The Sinful Young Master

Jolthar instinctively placed a calming hand on the drake's neck, and the beast settled once more, its eyes never leaving him.

The pit men exchanged knowing looks, murmuring among themselves.

Even the drake's choice was clear: it had accepted Jolthar and no other.

Lorryll's jaw clenched as he observed this, his knuckles whitening as his hand fell to his side. The air between the two men grew thick, the difference in their approaches as clear as the divide between them.

While everybody was watching them, Lady Elowen, the matriarch of the Kaezhlar clan, stepped into view, flanked by her two other sons. Her gaze swept across the courtyard, her sharp, observant eyes scanning for any sign of disarray. She was a woman who commanded respect, not just because of her bloodline but because of the power she wielded with grace. Her very presence had the effect of stilling the air as if nature itself waited for her to speak.

Lorryl turned swiftly to face her as she approached, his expression one of concern yet marked by a hidden wariness.

"What's happening here?" she asked, her voice melodic yet deep with authority. It was the voice of someone accustomed to giving commands that were followed without question.

The tension in the grounds thickened for a moment as Orimus spoke, recounting the events that had led to this confrontation. He explained how Jolthar had returned to the keep after a prolonged absence, only to be met with a strange tension in the air.

Jolthar had trained hard during his time away, but there were questions regarding his sudden departure and whispers that he may have been hiding something.

As Lady Elowen's gaze fell on Jolthar, her sharp eyes appraised him, sizing him up.

There was something in the way she looked at him, not just as her nephew but as a member of the clan, as a piece on a chessboard whose next move could have far-reaching consequences.

Jolthar felt the weight of her stare, the weight of generations of Kaezhlar bloodline weighing upon him, and yet he stood unmoving, despite the stirring within him.

Lady Elowen paused for a long, tense moment before she spoke again.

"Meet me in my office," she instructed her voice firm yet unyielding, like the command of an empress. Without another word, she turned and swept back into the keep, her sons following closely behind her.

The front ground began to empty, with the members of the clan dispersing to their respective duties, leaving Jolthar standing there alone for a brief moment. His heart pounded in his chest, but his face remained calm, impassive.

He knew that this meeting would define much of his future with the Kaezhlar clan. It was his first time meeting her, and she was quite intimidating, he thought.

He was interrupted by the approach of a distinguished-looking man in impeccable attire. The man bowed deeply, a warm smile on his face.

"Welcome to Sandornen, young master Jolthar," he said, his voice cultured and refined. "I am Pascal, butler to the Kaezhlar family."

Pascal led him to the office of Lady Elowen, wife of Caelum, second head after the patriarch. Caelum had left for dark planes with his legion to fight against the nyphorites along with the other clans and elves. During his absence, she would wield the power in the clan.

He made his way through the grand stone halls of the estate, the scent of polished wood and burning torches filling his nostrils. The corridors were lined with portraits of the clan's ancestors—men and women whose accomplishments were immortalised in painted form, their stern expressions almost daring anyone to defy their legacy.

Jolthar walked past them with a sense of purpose, knowing that one day he would have to carve his own place in that history.

Lady Elowen's office was located at the far end of the keep, beyond the council chambers and the great hall.

As he entered the room, the door creaking behind him, Jolthar found himself standing in the heart of the clan's power. Lady Elowen was already seated at her desk; papers spread out before her. Her second son and fourth son stood beside her, waiting in silence, their presence serving as a reminder of the political web Jolthar was about to walk into.

She motioned for him to sit.

"Tell me, Jolthar," Lady Elowen began, her voice no longer as soft as it had been in the grounds, "why did you leave the keep? Your absence has been... noted."

Jolthar sat down, his posture straight, his eyes meeting hers without flinching. There was no fear in him, not anymore. The years of training and surviving in a world where betrayal and deception were commonplace had steeled him for moments like this.

"I left to train," Jolthar replied, his voice steady. "To become stronger. To prove myself."

Lady Elowen's eyes flickered with something unreadable. She studied him carefully, her gaze intense. "And what do you seek to prove, Jolthar?" she asked, leaning forward slightly. "Do you seek power for the sake of power? Or is there a greater purpose behind your actions?"

Jolthar took a deep breath. This was the moment where his true intentions could either make or break him. He needed to tread carefully. In truth, he had no grand ambition to seek power for its own sake.

His primary goal, for now, was survival. But there was more to it than that—he wanted a stronger influence over the clan. He has to honour his mother's legacy, who was the patriarch's half-sister, and still, she was left to die just because she eloped with her loved one, and then bore Jolthar without marrying her lover. During her final days, she begged the clan to take care of Jolthar.

The painful memories of his mother suffering in that single room left to her own devices, fuelled Jolthar's desire to rise to power within the clan. He couldn't believe the woman who was sitting right in front of him; from what he knew, his mother and that woman had been close during their childhood.

His mother, before she went away with her loved one, had been like a treasured child in the whole family, as she was the only girl child of the previous patriarch. But after she had done what she had, she was hated by the whole clan. Such fragile feelings, these people bore against each other, Jolthar thought.

"I want to use my sword for more than just battle," Jolthar said, his voice carefully measured. "I want to serve the Kaezhlar clan to ensure it thrives for generations to come."

Lady Elowen leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming lightly against the surface of her desk. Her expression was unreadable, and for a moment, the silence between them felt as if it could stretch on forever.

"You speak of serving the clan," she finally said, "but do you truly understand what that means? It's not enough to wield a sword, Jolthar. It's not enough to train. You must be willing to sacrifice everything for the clan's future."

Jolthar hesitated, knowing his answer would shape his future with the clan. "I will do whatever it takes," he said, his voice resolute. "I will fight when I am required."