The descent from the swept cobblestones of the upper city back into the slush of the Lantern District took under an hour.
By the time Aric pushed through the heavy brass-bound doors of the Velvet Hearth, the evening lamps were already lit.
The house was waking up.
Spiced wine and expensive musk rolled over the biting winter air pouring in from the street.
From the main lounge, the low murmur of early arrivals blended with the sharp, rhythmic plucking of a wire-strung harp.
Aric paused in the foyer just long enough to speak to Gorren.
The massive Minotaur security lead stood by the inner doors, his thick, corded arms crossed over his broad chest.
His dark fur caught the golden lamplight.
“I have a contract request,” Aric told him, keeping his voice strictly professional.
“My mother requires a guard for her private wing at Dawnhold Manor.
I want a Minotaur.
Someone reliable, who understands how to handle entitled noblemen without technically breaking the law.” Gorren shifted his weight.
A slow, approving rumble vibrated in his deep chest.
“My cousin Brakar works the harbor docks.
He hates the damp, and he stands a hand taller than I do.
He doesn’t carry a weapon because he doesn’t need one.
He charges one silver a day, provided the contract includes room and board.” “Hire him for the first two weeks,” Aric said.
“Take fourteen silver from my managerial draw.
My mother has an entire manor to provide the room and board, and she can extend the contract from her household allowance once he proves himself.
Have him meet me here tomorrow.” Gorren gave a single, respectful nod.
Aric walked past him, retreating into the sanctuary of the front office.
He sat down in his leather chair, set his ledger on the desk, and opened it to a blank page.
He unstoppered his inkwell, picked up his quill, and tried to anchor his mind back into the rational world of mathematics.
He needed numbers.
He needed tare weights, tax deductions, and inventory margins.
He did not need to think about the Frost Elf who knew every secret in his building.
The door to the office pushed open.
“Mera says you authorized a guard contract,” Vaelisse noted, stepping into the room.
She wore a dark crimson evening gown that clung perfectly to her tall, elegant frame.
The severe twist of her white hair had been let down, allowing it to fall in a sleek, shimmering cascade over her bare shoulders.
Aric looked up.
He tried to focus on her face, but his memory immediately provided his mother’s cheerful voice from the sunroom: Vaelisse had the most incredible mouth.
She spent hours with her face between my thighs…
Aric clamped his jaw shut and instantly dropped his gaze to the blank page of his ledger.
“It is a private expense,” Aric said, his voice coming out entirely too stiff.
“Deducted from my own wages, not the house accounts.
Lord Edric is harassing my mother.
I hired Gorren’s cousin to stand outside her door.” “A practical solution,” Vaelisse replied.
She walked closer, her silk skirts rustling softly against the floorboards.
She stopped directly in front of his desk.
Aric kept his eyes locked on his inkwell.
He dipped his quill, though he had nothing to write.
“You returned early,” Vaelisse observed.
“The conversation concluded,” Aric said.
“Did it?” Vaelisse tilted her head.
She rested her hands on the edge of his desk and leaned forward.
The movement brought the faint, intoxicating scent of mint and winterbloom directly into his space.
“Is the ledger fascinating today, Aric, or are you actively trying not to look at me?” Aric tightened his grip on the quill.
He stared at the tip of the feather.
“I am preparing the evening logs.” “You are staring at a dry nib,” Vaelisse corrected smoothly.
“And your ears are bright red.” Aric set the quill down on the wood.
There was no point in hiding behind the provincial clerk persona.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
She always knew exactly what she was doing.
He forced himself to look up.
He tried to meet her cool gray eyes, but his gaze caught on her lips.
He thought of his grandfather booking her for an entire season to learn stamina.
He thought of his mother gasping on a bed while those exact lips worked her into unconsciousness.
Now, that same woman was standing in his office, completely unfazed, watching him process the reality of her experience.
Aric’s face flushed a deep, undeniable crimson.
“My mother sends her regards,” Aric said flatly.
Vaelisse’s composure remained absolute, her expression utterly unreadable.
A slow, deeply amused smile spread across her face.
“Ah,” Vaelisse murmured.
She pushed off the desk, turned around, and walked to the entrance.
The heavy oak door swung shut against the bent latch plate.
Vaelisse nudged the brass doorstop beneath it with the toe of her shoe, sealing them inside as securely as the damaged hardware allowed.
She turned back to face him, casually leaning her hips against the heavy wood of the door.
“I wondered how long it would take Seraphine to mention our history,” Vaelisse said, her tone perfectly conversational.
“She was always a very candid woman.” “She was extremely candid,” Aric confirmed, gripping the edges of his desk to keep his hands steady.
“She summarized your three-month arrangement.
Apparently, my father benefited from your instruction for the next twenty years.” Vaelisse smiled fondly.
“Your mother was nineteen, fiercely curious, and wonderfully vocal.
She learned exactly how to command a bed.
It is good to know the lessons held.” Her tone carried the calm authority of a master artisan reviewing a finished project.
Aric rubbed his face with both hands, trying to physically wipe the image away.
“You knew exactly who I was the moment I walked into this house,” Aric said.
“Of course I did,” Vaelisse said.
“You have Cassian’s jaw and Seraphine’s eyes.
And you share their unfortunate habit of overthinking your own desires.” Aric lowered his hands.
She leaned against the door, entirely unbothered.
She hadn’t just fucked his family.
She held the weight of it like currency.
“You watched me in this chair last night,” Aric said, his voice tightening.
“You stood there and evaluated my cock, knowing you had been intimate with my mother and my grandfather.” “I did,” Vaelisse agreed, her gray eyes locking onto his.
“And I found it exceptionally impressive.
Cassian had the ambition.
Seraphine had the curiosity.
You, Aric, seem to have inherited the best physical traits of both, along with a desperate need to hide them behind a desk.” Beneath the wool of his trousers, his cock gave a hard, immediate throb against his thigh.
He hated how fast his body reacted to her.
He should have been horrified by the tangled history standing in front of him.
Instead, knowing this beautiful, ageless woman had trained his grandfather, pleasured his mother, and now stood calmly evaluating him only made him harder.
Vaelisse watched his chest rise.
Her gaze dropped to his lap, tracking the undeniable shift in the fabric of his trousers.
“You are struggling to look me in the eye, Master Vale,” Vaelisse noted, her voice dropping into a low, commanding register.
“Why?
Because I tasted your mother’s pussy?
Or because you know I rode Cassian’s cock until he begged me to stop?” Aric gripped the armrests of his chair.
“You rode my grandfather.” “For an entire season,” Vaelisse confirmed smoothly.
She pushed off the door and walked slowly back to his desk.
“He had excellent stamina.
A family trait, it seems, given the volume you pumped across your own stomach in this room last night.” She reached across the desk and trailed one cool, elegant finger over his bare knuckles.
The ambient chill radiating from her skin contrasted sharply with the flush burning Aric’s face.
She leaned forward, giving him a clear view down the front of her crimson gown, but her eyes never left his.
“I trained your grandfather in negotiation and endurance,” Vaelisse murmured, her gray eyes pinning him to the chair.
“I taught your mother how to break her own limits.
If you decide to step onto the floor, the house will not send you to clients unprepared.
When you are ready, I would like to oversee your education.” Aric stared at her.
He dragged in a breath that tasted like mint and old paper.
He was sitting at a desk he didn’t own, managing a trade he didn’t understand, bargaining with a woman who had conquered his bloodline before he was born.
He refused to break eye contact again.
Aric slowly turned his hand over, catching her cool fingers in his grip.
The chill of her skin bit into his heated palm.
“The cellar numbers are balanced,” Aric said, his voice raspy but entirely steady.
“I caught the delivery discrepancies.
The house is mathematically secure.” Vaelisse looked down at his hand holding hers, then back up to his flushed, determined face.
Her predatory smile softened into something that looked dangerously like genuine respect.
“Your math is flawless, Aric,” Vaelisse agreed softly.
“Now we just need to work on your stamina.”