CHAPTER 317: CHAPTER 317 WISDOM

Aurora glanced at Edith first before stepping into the room, her maidservant following close behind with a hesitant look.

The chamber was far from dark—lanterns glowed softly in every corner, their warm light flickering across shelves, tables, and the peculiar sight that immediately drew both women’s attention.

"What is this?" Aurora whispered, almost to herself, as her gaze swept across the walls.

Every inch was plastered with sheets of paper, layered one over the other in a haphazard yet deliberate manner.

Some were covered in flowing script, others marked with strange diagrams that looked almost like constellations, while a few had nothing but bold strokes that seemed chaotic at first glance.

Aurora leaned closer, her delicate fingers brushing the edge of one page as her brows furrowed.

The symbols were beautiful but foreign, a language she could not recognize.

They seemed to whisper secrets just beyond her grasp, and she felt a faint shiver run down her spine.

"It’s nothing, Aurora," Riley said, his voice breaking the silence.

He had been sitting at a desk tucked into the corner, half-hidden behind piles of parchment.

Rising slowly, he brushed the dust from his robe and offered her a reassuring smile.

"Just the gibberish of an over-creative mind."

Edith exchanged a quick glance with her mistress.

She looked as though she wanted to speak, but Aurora lifted her chin slightly, keeping her focus on Riley.

"You were looking for me," Riley said, walking toward them.

His smile widened, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"What time is it already?"

"It’s noon, Riley," Aurora replied softly, though her eyes lingered on the strange writings. "I came to have lunch with you."

"Ah, noon already?" Riley chuckled, stretching his arms as though waking from a pleasant dream. "How quickly time slips away when one is enjoying his work."

He took Aurora’s hand gently in his own.

The warmth of his touch pulled her attention away from the mysterious walls, though not completely.

"Come, wife," he said with an easy charm, "let us eat. You shouldn’t have to wait."

Aurora hesitated only a heartbeat longer, her curiosity still stirred, before allowing him to guide her away.

As Riley led her toward the door, she cast one final glance back at the parchment-covered walls.

Edith noticed, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Unlike her mistress, she was not so easily distracted by smiles.

To her, the room did not feel like gibberish at all. It felt like a secret waiting to be uncovered.

And as the door closed softly behind them, the lanterns inside flickered once more, their light dancing over the countless papers as though the words themselves were alive.

Riley shared a quiet lunch with Aurora, their conversation drifting between small, ordinary things—the taste of the meal, the pleasant breeze slipping in through the open windows, the way the courtyard flowers seemed to bloom more vibrantly that year.

Aurora found comfort in the simplicity of it, even though her new husband often carried a look that suggested his mind was far away, lost in thoughts she could not follow.

When they finished eating, Riley placed his cup down and suddenly smiled at her.

"Why don’t I give you a tour of the clan grounds, wife? It will help you grow familiar with the land—and with our people as well."

Aurora tilted her head slightly, surprised by his suggestion.

"A tour?" she repeated softly. Then, after a pause, her lips curved into a smile. "I would like that very much."

And so the two of them set out, Edith trailing discreetly behind.

They walked first through the main courtyard, where young clan warriors were training in neat rows, their movements sharp and precise.

The sound of wooden staves clashing echoed in the air, mingling with the firm voices of instructors.

Riley slowed his pace, watching for a moment with an unreadable expression before turning to Aurora.

"These young men and women," he said, "will one day bear the weight of the clan. Every strike, every movement—it isn’t just practice. It’s their way of carving a place in this world."

Aurora listened, though she wasn’t sure how to respond.

She nodded softly, admiring the discipline before her.

Next, Riley guided her through the gardens, where vibrant blossoms filled the air with fragrance.

Elderly servants tended to the plants, bowing respectfully as they passed.

Aurora stopped to admire a bed of lilies, brushing a petal with her fingertips.

"It’s beautiful here," she said.

Riley’s gaze lingered on her profile before he replied, "Beauty always fades in time. That is its nature."

She glanced at him, half-smiling, half-wondering if there was a hidden weight in his words.

As the afternoon stretched on, they strolled through the markets bustling within the outer walls.

Merchants called out their wares, children darted between stalls, and laughter rippled through the air.

Aurora’s eyes lit up at the liveliness of it all.

She noticed how people glanced at Riley—some with admiration, some with deference, and others with thinly veiled curiosity.

At her, they looked with wonder, whispering softly as though the young mistress was already something of a legend.

Riley, however, seemed unconcerned.

He walked with quiet confidence, stopping here and there to speak kindly to a merchant or pat a child on the head.

Yet, beneath the warmth of his smile, there was still something deeper—something restrained.

It wasn’t until they wandered to the quieter paths beyond the clan halls, beneath the shade of ancient trees, that Riley broke the silence with a question that seemed to fall from nowhere.

"Tell me, Aurora," he said, his voice calm but carrying an unusual gravity. "Do you think it is possible for someone to live forever?"

Aurora froze mid-step, blinking at him in disbelief.

The wind stirred the branches above them, scattering leaves across the path.

She looked at him as though trying to decide whether he was serious.

"I... I don’t know," she admitted after five long breaths. Her brow furrowed as she searched for the right words.

"Perhaps not. I’ve never seen or heard of anyone who could."

Riley nodded slowly, as though her answer confirmed something within him.

A faint smile curved his lips, but it was not the kind of smile that reassured—it was the kind that concealed.

"Hmmmm..." he murmured. His gaze lingered on the distant horizon for a moment, far longer than necessary, before turning back to her.

His eyes softened, the mystery fading into warmth once more.

"You’re right. It’s just a thought."

Aurora studied him quietly as they resumed their walk.

Though he smiled and spoke as though nothing were out of the ordinary, she couldn’t shake the feeling that his question had been far from idle curiosity.

Edith, walking a few paces behind, noticed it too. She lowered her eyes, saying nothing, but her thoughts were restless.

There was more to Riley than he allowed anyone to see.

And as the afternoon sun stretched golden across the clan grounds, Aurora found herself torn between comfort in his presence—and the subtle unease that he carried secrets too vast for her to yet understand.

The tour ended with the last glow of sunset trailing across the rooftops, and by the time Riley and Aurora returned to the main hall, the servants had already prepared dinner.

They ate together, Riley and Aurora seated side by side while Edith remained behind them, ever-attentive to their needs.

Aurora, though not yet entirely accustomed to life within the clan, carried herself with elegance, answering Riley’s occasional remarks with soft laughter.

Edith, as always, remained composed and silent, her hands folded in front of her, eyes sharp to notice the slightest gesture.

Though her hunger would be satisfied later, her duty in that moment was simple: to serve.

When the final dishes were cleared away, the trio returned to Riley’s chamber.

The heavy wooden doors closed with a muted thud, sealing them within the intimate glow of lanternlight.

The chamber was spacious yet warm, the scent of sandalwood faint in the air, and the sight of the broad bed drew an unspoken expectation from both women.

Aurora’s breath caught ever so slightly as her eyes drifted to the silken sheets.

She thought her husband would pull her into his arms at once, claiming what was rightfully his.

Even Edith, despite her outward composure, felt her heartbeat quicken.

Though she schooled her features into neutrality, her mind whispered the same thought—surely, now, they would go straight to the bed.

But Riley had other ideas.

"Before we do anything else," he said smoothly, his voice carrying that unhurried confidence that always set him apart, "let us drink to this occasion."

He did not touch the bed. Instead, he gestured for them to join him at a polished table near its edge.

Reluctantly, and with curiosity, both women followed his lead.

From a carved cabinet, Riley produced a jug of fine wine.

Its aroma was rich, carrying the faint sweetness of aged fruit and the deeper bite of rare herbs.

He set three cups upon the table and filled each one to the brim, the crimson liquid catching the lanternlight like molten rubies.

Riley lifted his cup first.

"To health and success," he said simply, though there was something in his eyes that hinted at a deeper meaning.

Aurora hesitated for the briefest moment, then raised her cup.

Edith, ever obedient, did the same.

Their cups touched softly with Riley’s before all three drank.

The wine was smooth, its warmth spreading almost instantly through their bodies.

Aurora exhaled softly, a faint blush touching her cheeks.

Edith lowered her cup with controlled grace, though her eyes flicked once toward Riley, studying him in silence.

Riley, meanwhile, seemed entirely at ease.

He did not rush, nor did he allow the moment to sink into awkward silence.

Instead, he poured again, filling their cups as though the act itself carried significance.

"This chamber," he said after a moment, his tone thoughtful, "has witnessed many nights of solitude. Tonight, it witnesses something far more precious."

Aurora’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup.

She could not tell if her husband was merely speaking beautifully or if his words carried another meaning entirely.

Edith’s lips pressed together, her expression unreadable, though her heart stirred at the weight of his gaze.

As they drank again, the mood in the room shifted.

The earlier tension, sharp and uncertain, began to soften under the warmth of the wine and Riley’s calm presence.

Each passing breath seemed to blur the edges between duty, desire, and inevitability.

And Riley, patient as ever, allowed the moment to unfold at his pace.

For him, the wine was not merely a toast—it was a curtain being drawn, one careful sip at a time, leading them toward the night he intended.