Chapter 73: Going Over To Edgar’s Wives

The journey back to the Steele Mansion was uneventful, the carriage rolling smoothly over the cobblestone paths that wound through the lush countryside. Alaric sat beside his mother, Lyra, their shoulders occasionally brushing as the carriage swayed gently. The air was filled with the faint scent of Lyra’s perfume, a mix of lavender and rose that was both comforting and intoxicating.

As they approached the grand entrance of the Steele Mansion, the carriage came to a halt. The door swung open, revealing Kara, Alaric’s personal maid, standing at the entrance. Her dark hair was neatly pulled back into a bun, and her maid outfit hugged her curves in all the right places. She curtsied gracefully as Lyra and Alaric stepped out of the carriage.

“Welcome back, Master Alaric, Lady Lyra,” Kara said, her voice soft and melodic.

Lyra nodded acknowledgment, her eyes scanning the entrance of the mansion. “Thank you, Kara. It’s good to be home.”

Alaric looked at Kara, his expression serious. “Kara, I have a task for you. The prisoner, Yvonne, is to be kept in the deepest part of our prison under strict vigilance. Make sure she suffers. Understood?”

Kara nodded, her eyes gleaming with understanding. “Yes, Master Alaric. I’ll see to it immediately.”

As Kara led Yvonne away, Alaric and Lyra made their way into the mansion. The grand foyer was bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, the marble floors polished to a mirror shine. Servants bustled about, their faces a mix of relief and excitement at the return of their master and mistress.

Meanwhile, back at House Galanis, the aftermath of the battle was being dealt with swiftly and efficiently. Asmund, the teacher from the Lionheart Martial Institute who had supported Eskil, was not spared. His body, cut into small pieces, was packed into a wooden crate and sent back to the academy. The message was clear: cross the Steele Family or House Galanis, and face the consequences.

The other students who had accompanied Eskil were kept in the dungeons of House Galanis, their fates hanging in the balance. Cassandra, the matriarch of House Galanis, oversaw their imprisonment with a stern and unyielding gaze. She knew the value of these captives, both as bargaining chips and as a warning to others.

News of the events at House Galanis spread like wildfire throughout the Eloriath Kingdom. The once-revered Lionheart Martial Institute became the butt of jokes and ridicule. Their star martial disciple, Eskil, had been decisively defeated by Alaric Steele, a mage with prodigious talent. To free Eskil, the institute had to part with a staggering sum of one million gold coins. And as if that wasn’t humiliation enough, one of their teachers, Asmund, had been killed, his body returned to the institute in pieces.

The other disciples who had accompanied Eskil were held captive, their release contingent on an equally exorbitant ransom. The message was clear: House Galanis and House Steele would not be trifled with. Anyone who dared to cross them would face swift and merciless retribution.

Despite the humiliation, the Lionheart Martial Institute did not dare to file a single complaint. They knew that if the matter was investigated, they would be found in the wrong. Their actions had been reckless and ill-advised, driven by pride and a desire for revenge that had ultimately backfired spectacularly.

In the grand dining hall of the Steele Mansion, Lyra and Alaric sat at the head of the table, surrounded by the opulence of their estate. The table was laden with an array of exquisite dishes, the aroma of roasted meats and sweet pastries filling the air. Lyra sipped her wine, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she looked at her son.

“You’ve handled this situation with remarkable poise, Alaric,” she said, her voice filled with pride. “The Lionheart Martial Institute will think twice before crossing us again.”

Alaric smiled, his eyes reflecting the candlelight. “It was a necessary lesson, Mother. They needed to understand the consequences of their actions.”

Lyra nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Indeed. And what of Yvonne? What plans do you have for her?”

Alaric’s smile faded, replaced by a look of cold determination. “She will suffer for her actions. But for now, let her rot in the prison. She needs to understand the depth of her mistake.”

As they continued their meal, the conversation turned to lighter topics, the tension of the past few days gradually easing.

After getting some rest, Alaric rode through the quiet streets of the nearby town, his horse’s hooves clattering against the cobblestones.

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows that danced across the pavement. He passed by quaint shops and bustling taverns, the chatter of patrons spilling out into the streets. The scent of roasting meats and fresh bread wafted through the air, mingling with the faint smell of horse and leather.

As he approached the mansion he had provided for Edgar’s four wives, Alaric’s expression darkened. The grand facade of the building loomed before him, its windows glowing with the warm light of lanterns. He dismounted his horse, handing the reins to a stable boy who rushed forward to greet him.

“Take good care of him,” Alaric instructed, his voice firm but kind. The boy nodded eagerly, leading the horse away.

Alaric strode up to the entrance, his boots echoing against the marble steps. The heavy wooden doors swung open, revealing a lavishly decorated foyer. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and the faint echo of feminine laughter. He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the opulence that surrounded him.

He made his way through the grand hallways, his steps purposeful and measured. The sound of his boots against the polished floors echoed through the mansion, a stark contrast to the soft murmurs and giggles that filled the air. As he neared the drawing room, he could hear the distinct voices of the four women—Evanthe, Zoey, Sigrid, and Elin.

Pushing open the door, Alaric stepped into the room. The four women were lounging on plush chaise longues, their laughter dying away as they turned to look at him.

Evanthe sat up straighter, her gaze narrowing as she took in his presence.

Zoey looked up from her embroidery, her hands stilling as she met his gaze.

Sigrid paused mid-conversation, her expression turning wary.

Elin set down her tea cup, her movements graceful despite the sudden tension in the air.

“Alaric,” Evanthe said, her voice cool and composed. “To what do we owe this unexpected visit?”

Alaric’s eyes swept over each of them, his expression unreadable. “I think you know why I’m here,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You sent a letter to Yvonne, urging her to take action against my family. Because of you, my aunt’s house was attacked, and my family was put in danger.”

Zoey’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing her face. “Alaric, we—”

“Save your excuses,” Alaric cut her off, his voice sharp. “I know what you did, and I know why you did it. You wanted revenge for what happened to the Farrow Family. But you underestimated me, and now you’ll pay the price.”

Sigrid’s lips curled into a sneer. “You think you can just walk in here and threaten us? We’re not afraid of you, Alaric.”

Alaric’s smile was cold and calculating. “You should be. Because I’m not here to threaten you. I’m here to make you regret ever crossing me.”

Elin stood up, her movements graceful but tense. “You can’t do this, Alaric. We have rights—”

“Rights?” Alaric laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. “You lost your rights the moment you decided to plot against my family. Now, you’ll face the consequences.”

In a swift and menacing motion, Alaric lunged towards Evanthe, seizing her delicate wrist with an iron grip. She let out a startled yelp, her emerald eyes widening in sheer terror as she was yanked to her feet. With his other hand, he viciously ripped her silken gown, the sound of tearing fabric reverberating in the room. Evanthe fought back, her slender body twisting and writhing as she attempted to free herself from his grasp, her breath coming in short, desperate pants.

“Unhand me, you savage!” she exclaimed, her voice laced with fear and defiance. She tried to claw at his face, her fingers curled into fierce talons, but Alaric was quicker. He grasped her other wrist, forcing both her hands above her head, his grip unyielding.

“You dare to defy me?” he snarled, his eyes burning with a dangerous mix of rage and desire. He pushed her forcefully against the chaise, his body pressing against hers, his hips pinning her in place. His gaze roamed over her curvaceous figure, her ample bosom rising and falling rapidly with each breath. He leaned down, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her shoulder, a primal growl escaping his lips.

Evanthe cried out, her body arching against the pain, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Release me, Alaric! I won’t be your plaything!” she spat, her voice filled with venom. She tried to knee him, her legs flailing, but Alaric’s body was a wall of muscle, unyielding and firm.

He chuckled, a low and menacing sound, as he grasped her breasts, his fingers cruelly pinching her sensitive nipples. “You’ll be whatever I want you to be,” he said, his voice a dark promise. He lowered his head, his mouth capturing one taut peak, his teeth biting down, eliciting a mix of pain and pleasure.

Evanthe gasped, her body betraying her as she arched into his touch, a moan escaping her lips. Alaric’s hands were everywhere, caressing the curve of her waist, the softness of her hips, before delivering stinging slaps to her buttocks, the sound echoing, leaving red handprints. Evanthe’s body trembled, a mixture of pain and arousal coursing through her.

Zoey, witnessing the brutality, attempted to intervene. She launched herself at Alaric, her delicate fists pounding against his back. “Leave her alone, you beast!” she screamed, her voice quivering with terror and anger.

Alaric spun around, his eyes flashing with fury. He grabbed Zoey, his hands tearing at her silken attire, exposing her hourglass figure. Zoey fought with all her might, her nails raking across his chest, leaving angry red welts. Alaric laughed, a harsh and mirthless sound, as he captured her wrists, forcing them behind her back with one hand.

“You’re a wild one,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I like that.” His other hand grasped her chin, forcing her head back, exposing the vulnerable column of her throat. He leaned down, his teeth nipping at her delicate skin, his breath hot and ragged.

Zoey struggled, her body writhing as she tried to escape his grasp. “Let me go, Alaric!” she cried, her voice filled with desperation. She tried to stomp on his foot, but Alaric was quick to anticipate her move. He lifted her off the ground, her legs kicking futilely as he carried her to the nearby table.

He forced her to bend over, his hand pressing into her back, pinning her in place. His other hand explored her curves, his fingers tracing the line of her spine, the curve of her buttocks. He delivered a series of sharp smacks to her backside, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the air, leaving angry red marks.

Zoey cried out, her body arching with each blow, her breath coming in short gasps. Alaric’s hands moved to her breasts, his fingers pinching and twisting her nipples, causing her to cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. “Stop, Alaric, please…” she begged, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes.

Sigrid, witnessing the horror unfolding, tried to attack. She grabbed a nearby vase, smashing it against Alaric’s shoulder. He roared in pain and anger, turning to face her, his eyes blazing with fury. Sigrid stood her ground, her hazel eyes burning with hatred, her body trembling with a mix of fear and rage.

“You’ll pay for that,” Alaric hissed, his voice a dark promise. He lunged at her, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her head back sharply. Sigrid cried out, her hands grasping at his wrists, trying to break his hold. Alaric’s other hand tore at her gown, revealing her voluptuous curves.

“Your actions will have consequences,” he growled, his hand striking her buttocks, the sound reverberating, leaving a painful mark. Sigrid cried out, her body convulsing as she tried to absorb the shock. Alaric’s hand came down again and again, each blow leaving a red handprint, a testament to his relentless cruelty.

Sigrid struggled, her body twisting and turning as she tried to escape his grasp. “Stop it, you monster!” she screamed, her voice hoarse with pain and anger. She tried to bite his hand, her teeth sinking into his flesh, but Alaric seemed not to notice. He forced her to her knees, his hand fisting in her hair, holding her in place as he continued to punish her.

His eyes roamed over her body, his gaze lingering on her heaving breasts. He leaned down, his mouth capturing one taut peak, his teeth biting down, eliciting a cry of pain and pleasure from deep within her. His hands explored her curves, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, leaving bruises in their wake.

“Please, Alaric, stop…” Sigrid begged, her voice barely a whisper, her spirit broken, her resistance shattered. Tears streamed down her face, her body trembling with a mix of fear and pain.

Finally, Alaric’s gaze fell upon Elin, who stood frozen, her eyes reflecting the fear of what was to come. Unlike the others, she did not attempt to fight or resist. Instead, she fell to her knees, her hands clasped in front of her, her amber eyes filled with tears.

“Please, Alaric, have mercy,” she begged, her voice breaking with terror. “I’ll do whatever you ask, just please, don’t hurt me.”

Alaric paused, his eyes lingering on her trembling form. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, the pad of his thumb brushing against her trembling lips. “You’re a smart one, Elin,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “Perhaps you’ll be the example that teaches the others the true cost of defiance.”

He grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His other hand moved to her gown, slowly unlacing the front, exposing her voluptuous form inch by inch. Elin trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her eyes downcast, her cheeks stained with tears.

Alaric’s eyes feasted on her naked body, his gaze lingering on her full breasts, her narrow waist, her generous hips. He grasped her breasts, his fingers pinching and squeezing, causing her to cry out, her body arching involuntarily. The sound of his hand striking her breasts filled the air, leaving marks on her flawless skin.

Elin cried out, her hand flying to her breasts, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Please, Alaric, no more,” she begged, her voice a mere whisper, her body trembling with a mix of fear and arousal.

Alaric’s hands moved lower, caressing her hips and waist, before delivering stinging slaps to her buttocks, the sound reverberating, leaving red handprints. Elin’s body shook, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She tried to twist away, to escape his cruel touch, but Alaric held her firmly, his grip unyielding.

With all four women now subdued and humiliated, Alaric stepped back, his breath ragged, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. His gaze swept over them, lingering on their naked and marked bodies, a testament to his cruelty and their futile resistance.

In the oppressive silence of this chamber, Alaric’s voice resonated like the tolling of a funeral bell, “Now, you shall understand the true meaning of torment.” His eyes, as cold and unyielding as a winter’s frost, swept over the four women, each one trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. The air was thick with anticipation, a palpable sense of dread clinging to the shadows like a shroud.

He approached Evanthe first, her emerald eyes wide with terror and desperation. Her voluptuous body was a landscape of quivering curves, the flickering candlelight casting menacing shadows that danced macabrely across her form. Alaric picked up a nearby candle, the flame casting a devilish glow on his handsome features.

Evanthe, her voice a tremulous whisper, attempted to reason with him, appealing to a humanity she hoped still resided within his stony heart. “Alaric, you don’t have to do this. We can find another way, I swear it.”