The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 62 Departure

Jolthar caught the faintest smirk on Maena's lips as she passed him, and he wasn't entirely sure if it was one of approval or quiet amusement.

Lady Cleora shifted slightly, her attention returning to Jolthar. She offered him a faint smile, her nod conveying both acknowledgement and appreciation. Yet something in her eyes betrayed her guardedness. Cleora was a woman of power and tact, and Jolthar knew well enough that she didn't give away trust so easily.

"Thank you, Sir Jolthar," she said, her voice soft yet steady. "Your valour will not be forgotten."

Before Jolthar could respond, Nora let out an audible scoff, her arms tightening against her chest as she threw him a withering glare. The sharp exhale of frustration was not lost on anyone present, though only Roblan seemed too ashamed to notice.

Jolthar met Nora's fiery gaze with one of his own, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile as if her anger amused him more than it offended him.

Roblan, finally lifting his head, stepped forward and bowed stiffly. "Thank you… for saving me," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His shame hung heavy in the air, the memory of his capture and his mother's judgment weighing on him visibly.

Jolthar nodded, acknowledging the gratitude with a casualness that bordered on arrogance.

As the entourage began to move, Maena and her knights disappeared down the manor's gravel path, their departure marked by the fading sound of hoofbeats.

Jolthar, lingering momentarily, let his gaze wander back to the Baroness and her children. His mind was already racing, weighing his next move.

The barony was ripe with potential, but its true value lay beneath the surface—quite literally.

The mines, rich with dratium, were a treasure trove waiting to be exploited.

Jolthar had seen the operation firsthand—the forced labour and the veins of shimmering metal glowing faintly with mana. Such a resource, in the right hands, could turn even a minor lord into a power player in the region.

His eyes settled on Cleora, and he mused to himself.

Could he trust her?

She was cunning, no doubt, but her true loyalties remained a mystery. Gaining her favour—or better yet, controlling her—would give him an unchallenged foothold in the barony.

Then there was Nora.

Her fiery spirit and quick temper intrigued him. Jolthar smirked, recalling their earlier interactions.

If he played his cards right, she might become an unexpected ally—or a convenient tool. His musings shifted briefly to Roblan, whose weakness was as plain as day. That man might be a liability, but even liabilities could serve a purpose in the right context.

He clenched his fists briefly, his mind turning to the mine. That glowing treasure trove was key, and it wasn't something he intended to leave in the Baron's hands for long.

He turned, falling into step behind Maena's retinue, his thoughts racing.

For now, he would play the obedient clansman, but his ambitions were far from modest.

***

Two days later, dawn broke over the Sandorme Estate.

A thin mist clung to the ground, weaving through the manicured gardens and cloaking the estate in an ethereal haze. Servants bustled about the grounds, loading trunks and supplies onto the waiting carriages.

The estate was alive with movement, yet an air of tension hung in the air.

At the grand entrance of the estate, Lorryll Kaezhlar stood, clad in a finely tailored dark coat adorned with the Kaezhlar sigil. His sharp features and commanding presence mirrored the strength and pride of his lineage.

Beside him, Liliana stood poised and serene, her travelling cloak draped elegantly over her shoulders.

Elowen, his mother, stood at the top of the wide stairway leading to the estate's entrance. Her piercing eyes, the same steely grey as her son's, followed his every move.

Though her expression was impassive, a flicker of frustration crossed her face as her gaze shifted to Liliana.

Elowen knew.

She knew it was Liliana who had prompted Lorryll to leave the estate, to abandon the safety and influence of the clan's ancestral stronghold. Yet she said nothing, her silence more damning than words. Ever since their marriage, Lorryll has spent less time with the family and much less with her. She was trying to figure out her daughter-in-law, but her mask of a gentle and kind lady never fell off, making it hard for her to anticipate her motive.

She tried to persuade her son from leaving the main house, but Lorryll seemed adamant on leaving. Lorryll was different from her other children; he wasn't the type who would always try to impress their parents, unlike his siblings.

She decided to leave him be, as he was grown up and now has a family of his own. She didn't want to impose her ideas on him, though she would like if he stayed with her.

Lorryll barked an order to the stable hands, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "Bring the drake!"

The command caused a stir among the servants.

Maelruth, the drake, a magnificent yet temperamental creature, had been reluctant to leave its pit in the estate's grounds. It was bound by magical enchantments ever since its outburst the other day.

Lorryll wanted to take the drake along with him, even though it wouldn't let him ride on it.

When the stable hands approached the pit to retrieve the drake, chaos erupted. The creature roared in fury, its deep, guttural cry reverberating through the air. It lashed out, its tail smashing through a section of the stone wall surrounding its enclosure.

The drake broke free, its massive claws tearing into the earth as it bolted from the estate grounds. It was a blur of green and gold, its massive mascular limbs thumped against the ground, making loud noise as well as raising the dust.

Lorryll's face twisted in anger.

"After it!" he shouted, mounting his horse and spurring it into a gallop.

The estate descended into a frenzy as knights and stable hands scrambled to follow him. Liliana stood motionless, her expression unreadable as she watched her husband disappear into the distance.