The walk from the Lantern District to the upper tiers of Sunmere took nearly an hour, and every step reminded Aric of the morning’s humiliations.
His lower back still throbbed from the packed reed mattress.
His ledger felt heavy under his arm.
And despite the freezing winter air biting at his face, his ears still burned whenever he thought about Kaela and Mera standing in the staff kitchen, pricing his virginity with the same calm attention they gave every premium booking.
The transition between the districts was stark.
The slush and crowded timber storefronts of the lower city gave way to wide, swept cobblestone avenues lined with iron streetlamps.
By the time Aric reached the wrought-iron gates of Dawnhold Manor, coal smoke gave way to clipped evergreen hedges, pine boughs tied around iron gates, and incense drifting from private shrines.
The estate guards recognized him immediately.
Aric was only the conditional heir, but his face was enough to get the heavy gates pulled open without a word.
He walked up the sweeping stone drive and entered the main hall.
The manor swallowed every sound.
Thick imported carpets covered the floors, and the walls were lined with Cassian Elowen’s collection of maritime oil paintings.
Aric handed his heavy wool coat to a waiting servant and made his way toward the west wing.
As he passed the grand corridor, he glanced at the heavy oak doors of Cassian’s private study.
Vaelisse had been right.
The old iron lock was gone, replaced by a gleaming, freshly installed brass cylinder.
Lord Edric had staked his claim.
Aric’s jaw tightened, but he kept walking.
He did not have the authority to evict Lord Edric today, and he was not going to ruin his afternoon by picking a fight he could not legally finish.
He found his mother in the west wing sunroom.
Seraphine Vale sat in a plush, velvet-backed chair near the frost-covered windows.
A silver tray holding a steaming porcelain teapot and a plate of sugared pastries rested on the table beside her.
For the last two years in Harthwell, Aric had watched her wear the same two mended wool dresses, her face drawn tight with the constant, grinding anxiety of measuring lamp oil and rationing firewood.
Today, she wore a tailored gown of dark green silk.
The deep exhaustion that had bracketed her eyes for years was fading.
Cassian had guaranteed his mother lifelong residence at Dawnhold Manor and a generous three-hundred-silver monthly allowance regardless of Aric’s success at the Hearth.
But the estate trust retained the deed until Aric completed his proving term.
Her comfort was secure.
His inheritance was not.
“Aric,” Seraphine said, her face lighting up the moment he stepped through the doorway.
She set her teacup down and stood up, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“You look well, Mother,” Aric said.
Only then did he realize how tightly he had been holding his shoulders.
He let them drop as he returned her embrace.
Seeing her healthy made the miserable room, the oats, and every humiliation at the Hearth feel worthwhile.
“Are the servants treating you properly?” “They are perfectly attentive,” Seraphine said, pulling back to look at him.
Her smile faltered slightly as she took in his pale, tired face.
“Which is more than I can say for whoever is feeding you.
You look like you haven’t slept in two days.” “The accounting took longer than expected last night,” Aric replied, taking the chair opposite her.
He reached for a sugared pastry, realizing how hungry he was after abandoning Brinna’s oats.
“I had to audit the cellar tallies against the harbor merchant receipts.” Seraphine poured him a cup of tea.
“And how is the…
hospitality business?” “It is mathematically sound,” Aric said defensively, taking a bite of the pastry.
The taste of actual butter and sugar was incredible.
“I restructured the wine purchasing contracts this morning.
It will save the house thirty-four silver every thirty days.” “That is very practical,” Seraphine noted, stirring a small spoonful of honey into her own cup.
She kept her eyes focused entirely on the swirling liquid.
“And the daily operations?
The staff?
Are you managing the guests well?” “I oversee the house, but I do not personally handle clients,” Aric said, his voice dropping into a stiff, professional register.
“Mera manages the bookings, Kaela runs the public floor, and Vaelisse handles specialized requests and disputes.” Seraphine paused.
Her silver spoon stopped clinking against the porcelain.
“Vaelisse,” Seraphine repeated.
“Yes,” Aric said, taking a sip of his tea.
“She manages the specific…
client requests.” Seraphine stared at him for three full seconds.
Then, she broke.
It started as a sharp exhale, followed by a quiet snort.
She covered her mouth with her hand, but it was useless.
A genuine, breathless giggle escaped her lips.
She leaned back in her velvet chair, her shoulders shaking as the giggle turned into a clear, ringing laugh.
Aric froze, his teacup halfway to his mouth.
“Mother?” “I am sorry,” Seraphine gasped, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
“I am trying very hard to be supportive, Aric, I promise I am.
But listening to you explain it in that serious, provincial clerk voice is going to kill me.” Aric set his cup down slowly.
“You know what the Velvet Hearth is.” “Aric, I grew up in Sunmere,” Seraphine said, her laughter finally subsiding into a wide, highly amused smile.
“My father was a guild merchant in the middle ring before I met yours.
Did you honestly think I didn’t know what Cassian owned?” Aric stared at her.
“You let me pack my bags and move into a brothel.” “Your grandfather’s clause forbade me from telling you before you crossed the threshold,” Seraphine said.
“If I had said the word brothel in Harthwell, you would have lost the inheritance before reaching Sunmere.” Her smile widened.
“I still found it extremely funny.” Aric rubbed his face with both hands.
He had spent the last two days desperately trying to maintain his dignity in front of the house staff, convinced his mother believed he was managing a respectable tavern.
“I let you walk into the test Cassian designed because warning you would have voided it,” Seraphine added, entirely unapologetic.
“He thought forcing his rigid, disciplined grandson to manage a high-end brothel was the funniest thing he had ever arranged.
And looking at your face right now, he was absolutely right.” “It gets worse,” Seraphine continued, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.
“You mentioned Vaelisse.
The Frost Elf?” Aric groaned through his fingers.
“Yes.” “She is legendary in the upper district,” Seraphine told him.
“When I was a young woman, she was the ruin of half the magistrates in the city.
Wives used to complain about her at the tailor shops.” Seraphine’s smile turned distinctly nostalgic.
“I certainly didn’t complain.” Aric lowered his hands.
“What?” “Before I met your father, I was a merchant’s daughter with a generous allowance and a lot of curiosity,” Seraphine said fondly.
“I booked her for an evening, and it turned into a three-month arrangement.
Vaelisse had the most incredible mouth.
She spent hours with her face between my thighs, teaching me exactly how many times she could make me come before I passed out.
We had a wonderfully fun time.” Aric stared at her, unable to find a response that did not involve leaving the room.
“Please stop speaking.” “Your father spent the next twenty years benefiting from everything she taught me,” Seraphine added mildly, taking a sip of her tea.
“Mother.
I am begging you.” Aric paused, his mind reeling.
A strange thought suddenly occurred to him.
He remembered the Frost Elf’s striking, unaging beauty, and the way she had calmly evaluated his naked body.
“Wait,” Aric said, squinting across the table.
“You were nineteen when you met my father.
If Vaelisse was active in the upper district when you were a teenager, how old is she?” “Elves age differently, Aric,” Seraphine explained.
“She was already a mature, stunning woman when I hired her.” “So she was already an experienced companion when you were nineteen,” Aric clarified, his provincial brain struggling to find a polite term for what his mother had just described.
“Was she…
considered a ‘milf’ back then?” Seraphine snorted, nearly spilling her tea.
“Aric, please.
She was a milf when your grandfather was a teenager.” Aric choked.
“Cassian?” “Oh, yes,” Seraphine laughed, her violet eyes sparkling.
“Cassian had a famously wild youth before he took over the trading company.
He booked her for an entire season when he was twenty.
He always claimed she taught him everything he knew about stamina and negotiation.
They had a great deal of fun together, and stayed friends for decades.” Aric stared at her.
“Vaelisse knew who I was,” Aric realized.
“Of course she did.” “She never said anything.” Seraphine’s smile widened.
“That sounds like her.
My point, Aric, is that you are trying to assert managerial authority over a woman who knows every secret in this city, and who has apparently made a long-term project of educating the Elowens.” Aric dropped his gaze to the polished table.
He thought of Vaelisse standing in his office doorway, calmly watching him stroke his hard cock.
He thought of her sitting in the kitchen that morning, casually informing Perrin and Kaela about his massive balls and the thick ropes of cum he had pumped across his stomach.
He had felt so exposed, so vulnerable to her judgment.
Now he realized she hadn’t just been evaluating a new manager.
She had been evaluating Cassian’s grandson.
And Seraphine’s son.
“I am painfully aware of her skill set,” Aric said flatly.
Seraphine’s smile softened into something warmer, though the amusement remained.
She reached across the table and patted his hand.
“It is a hard test, Aric.
I know it is,” she said quietly.
“Cassian knew you could balance a ledger.
That was never the test.
At a mill, a bad calculation costs money.
At the Hearth, one bad decision can leave a worker hurt, a client blackmailed, or the Watch at the door.
He wanted to know whether you could manage people when numbers were not enough.” Aric looked around the sunroom.
He looked at the heavy velvet curtains, the silver tea service, and his mother’s healthy, rested face.
It was worth it.
Even the rock-hard reed mattress and the brutal humiliation in the kitchen were worth it if it kept her here, safe from the freezing winters of Harthwell.
“I am adjusting,” Aric admitted.
He took another pastry from the silver tray, finding his appetite again.
“Though Vaelisse informed the staff this morning that my physical dimensions might be more valuable to the house than my accounting skills.” Seraphine didn’t flinch.
Instead, a slow, incredibly proud smile spread across her face.
“Well,” Seraphine said, resting her cup gently on its saucer.
“Your father was an exceptionally gifted man.
I am glad to hear his legacy remains intact.” Aric let out a long, defeated groan, dropping his head back against the chair.
After two years of managing his father’s agonizing decline together in Harthwell, there were very few polite boundaries left between them, and he couldn’t stop a genuine smile from breaking through his embarrassment.
“Please,” Aric laughed, rubbing his eyes.
“I am already being priced by the hour.
I do not need my mother verifying the genetics.” “I am merely stating facts, Aric,” Seraphine teased, entirely unbothered by the staff’s assessment of her son.
“If you decide you want to work the floor, do not hide behind a ledger merely because you are embarrassed.
There is nothing shameful about earning money with something people value.” Aric shook his head, biting into the sweet pastry.
“I will keep that in mind.” “Good,” Seraphine said, leaning back in her chair and gazing out at the frost-covered gardens.
A wistful expression settled over her features.
“You know, Vaelisse used to let me visit the employee-only areas of the Hearth when I was younger.” Aric stopped chewing.
“And then again, two years after your father passed,” Seraphine added softly.
“I missed it terribly.
No one needed me to be respectable there.
I could take off my clothes, drink wine, and enjoy being touched without having to be a merchant’s daughter or a grieving widow.
Vaelisse let them treat me like any other companion on the floor.” Aric swallowed the bite of pastry.
The mental image of his mother walking naked through the backrooms of his current workplace was startling, but as he looked at her wistful expression, the provincial embarrassment gave way to something else.
He recognized that look.
It was the same quiet desperation he had seen on her face during the hardest winters in Harthwell.
He shifted in his chair, feeling a sudden wave of shyness, but he pushed past it.
They were comfortable enough to survive this conversation.
“You know,” Aric said, his voice dropping slightly, “my jurisdiction does include the backrooms now.” Seraphine turned her head, her violet eyes studying him with surprise.
Aric cleared his throat, his ears burning hot again.
He stared fixedly at the edge of the silver tray.
“If you wanted to visit again…
if it would make you happy…
you should do it.
I could authorize it.
As the acting manager.” Seraphine stared at him for a long moment.
Her teasing smile softened.
“That is a very generous offer, Aric,” she said gently.
“I might just take you up on it.” Somewhere beyond the sunroom, a heavy oak door slammed in the west wing.
Seraphine’s smile tightened for only a moment before she reached for her tea.
“Was that Lord Edric?” Aric asked, his humor fading instantly.
“Probably,” Seraphine said smoothly.
“He has developed strong opinions about doors since the executors ordered him to leave.” Aric stared toward the heavy doors of the sunroom.
Vaelisse was right; he could not punch a nobleman without shattering his wrist, and he did not have the coin to hire someone like Rhoz for long-term protection.
But he was no longer just a clerk isolated in a provincial cottage.
“I cannot stand guard in your corridor myself,” Aric said, his voice tightening into a protective, practical register.
“But we employ a Minotaur at the Hearth.” Seraphine raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of her tea.
“Do you?” “Yes.
He is seven feet tall,” Aric said.
“I cannot reassign house personnel, but he may have clan members or family in the city looking for contract work.
I can ask him to put me in contact with them.” He looked back at his mother, his jaw set.
“Having a Minotaur standing in the west wing might discourage Lord Edric from touching your locks again.” Seraphine looked at him.
The teasing amusement faded, replaced by a quiet, fierce pride.
She reached across the silver tray and rested her hand over his.
“I would feel very safe with a Minotaur outside my door,” Seraphine said gently.
“Thank you, Aric.
Please ask him.” She squeezed his fingers once, then withdrew her hand to pick up her teacup.
As she took a slow sip, her violet eyes caught the winter light, sparkling with returning mischief.
“Though,” Seraphine added mildly, “are you entirely sure it is wise to place a massive Minotaur directly outside the bedroom door of your widowed, sexually neglected mother?” Aric picked up his heavy ledger and tucked it firmly under his arm.
He stood up from the chair.
“I will ask Gorren whether any of his kin need work,” Aric said.
“What you and that guard choose to do while he is off duty is none of my business.” Seraphine set her cup down.
The playful glint in her eye suddenly vanished, replaced by a deep, genuine vulnerability that rooted Aric to the spot.
“Aric, wait,” she said quietly.
She looked up at him, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
The confident, experienced woman from a moment ago was gone, leaving only his mother—a woman who had spent the last two years sacrificing every piece of her own happiness to keep their tiny family afloat.
“Harthwell was not kind to women who admitted wanting Beast Kin,” Seraphine said.
Her fingers tightened in her lap.
“It was considered one thing to experiment with another human or an elf.
A Minotaur was something people whispered about.” She looked up at him.
“If I invite him inside—if I decide I want to taste a bull cock—it would not bother you?
Seeing your mother with a Minotaur?” Aric stopped.
He looked down at her.
He thought about the freezing nights in Harthwell, watching her chop wood in her mended dresses, wearing herself down to nothing so he could finish his ledgers by the fire.
She had given up her life for his father, and then she had given it up for him.
He let out a slow breath, letting the heavy ledger rest against his side.
“You do not need my blessing, Mother,” Aric said, his voice perfectly steady and completely devoid of judgment.
“But no, I will not judge you.
If a Minotaur makes you happy, then invite him inside.” He offered her a small, deeply affectionate smile.
“I only ask that you refrain from explaining the mechanical details of the encounter to me over breakfast.” Seraphine let out a shaky exhale.
A brilliant, profoundly relieved smile broke across her face, wiping years of remaining tension from her eyes.
“I can agree to those terms,” she said softly.
Then, the wicked, teasing glint immediately returned to her violet eyes.
“However,” Seraphine added, her voice ringing out just as he turned toward the doorway.
“If you ever decide to speak lewdly to me about your own experiences at the brothel…
I will find it only fair to share exactly what it is like to take a Minotaur for the first time.” Aric froze with his hand resting against the doorframe.
The provincial clerk inside him screamed in absolute horror at the threat.
But beneath the heavy wool of his trousers, his cock gave a sudden, traitorous twitch.
He stood perfectly still.
He should have wanted no part of that story.
Instead, some shameful corner of his mind realized he wanted to know exactly what a Minotaur would do to her.
He refused to examine that discovery today.
“Noted,” Aric managed to croak.
He stepped out into the hall, his mother’s clear, musical laughter following him all the way down the corridor.