CHAPTER 534: SCHEMES AND CELEBRATIONS (2)

Inside the keep, the laughter dwindled to echoes. He moved through corridors lit only by moon-cold sconces, breath fogging a little—stone always captured night. The ajar door, the candle’s fluttering silhouette, felt intimate, expectant.

Arielle’s opening declaration might have been rehearsed on the march from her tower; the quaver in her voice suggested otherwise. Josephine’s empty pouch hitting the desk felt louder than the drum circle earlier—an indictment. Wilhelmina’s threat, quiet and deadly, completed the tribunal.

The severity pricked him sober. He almost tried to explain the treasury process: the crown’s auditors, the shipping delay, the war’s cost. But he read fatigue in their shoulders, understood that explanation was not remedy. So he offered the vault—quiet, low-voiced, aware of how much that concession exposed.

Josephine inhaled, light catching her irises like molten amber. For once she had no quip. Arielle’s fingers tightened on parchment as though recalculating futures on the spot. Wilhelmina’s posture dipped—not in defeat but something gentler, as if recognising the surrender mirrored her own perpetual vigilance.

Wine rounded the edges. Laughter returned first as small sparks—Josephine turning the empty pouch into a puppet to mock the crown’s tardy coffers; Arielle drawing up imaginary ledgers of how they might invest the secret hoard; Wilhelmina murmuring that a mint makes poor kindling but wonderful leverage.

Steam rose. Arielle loosened ribbons, each slide revealing pale, ink-freckled skin. Lyan watched the tension drain from her spine with every knot undone, felt it answer in his own muscles. He followed, trailing kisses along the delicate network of tendons at her neck; she shivered, chuckled, pressed fingertips to his lips as if in thanks.

Wilhelmina’s entrance shifted the current. She discarded her coat with military precision, then hesitated—a breath, two—before unfastening the linen at her throat. Lyan’s heart thudded; he had seen her battle-armoured, blood-splattered, unwavering. He had not seen the soft hollow of her collarbone kissed pink by candle reflection. When his hands found her waist, she froze—muscle memory of command—then exhaled, let her head tip back against his shoulder. A sigh, unfamiliar and tender, uncurled through the tiles.

Josephine’s arrival cracked the reverence with bright heat. She banged the door wide so steam gusted out, half an invitation, half a dare. Stripped to chemise and a wicked grin, she splashed into the bath, water sloshing over marble. She looped arms around Arielle and Wilhelmina both, daring them to protest, and when neither did, she pulled them close enough that collarbones brushed, close enough that breath tangled.

Lyan, caught at the centre, tasted three stories at once: Arielle’s shy hope, Wilhelmina’s disciplined surrender, Josephine’s riotous hunger. Kisses passed from mouth to mouth like torches traded on a relay: slow at first, exploratory—Arielle’s lips against his, hesitant then deeper; Josephine nipping Arielle’s ear until the scholar gasped; Wilhelmina surprising all three by tilting Josephine’s chin and claiming a kiss that drew a raw sound from the jester.

Steam draped everything, turning candlelight to liquid gold. Hands wandered—careful, reverent, greedy—mapping each fresh territory of skin revealed. Arielle traced inkless script down Lyan’s chest; Josephine etched teasing circles along Wilhelmina’s shoulder blades; Lyan learned the quiet language hidden in Wilhelmina’s taut sighs when he cupped her hip just so.

Serious matters intruded once—Arielle murmured something about the vault ledger. Josephine shushed her with a kiss that smeared wine sweetness across both mouths. Wilhelmina whispered about guard rotations; Lyan kissed the words away, promising schedules could wait.

Water sloshed as positions shifted: Lyan braced against cool marble while Wilhelmina pressed him from behind, hair slick and fragrant, her command whispered into his ear even as her knees trembled. Arielle, emboldened, guided Josephine’s hand over her heart, teaching a rhythm that made her gasp; Josephine’s laughter turned breathless as Lyan’s hand slipped beneath water to tease back.

Heat spiralled, laughter dissolving into moans, the world shrinking to candle glow and wet skin sliding. Arielle bit Lyan’s shoulder—an unguarded flare of want—leaving a small crescent mark; Wilhelmina growled approval. Josephine, triumphant, murmured, "Harem union ratified," before her words broke into a shaky cry.

Josephine’s laugh was still trembling when Lyan caught her chin between forefinger and thumb.

"Ratified, is it?" he murmured.

"By unanimous—" she started, but he stole the rest with his mouth.

He kissed her not like a lord claiming tribute, but like a thief testing a window latch—light first, curious, then a slow press that asked for more. Josephine met him halfway, smiling against his lips, the curve of it tipping the angle until their noses brushed. Her hands framed his face, thumbs stroking at his temples in lazy circles.

"MmH..." she hummed, pleased, and then—"slrp"—a soft, wet sound as he tugged her lower lip between his, tasting wine and laughter. She nipped him in retaliation, not quite a bite, more a dare. He chuckled into her mouth, and her breath hitched—there—before she broke away with a gasp and an unsteady grin.

"Payment accepted," she breathed, cheeks flushed. "Interest accruing."

He turned to Arielle next, slower, giving her time to decide. She didn’t make him wait. The scholar lifted her chin, eyes wide behind damp lashes. Her hands were still somewhere between a ledger and a prayer, fingers flexing as if counting beats. Lyan cupped the side of her neck, feeling the quick patter beneath the skin, and brushed a kiss to the bow of her top lip. Once. Twice. On the third, he deepened it, the gentleness giving way to warmth.

Arielle’s startled "oh" disappeared into him. Her mouth parted like a page turning. He tasted vanilla cream from earlier and the faint mint she hoarded for late nights. When his tongue teased the edge of her teeth she made a tiny sound—"Mm... mnh"—then tried it back, cautious, sweet. Their tongues met—hesitant touch, a retreat, then a braver glide that sent heat skating down his spine. "Slrp," soft and unguarded, and her fingers finally stopped counting and clutched his shoulders instead.

She pulled back pink-cheeked, breath fogging the inch between them. "I... I was going to itemize this," she whispered, a little dazed, "but I’ve lost the columns."

"Good," he said, forehead tipping to hers. "Lose them again."

Wilhelmina watched, composed, as if adjudicating a duel. Yet the tiny pulse at her throat flickered. He faced her without play, hands open. The command in her posture loosened by degrees as he stepped close. She did not tilt her head, so he did—meeting her on equal ground. Their mouths met in a line as straight as her sword, neither giving too much. She tasted of steel-cool water and the peppermint she kept for early drills.

The first pass was quiet, a seal. The second carried heat. He slid a palm along the clean plane of her back and felt a tremor run under his hand as she let him in—just a little. Her lips parted; his tongue traced once, slow, and her breath left on a low note that might have been a growl, might have been a sigh. "Mm—" She caught his lower lip for a heartbeat, held, released. "Slrp."

When they broke, she didn’t step away. She set two fingers to his jaw, an old habit returned as tenderness. "Control," she said, voice rougher than usual, "isn’t always refusal."

"I’m learning," he answered.

Josephine snorted happily. "Teacher’s pet."

"Jealous?" he shot back.

"Always." She hooked a finger in his ribboned arm and tugged him down for another kiss—messier this time, laughter tucked inside. "MmH—slrp—there," she sighed, eyes half-lidded. "That’s the sound of an approved budget."

Arielle, emboldened, touched Lyan’s cheek to turn his head back to her. "My turn again," she said, surprising herself with the certainty in it. He met her eager mouth with a smile, and she smiled into him, the kiss a soft "mmm," then a deeper "mnh—slrp" as her tongue found his, more certain now. When he stroked behind her ear, she shivered and pressed closer until the line of her body lay flush against his.

Wilhelmina’s hand slid to the back of his neck and stayed there, thumb stroking once along the tendon as if to say don’t drift too far. He understood. He kissed her again, brief and fierce—"MmH"—letting his breath mingle with hers, then rested his brow to hers. "You’re allowed to take," he murmured. "Not just command."

She didn’t answer in words. She kissed him—quick, decisive—then shifted his chin to the side and surprised Josephine with a clean, sure peck that stole the jester’s smirk for a heartbeat.

"Oh," Josephine said, caught unready, and then she laughed, delighted. "Now we’re negotiating."

"Terms," Wilhelmina said, composed again but brighter in the eyes. "Shared."

Arielle tugged gently at Lyan’s hand. "One more," she whispered. He obliged, softer, slower. The scholar’s tongue met his with confidence now, a shy dance turned fluent. "Slrp," and the sound made Josephine giggle against Wilhelmina’s shoulder.

"Stop laughing," Arielle murmured, cheeks burning but smiling.

"Can’t," Josephine said, leaning in to brush her mouth against Arielle’s cheek, then the corner of her lips, stealing a quick taste—"Mm"—before she claimed Lyan again for two greedy beats.

They were a wheel he turned by instinct: kiss, breath, glance, return. He moved between them like a tide—drawn, released, drawn again—each woman a different shoreline. Josephine met him with teeth and mirth, her tongue flicking to chase, turning every "slrp" into a shared joke. Arielle softened him, "mmm" and "mnh," kisses that unfolded like notes in the margin of a favorite book. Wilhelmina steadied him, "Mm," a line held taut, then slackened just enough to welcome him deeper when he earned it.

He traced their preferences like a map: the point on Josephine’s lower lip that made her laugh tilt into a gasp; the tiny scar at the corner of Arielle’s mouth that she tried to hide until he kissed it gently and felt her melt; the exact pressure at the angle of Wilhelmina’s jaw that unraveled a sigh she pretended not to have.

"Again," Josephine whispered, eyes bright, and he gave, and she answered "MmH—slrp—yes." "One more," Arielle said, and he did, and she hummed "mmm" into his mouth, fingers curling in his hair. "Enough," Wilhelmina warned—then caught his mouth herself, contradicting the word with heat.

The spirits, mercifully, kept mostly quiet. Only Lilith sighed, pleased. (Finally he uses his mouth for good.) Cynthia’s chuckle warmed the back of his mind. (Joy is also duty.) Arturia attempted a harrumph and failed. (...Proceed.)

They drifted from the bath lip to the thick towels without losing contact, a tangle dissolving and re-forming as kisses tugged them sideways. Lyan sat; Arielle settled astride his lap and kissed him with new boldness, small sounds—"mnh... mnh"—escaping between touches. Josephine slung herself over his shoulder to angle in from the side, stealing a share—"slrp"—and laughing when he swatted her hip. Wilhelmina knelt behind him, arms winding around his torso, mouth finding the hinge of his jaw, the edge of his ear, placing quiet "mm"s that made his breath stutter.

"Focus, Guardian," Josephine teased between kisses. "Your ledger is overdue."

"Collect," he said, dragging her back to his mouth. "MmH—slrp."

Arielle drew back, eyes glassy. "I’m adding a surcharge," she managed, and kissed him again before he could ask what for. He answered with a low sound that wasn’t quite a word, hands gentle at her waist.

Wilhelmina’s palm settled over his heart, counting beats. "Steady," she murmured, then leaned around to claim his mouth in a firm, grounding kiss. He gave her the weight she wanted—no chase, no tease, just pressure and breath shared until she exhaled slowly through her nose and nudged their foreheads together. "Good."

Josephine’s hand slid to Arielle’s cheek, guiding the scholar back into a three-way rhythm that felt like a game and a pact and a prayer. Lips met lips, broke, met again. Sometimes they missed and laughed, sometimes they found the seam just right and one of them sighed so sweetly it hushed the others. "MmH." "Mnh." "Slrp." The room filled with soft sounds and the softer pauses in between.

When they finally stilled, it wasn’t because desire had drained, but because contentment had risen. Josephine sprawled half across them both, hair damp and unruly, tracing idle shapes on Lyan’s collarbone. Arielle tucked her face into his throat, breathing the rhythm she’d just counted. Wilhelmina rested with her cheek to his shoulder and her hand on his sternum like a seal pressed to wax.

"No more mint talk," Josephine muttered, voice thick with drowsy humor. "Or ledgers."

"No more threats to the mint," Arielle corrected, sleepy but prim.

"No promises," Wilhelmina said, but her tone had lost its iron. She lifted her head long enough to brush one last kiss to Lyan’s mouth—short, sure, a period at the end of a sentence—"mm"—then settled back down.

"Now, time for next step hehehe"