Galvestone Imperial Palace
The heavy wind moved through the palace grounds, stirring the silence of dawn.
Branches swayed and shivered beneath its touch, some bending low until their leaves brushed the damp earth. The flowers in the gardens bowed beneath them, their fragile stalks trembling as petals shook loose and drifted into the air.
The first droplets of the rain fell in a hush, striking the dust of the courtyard and breaking it into darkened spots, each circle spreading slowly until the ground softened.
Soon the rain deepened, releasing that familiar scent of wet soil.
The castle was terribly quiet except for the ecstatic moans coming from Kyron's bedroom.
His wife, Wimma, was underneath him, moving to the rhythm of his thrust. She moaned softly, pinching her swollen breast, her legs clasped tightly as Kyron increased his pace.
"Ohh, ugh!
She cried out, already filling, her climax approaching. Kyron slammed into her with full force, diving into her core; he groaned in pleasure, sweat trickling down his face.
Wimma swallowed hard, her saliva threatening to choke her as she moaned, squeezing her breast and shutting her eyes.
"Kyronnnn!
She whimpered before drawing in a heavy breath. The bed creaked as their weight pressed against it.
Some minutes later.
They lay beside each other panting heavily, sweat glistening on their bodies.
"You are becoming more of a man every day, Kyron."
Wimma said breathlessly, swiping the strand of hair sticking to her sweaty face behind her ear.
"I don't know what that means, but I have a feeling it is a good thing."
Kyron said with a husky voice before climbing down from the bed. Wimma's eyes trailed behind but held a glint of resentment.
Kyron helped himself to a smoking pipe before settling in a chair across the room. Wimma sat up steadily, holding the bedsheet up to her chest.
"I want that red-haired bitch out of this castle." Wimma said, her breath hitched. She peered at her husband to catch every change of countenance on his face, but she found none.
Instead he seemed relaxed, his eyes shut as he continued to smoke from the pipe.
She had waited for the moment of lovemaking to break this thought. But Kyron had driven her to the point of ecstasy during their sexual intercourse; she only mumbled nonsense.
"Kyron ignoring me is just the beginning of a problem you do not want to start."
She said before flinging the bedsheet off her chest. She picked up her robe that she had thrown on the floor and then wore it before making her way to a jug of wine on a table beside the window of the chamber.
"What is it with you and the whore? She has done nothing to be condemned."
"She has seduced my husband; isn't that enough?"
Wimma said before pouring herself a cup of wine. She was a woman in her late fifties, but she aged like fine wine.
Hardly any wrinkles could be seen on her face, her body was still lustrous, and she was still able to satisfy her husband's cravings more than any woman out there.
But ever since Kyron returned from his war victory with that red-haired whore, Nemah, she has been restless.
"Why can't she go?"
Wimma asked, leaning on the window, with a cup of wine hanging over the ledger.
"She is a smart woman; her husband has been on many journeys, and she knows the trails and hidden roads leading to Decreash. That can be an advantage on my side."
"And Lucan? You have always trusted him; he is also conversant with the hidden paths leading to Decreash."
"I am afraid the lad has become something else. He almost had one of my men killed at the camp. Never again will I make the mistake of giving him too much honor."
Kyron added, rising to his feet.
Wimma's throat went dry. She had nothing more to say. Her dark blue eyes darkened as she continued to sip from her wine, the breeze from outside fondling her hair.
"You backstabbed your longtime friend, Titran. Killed him and wiped his seed from the surface of the earth. You are already a man without honor."
Her words were rash, mercilessly.
Kyron's face became contorted with dread.
"You speak too harshly for a woman with skeletons in her closets. I have addressed this issue before, and today will be the end of it."
Wimma laughed. At first her voice was low and eerie, but it slowly increased to a high-pitched, mocking laughter.
She wiped a tear hanging on her lashes before turning to look at her husband.
"Amber was my close friend, and we swore fealty to them; didn't that mean anything to you?"
She arched her brows, giving him a puzzled look.
Kyron gave her a stern glare before fixing his gaze back on what he was doing; he was dressing up in his royal outfit.
"This will be the last time you will bring up this topic." He warned before walking out of the chamber.
Wimma's shoulders dropped as she tried to fight the tears in her eyes. She sat on the edge of her bed. Her head hanging down in bitterness.
Moments Later.
Wimma was walking along the small corridors of the castle. Her dark wavy hair bounced as she moved with caution.
She inadvertently darted her gaze ahead and saw Kyron stepping out of the meeting room with Nemah beside him. They were conversing in a low tone.
Wimma tried her best not to look bothered; she straightened her gaze and walked past them.
But before she could fully take another stride, a hand seized hers, firm and desperate. The air thickened.
Wimma froze, her shoulders tightening. Slowly, she turned, her gaze cold and sharp as steel.
It was Lydia, the red-haired woman who Kyron had brought from his encampment back at Nehoviah.
Wimma gazed ahead and saw that Kyron had walked away, leaving Lydia behind.
"Wimma, can I talk to you?"
Lydia really had some nerves; she ignored the dangerous glare she got from Wimma, and her grip was still on Wimma's wrist.
"Let go of me,"
Wimma said, her voice low but laced with warning.
After a heartbeat, she narrowed her eyes at her grip on Wimma's wrist before loosening her grip, her hand falling limply to her side.
Wimma rubbed her wrist, the warmth of Lydia's grasp still lingering there. Her brows knit faintly—she didn't know whether to think that Lydia had held her too tightly by impulse or by intent. The mere thought of it unsettled her.
"Just a chance to set things straight."
Ludia said, her penetrative gaze fixed on Wimma.
Wimma stood still, her wrist still faintly aching.
Every instinct in her screamed to turn away; she wanted nothing to do with this woman, hated even the sound of her voice, and hated the very air she breathed.
Yet, against her will, she found herself wanting to hear what Lydia had to say.
Wimma gave a slight nod—
Merely a go-ahead signal.
Then she turned, her gown sweeping behind her as she began to walk away. The sound of her slippers echoing softly against the corridor walls.
Wimma didn't look back, but she could feel Lydia's presence closing in from behind her, like a shadow she could not quite shake off.
"I know you see me as some kind of threat."
Lydia was suddenly beside her, trying to keep up with her pace.
"Is that what Kyron told you?"
Wimma kept walking, her pace steady, her steps echoing through the corridor.
"No, I figured it out all by myself, and it has become a cause of worry. I do not want you to think that I am after your husband; I have no intentions of ensnaring him.
"And you want me to believe you? To take your words for it…you must take me as some kind of fool."
Wimma replied before leaning against one of the marble railings of the open hallway, her fingers brushing lightly over its cool, polished surface.
From there, her gaze drifted outward, past the stone balustrade, beyond the sprawling courtyards, toward the wide meadow that stretched endlessly.
She could also gaze at the clouds…which were currently dark as though it would rain anytime soon.
"Lydia, I will ask you this only once. I want you to think carefully before giving me an answer."
The weight of Wimma's words dawned on Lydia, and she was careful to pick her words thereafter.
"Why are you here?"
That was the question.
So simple, yet tricky.
The slightest stutter could give Lydia away, but she wasn't ready to let that happen.
"To serve the king, the realms at large."
She answered after a brief silence.
"You must give me your word, Lydia; the slightest lie and I will have your head hung on a spike, or, more satisfying, your body set ablaze for all to see."
Lydia's face paled. Was this some kind of threat?
It was as though Wimma was speaking to her in puzzles; she sounded compelled but at the same time calm, an eerie calmness.
"You have my word, Wimma."
She replied, and slowly Wimma turned to look at her.
"The gods help you if you fail to live up to your words… but for now, I see you as a friend, a keeper of the realms."
Wimma's face lightened up, and Lydia also smiled, but soon the countenance of Wimma's face changed to that of dread.
"Your grace…
Wimma corrected.
Leah creased her forehead, ostensibly puzzled.
"The next time you call me by my name, it might be fatal. You will address me with the title that befits my status."
Wimma said before walking away, her head held up, with the aura of a mighty lioness.
Lydia was simply startled by her change of demeanor, seeing how ignorant Wimma was of her genuineness; something ignited in Lydia's heart, a voice, a newfound thought.
Somehow she had learned to move on from that inner voice after she watched Kyron's men slaughter her husband like he was some animal and take spoils for themselves.
But now the voice was calling, and this time, she was ready.