to be embarrassed,” Nora muttered, crossing her arms.

Jolthar’s response was a slight shrug.

The evening light spilled across the mansion’s great room, casting long shadows where Jolthar sat with Roblan and Nora. His presence was different now—no longer a stranger, but something more deeply integrated into the fabric of the barony’s life.

“When did you come?” Nora asked, her young face bright with curiosity.

“Today, a while ago,” Jolthar responded, his voice carrying the weight of recent battles.

Roblan leaned forward, his eyes searching Jolthar’s face. “So, how was it, the war? Did we win?”

“Yeah, we did,” Jolthar answered, a hint of something darker lurking beneath the simple words.

Nora’s sharp gaze didn’t miss a beat. “They didn’t say anything about you coming alone?”

A slight smile touched Jolthar’s lips—more a dangerous curve than true humour. “What could they say? I made up for the 300 men they asked.”

“Show-off,” Nora muttered, but there was admiration in her tone.

Roblan nodded, understanding passing between them. They both knew Jolthar was more than a mere warrior. The blue aura of his swordsmanship legacy, the silver tendrils of voidwrath, and the green pulse of the beast king’s power—these were not just skills but fundamental parts of who he was.

Roblan, still worried about the empire’s men, asked, “Still, is everything okay? Will they come for disobeying the imperial law?’

“No, they won’t.”

“Let’s say a lot of things happened,” Jolthar said carefully, “and they won’t be pressing us further.”

Roblan’s nod was immediate. He trusted Jolthar—trusted him to protect the barony and to navigate the complex political waters that threatened their small domain.

Nora felt the same.

To them, Jolthar was no longer an outsider but something closer to family.

“So how are things coming up here?” Jolthar asked.

“You seem busy, Nora.”

The girl’s enthusiasm erupted like a sudden flame. “Yes, I have. While you were away, I started on the tavern; we will have lodging and dining too.”

She began describing the tavern’s construction with remarkable detail—her hands moving, her voice rising and falling with excitement. Recipes she’d developed, plans she’d conceived, and the intricate details of a project that was becoming her passion.

Roblan and Jolthar watched her, their expressions a mixture of amusement and pride.

***

Meanwhile, far from this warm scene, Johamma travelled in a covered carriage, her journey taking her toward the barony.

The older woman was on a path unknown to her son, driven by a purpose that burned within her heart. The landscape rolled past—forests giving way to open plains, mountains distant on the horizon.

Her thoughts were her only companions. The Kaezhlar clan’s intricate web of power and secrets travelled with her, invisible but ever-present. She knew Jolthar would not expect her.

She knew the risks of her journey.

But some bonds, once broken, demanded healing—no matter the cost.

***

The next day, in the morning, the sun cast its golden rays upon the vast barony, its warm light seeping through the windows of Jolthar’s chambers.

The gentle chirping of birds outside accompanied the soft rustling of the wind as it stirred the curtains.

Within the quiet room, Jolthar stirred, his body heavy with the remnants of exhaustion. His mind felt sluggish, weighed down by the lingering memories of the battle, the destruction, and the sheer force of the energy he had unleashed.

He stretched his limbs all over the bed, feeling the softness of the mattress beneath his body.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he slept soundly.

He blinked his eyes open, staring at the wooden ceiling above him.

For a brief moment, he remained still, allowing the stillness to wash over him.

Then, the sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention.

A knock followed soon after.

“Come in,” he called, his voice still laced with drowsiness.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Cleora, carrying a tray with a warm, steaming cup of milk.

The scent of honey and spice drifted toward him, comforting and familiar.

Cleora, with her ever-composed demeanour, set the tray down on the bedside table. Her black hair was neatly braided, and she wore a simple yet elegant dress befitting her role in the barony.

“You slept longer than usual,” she remarked, her gaze briefly scanning him.

“How do you feel?”

Jolthar pushed himself up, leaning back against the headboard as he reached for the cup.

“Better than I expected,” he admitted, taking a slow sip. The warmth spread through him, soothing the lingering fatigue.

“I would have joined you, but Nora didn’t let me, and I thought you would need your rest after the hectic days,” Cleora said with a hidden meaning, and it was subtle.

Jolthar’s face turned red, but he just kept on drinking the milk.

She gave him a knowing glance before adding, “So, what are you going to do today?”

“I will go to the forge; I want to see how much the forge has progressed.”

“Don’t stay long; we will have a meal together, just the two of us.”

Jolthar nodded, finishing the last of his milk. He set the cup down and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“I’ll head there now.”

As he dressed, Cleora watched him with the same patient silence she always carried.

Jolthar stopped being shy around her as she was starting to grow on him.