CHAPTER 89: HOUSE VANE

Moonlight spilled into Gerald’s room like liquid silver, painting shadows across the luxurious furnishings.

The soft, decadent sheets lay twisted and discarded at the edge of the bed. Artworks and artifacts from distant lands adorned the chamber, but the room felt alive not with refinement, but with muted sounds—breaths, whispers, the rhythmic shuffle of skin against skin.

A woman’s moans filled the air, soft gasps and throaty sighs escaping her parted lips as Gerald held her close.

His hand gripped her wrist, trailing down her arm as he drew it behind her back, pressing her forward, bent over the bed, her body exposed to the moonlight’s caress. Their movements, uncensored and raw, blended with the rustle of sheets and the creak of wood, the chamber steeped in the heat and sweat of their union.

Gerald’s breaths came deep, ragged, each thrust drawing a cry from her lips as her body arched to meet him, as though desperate to close every last distance—desperate to feel him deeper still.

But then, the heavy door swung open.

"Out," came a sharp, commanding voice.

Lady Mirella Vane, in all her poised elegance, stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed, lips pressed thin. The woman scrambled for a sheet, draping herself in the flimsy cloth that did little to hide her nakedness, but wasted no time.

She hurried past Lady Mirella, clutching the fabric to her chest, cheeks flushed as she avoided the woman’s steely gaze.

Gerald only smirked. Slipping on a pair of loose shorts, his muscles still glistening faintly with sweat, he leaned lazily against the bedpost, arms folded, utterly unapologetic.

"Aunt Mirella," he drawled, his grin tinged with the remnants of pleasure. "To what do I owe this... late visit?"

Lady Mirella stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft but deliberate click. Her dark hair, coiled elegantly at the nape of her neck, glinted with silver in the moonlight.

Her presence was as severe as it was refined, clothed in a midnight gown that hugged her figure and shimmered faintly with embroidered silver.

She moved with liquid grace, her gaze sharp as ever, peeling Gerald back with a look alone.

She seemed more sculpted from marble than flesh—her beauty as dangerous as it was bewitching, every feature controlled, each motion measured.

"Have you noticed what’s happening around us?"

Her voice was low, steady, but beneath its calm was a dangerous edge.

Gerald shrugged, one brow arching.

"Is this about the fourth prince? You can’t be serious, Aunt Mirella. Aric? He’s hardly a threat to anyone."

Her mouth tightened. She moved to the window, staring out over the grounds as though gathering her thoughts. When she turned back, her gaze pierced him.

"No one thought he could leave his bed for more than an hour, much less roam the imperial city as he’s done. But he has," she replied, her words soft yet biting.

She stepped closer.

"No one thought he’d survive Byzeth—Byzeth, Gerald—in his condition. But he did. And no one could have believed he’d march to war, quell a rebellion, and take the head of a king said to surpass him in strength. Yet, he did all of that too."

Gerald’s grin faded into a frown. He pushed off the bedpost, eyes narrowing, a glint of intrigue slipping into his gaze.

"So, he has spirit. Perhaps even luck. What of it?"

"What of it?" Mirella echoed, her voice a low hiss.

She closed the distance, eyes fierce, and Gerald was reminded that his aunt’s power did not rest solely in charm and guile.

"Your father and I—and all who came before—spent years building House Vane, brick by brick, into the empire’s gateway to wealth, opportunity, and influence. We made this house indispensable. Do you really mean to risk all of that by underestimating a threat still rising?"

He scoffed, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Rising threat? You make him sound capable of toppling us. The boy has no allies beyond stragglers. He’s a passing storm—loud, but brief."

Mirella’s lips curved into a smile, cold and humorless.

"That’s what everyone thought—until he proved them wrong. And now, tomorrow, there’s a banquet to welcome him back to Valeria. A celebration of his so-called ’victory’ over Byzeth. The emperor showers him with honors that were never his to claim. Tell me, Gerald—does that sound like a passing storm to you?"

Gerald’s brow furrowed. House Vane had long ruled the empire’s commerce, gold flowing endlessly into their coffers, but power was fickle, fleeting as smoke.

He glanced back at his aunt, calculation flickering in his eyes.

"And what would you have me do?" he asked, voice edged with reluctant curiosity.

Mirella studied him, weighing his worth. Then, slowly, she exhaled.

"Observe him tomorrow. Seek his company. See where his ambitions lie. But Gerald—" she leaned closer, her eyes sharp as glass "—do not underestimate him. One man may not topple an empire, but he can shift the tide. And this emperor seems willing to embrace him as a rising star."

Gerald turned to the window. Rydell Hall stood proud against the night, its towers gleaming in the moonlight—a monument to House Vane’s wealth and reach. Yet beyond its borders lay the empire, a place heavy with whispers of change.

"You’re worried he’ll threaten the balance we’ve built," he murmured, fingers drumming the sill.

Mirella’s reply was calm, unyielding.

"I’m saying he already has. And if he can bring down a kingdom, who’s to say he won’t bring down a house?"

For a long moment, they stood in silence, their reflections ghostly in the glass. Gerald felt the weight of her words, the pressure to see Aric not as a sickly boy, but as a man who clawed his way out of obscurity, leaving blood in his wake.

Finally, he turned, resolve hardening in his eyes.

"Tomorrow night, then," he said evenly. "I’ll meet him. Test the waters. But Aunt Mirella—" his lips curled into a sly grin "—don’t expect me to bend the knee to a sickly prince. House Vane bows to no one. We play the game."

Mirella’s smile returned, faint but approving.

"Good. Just remember—fortunes can change with a single move. Keep your wits."

As she left, closing the door softly behind her, Gerald stood alone in the dim light. The moon had shifted, shadows dancing across the walls, intricate and shifting as the politics that governed Valeria.

Tomorrow, he would meet the prince. And whether Aric Valerian proved a mere upstart or a true threat, Gerald intended to find out.