The castle kitchens were a chaotic, miserable place, but right now, they were my laboratory.
I stood over a massive iron cauldron, sweating through my linen shirt as I stirred a boiling mixture of rendered sheep's fat and highly concentrated lye I had filtered from hardwood ash. The smell was atrocious—a harsh, chemical burn that stung the eyes. But the base chemical reaction, saponification, was proceeding perfectly.
"My Lord, the oils you requested from the apothecary," a gruff voice interrupted.
I turned to see Silas standing in the doorway, holding a small wooden crate of expensive, corked glass vials. Behind him stood Beatrice, back in her crisp maid's uniform, though she actively avoided making eye contact with me.
"Perfect. Bring them here," I instructed, wiping soot from my forehead.
Silas stepped forward and set the crate on a flour-dusted table. But he didn't leave. The large, burly builder crossed his massive arms, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He looked at the bubbling cauldron, then at the intricate sketches of the bathhouse I had pinned to the wall, and finally at me.
"My Lord, if I may speak freely," Silas started, his tone cautious but heavy with doubt.
"Go ahead, Silas."
"What happened to you? Did some demon take over your body?"
At that I paused. Well, his guess was not far off.
"What do you mean Silas? Do you not like your head attached to your body."
"Forgive me if I crossed the line. It's just that A week ago," Silas said slowly, "you spent your days drinking watered-down wine and complaining about the draft in your chambers. You couldn't calculate the grain tax without the steward holding your hand. Now, you're designing complex thermal heating structures that I have never seen in 20 years of my professional life, and you're boiling... whatever this is. The servants are whispering. I am wondering."
He narrowed his eyes. "What happened to you, Baron? Men do not simply wake up with the knowledge of scholars."
From the corner of the room, Beatrice's head snapped up. Her sharp eyes locked onto me, practically echoing the builder's suspicion. She was already hyper-aware of me after last night's display, and Silas had just voiced the exact impossible contradiction of my existence.
I didn't flinch. I just smiled, calmly picking up a wooden ladle to stir the thickening paste.
"I was exiled to this frozen rock, Silas," I said smoothly, spinning a half-truth. "Before my father cast me out, I spent months locked in the Viscount's grand library, reading ancient, pre-Church texts. I was depressed. I was drunk. I was ignoring the present because I was obsessed with the past."
I pulled a vial of distilled lavender and rose oil from the crate, popping the cork.
"But yesterday, I realized something," I continued, pouring the fragrant oil into the cooling mixture. Instantly, the harsh smell of lye was replaced by a rich, intoxicating floral scent. "I realized that drinking myself to death in a freezing castle is a pathetic way to die. And I realized my beautiful wife deserves better than a crumbling estate. So, I decided to sober up and start applying what I read."
I looked up, meeting Silas's gaze dead-on. "I am still Victor Valerius. I just finally decided to stop acting like trash. Does that answer your question?"
Silas stared at me for a long moment. Finally, the tension in his broad shoulders relaxed. He gave a short, respectful bow. "It does, my Lord. The men will be glad to hear the Baron has finally found his fire."
As Silas left the kitchen, I glanced at Beatrice. The maid was staring at my hands—the same hands she had watched expertly dismantle her mistress's modesty the night before. Her cheeks flushed a sudden, brilliant red, and she quickly looked away, staring fiercely at the stone floor.
She's suspicious, but she's also completely distracted by her own dirty thoughts, I mused, suppressing a smirk. Perfect.
*****
By the evening, the soap had cured enough to be cut into smooth, translucent, beautifully scented bars. It wasn't the harsh, skin-cracking lye blocks this world used; it was a pure, high-grade luxury product that lathered instantly and left the skin feeling like silk.
It was time for a quality control test.
I found Eleanor in her bedchambers. A large wooden tub had been hauled into the center of the room, filled with steaming water. Eleanor was sitting in the bath, her silver hair pinned up off her neck, her knees drawn to her chest as she tried to stay warm in the drafty room.
When she saw me walk in, her amethyst eyes immediately softened, a beautiful, lazy heat swimming in her gaze.
"Victor," she breathed, a blush creeping down her neck to the tops of her wet, heavy breasts.
"I brought you a gift," I said, walking over and kneeling beside the tub. I held out the smooth, pale bar of soap. "The bathhouse will take two weeks to build. Until then, I refuse to let you wash with that terrible, coarse lye the servants use."
Eleanor blinked, taking the soap. She brought it to her nose and gasped. "It smells... it smells like a summer garden. How did you get this?"
"I made it," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "And I'm going to test it on you."
I took the soap back from her and dipped it into the hot water. I rubbed it between my palms, immediately generating a thick, slick, fragrant white lather.
"Lean back," I murmured.
Eleanor obeyed instantly, completely surrendering to me. She leaned against the wooden rim of the tub, exposing her neck and her chest. I slid my soapy hands over her wet skin.
"Oh...!" Eleanor gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. "It's so soft... it feels like liquid silk."
"It's designed to protect the skin, not strip it," I whispered, dragging my hands down her collarbones. The slickness of the soap eliminated all friction. My hands glided effortlessly over her body.
I cupped her heavy breasts, massaging the rich lather into her soft flesh. Her nipples, already tight from the chilly air of the room, instantly hardened under my thumbs. I pinched them gently, sliding the slippery suds over the sensitive peaks.
Eleanor let out a breathless, trembling moan, her hips shifting restlessly beneath the water.
"You like that?" I asked, leaning in to kiss the damp curve of her neck.
"Yes," she whimpered, her hands gripping the edges of the tub. "Victor... your hands... it feels so good. Everything you do feels so good."
I didn't stop there. I worked the lather down her flat stomach, dipping my hands beneath the surface of the hot water. The soap made everything incredibly slippery. I parted her thighs under the water, my fingers brushing against the slick, swollen folds of her pussy.
She was already completely wet, her natural juices mixing with the hot bathwater and the silky soap.
"Open up for me, Eleanor," I commanded softly.
She whimpered, letting her knees fall completely open, exposing herself to me. I slipped two soapy fingers inside her.
"Ahhhhh!" Eleanor's head threw back, water splashing over the sides of the tub as she bucked her hips. The combination of the hot water, the frictionless glide of the soap, and my fingers stretching her from the inside was an absolute sensory overload.
I pumped my fingers in and out of her tight, slick hole, using my thumb to relentlessly rub her swollen clit. The soapy lather mixed with her arousal, creating a squelching, wet sound that echoed loudly in the quiet room.
"Victor... please!" she sobbed, completely uninhibited, water splashing wildly as she chased the feeling. "I need it... I need you inside me!"
"You're too impatient, my beautiful slut," I chuckled, pulling my fingers out.
I didn't bother taking off my trousers. I just unlaced the front, freeing my rock-hard, aching dick. I stood up, gripping Eleanor beneath her arms, and hauled her up out of the water.
She gasped as the cool air hit her wet, soapy body, but I didn't give her time to shiver. I turned her around and pressed her back against the wet, sturdy rim of the wooden tub. I grabbed her hips, lifting her slightly, and guided the head of my cock to her dripping, soapy entrance.
"Brace yourself," I growled in her ear.
I slammed my hips forward, sinking into her to the absolute hilt in one brutal, slippery thrust.
"FUCK!" Eleanor screamed, a thoroughly un-aristocratic curse ripping from her lips as she took my entire length. Her nails dug violently into the wooden rim of the tub as I began to pound into her.
The slickness of the soap and the hot water made the friction unbelievable. We slid against each other with a wet, heavy rhythm. I grabbed her soapy, bouncing breasts from behind, squeezing and pulling at her nipples as I drove my hips into her from behind.
"Ahhh! Ahhhh! Victor! Yes!" she shrieked, her ass slapping loudly against my thighs with every thrust.
She was so incredibly tight, her vaginal walls spasming and milking me with a ferocious, addictive heat. I abandoned any thought of holding back. I pounded her against the edge of the tub, completely lost in the scent of lavender and the raw, unhinged sounds of my wife begging for my cock.
"I'm close!" Eleanor sobbed wildly, her entire body shaking. "I'm—Victor, fill me! Fill me up!"
Her internal muscles clamped down on me like a vice, triggering a massive, shuddering climax that rippled through her entire body. The pressure pushed me right over the edge. I roared, burying myself deep inside her as my cock pulsed, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum deep into her womb.
She slumped forward, panting heavily, completely drained, her soapy skin flushed a brilliant, satisfied red.
I pulled her back against my chest, kissing the side of her head as we both caught our breath. The soap was a resounding success.
Tomorrow, I was going to take this exact product to Lady Seraphina. And if this ruthless guildmaster was even half as addicted to luxury as the women in my past life, I was going to own her trade routes by sunset.