Right outside the bedroom door, hidden in the shadows of the hallway, one of the estate's senior maids sat slumped against the wall.
Her elegant black-and-white uniform was bunched around her waist, legs spread. Two fingers worked steadily inside her, thumb circling her swollen clit in urgent, messy strokes. Every wet sound and broken cry that filtered through the door pulled another soft, helpless pulse from her body. Thin trails of her own arousal had already darkened the polished floorboards beneath her.
She had heard everything.
The hungry, rhythmic wetness of Elias's mouth on Lady Seraphina's breasts. The slow, filthy slide of his cock between those thighs. The rising pitch of her mistress's orgasms as he filled her again and again. Each sound had sunk straight into the maid's blood and settled low between her legs.
Her eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed deep crimson. A shaky whisper escaped between panting breaths.
"Gods… I'll have to clean this floor too…"
She was trying to push herself upright on trembling legs when the door clicked open.
I stepped out completely bare. My cock, still half-hard and glossy with Seraphina's release and my own precum, swayed with each step. A single fat droplet fell to the floorboards as our eyes met.
The maid froze.
Fingers still buried inside herself, mouth falling open, she stared up at me like a woman caught in the exact moment of her own undoing.
I smirked down at her, voice low and almost conversational.
"So. Because the hallway was dark, you decided listening to every moan and fingering yourself right outside the door was acceptable?"
She swallowed hard. No words came—only a thin, humiliated sound.
I glanced back at the ruined bedroom: the soaked sheets, the slow pulses of seed still leaking from my stepmother's body, the heavy scent of what we had done. Then I ruffled my dark hair with a tired sigh.
"It's time for training."
I looked straight at the flushed, trembling maid and gave the order in a calm, authoritative tone.
"Clean Mother Seraphina's room. Thoroughly. I'm going to take a shower."
Without waiting for a reply I turned and walked down the long hallway. My cock swung heavily between my legs, leaving a faint glistening trail of precum across the polished floor.
Behind me the maid bowed so deeply her forehead nearly touched the ground.
"Yes, Young Master."
I heard her scramble for cleaning supplies, then the soft click of the door as she stepped into the wreckage I had left behind.
As I continued down the hallway my thoughts drifted to my real mother—the legendary Holy Knight. It had been years since I had seen her in person. The only clear memories I still carried were from when I was five. Always the same tired excuse: border problems. My father was worse. Nothing existed for him except endless political maneuvering and war.
"Reginald," I called.
A calm, elderly voice answered at once from the shadows.
"Yes, Young Master?"
My personal butler, Reginald Voss, stepped forward. Stormy grey eyes regarded me with quiet respect, completely unfazed by my nudity or the sticky trail I was leaving.
I nodded. "Call my father."
A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but he obeyed without question.
The mana communicator rang… and rang… then fell silent.
Anger rose hot in my chest.
"He doesn't even have time to speak to his own son," I muttered.
Seeing the storm on my face, the old butler sighed and gently patted my bare shoulder.
"Young Master… I heard your mother's campaign is finally nearing its end. Shall we try calling her instead?"
Hope sparked.
"Call her, Gramps."
Reginald activated the crystal again. It rang twice. On the third ring a tired but commanding voice answered.
I snatched the communicator.
"Mom. It's me—Elias."
Her voice softened at once, warm and protective.
"Elias, my boy. Have you eaten this morning? Is everything alright at home? If anyone is troubling you, tell me right now. I will wipe out their entire nine generations."
I laughed and ruffled my hair.
"Haha, Mom, I'm fine. I was about to ask if *you* had eaten—"
Loud war horns blared in the background. Soldiers shouted in alarm.
"The Vorathian Empire is attacking!"
My mother's voice turned firm and exhausted.
"Son, I'll call you back later."
The connection cut.
I stood in the middle of the hallway staring at the dead communicator. Reginald swallowed nervously beside me.
In a sudden burst of fury I roared and smashed the device against the marble wall. Shattered pieces scattered across the floor. My chest heaved, fists clenched white.
"I fucking hate you, Vorathian Empire!"
Reginald let out a heavy, world-weary sigh.
"Young Master," he said calmly, "you only need to wait another three years. When you turn twenty-five and undergo the Awakening Ceremony, you will finally be able to choose your path—whether to enter your father's political arena or join your mother on the battlefield. It will depend on the power you awaken. Until then… train hard and be patient."
I clicked my tongue and kept walking toward my private quarters, cock still swinging with every angry step. Sticky strings of precum continued to drip onto the marble. Reginald followed beside me, completely unbothered.
"Even if I awaken something perfectly suited for my father's stupid political games," I muttered, "I'd still rather go to my mother's side. I hate that cold-hearted old man."
The old butler let out a soft, knowing chuckle that echoed down the hallway.
I stepped into my private quarters still bare from head to toe.
Waiting for me with perfect poise at the low tea table was my step-grandmother—Lady Isolde Ravencrest, mother of my father's first wife.
At one hundred and fifty she looked like a refined beauty in her early fifties. Long, silky jet-black hair was pinned in a sophisticated updo, a few loose strands framing her face. Sharp silver-grey eyes, high aristocratic cheekbones, full crimson lips, porcelain skin that caught the soft morning light.
Her body was wrapped in a luxurious dark silk kimono-style robe that clung to the heavy curve of her breasts, the narrow waist, and the wide flare of her hips. Sheer black stockings sheathed her long, toned legs, the fabric shimmering with every slight shift.
The moment she saw me fully exposed, Lady Isolde's silver eyes widened. Her gaze dropped straight to my thick, swinging cock—clearly the first time she had ever seen her grandson like this. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped her painted lips as she prepared to scold me for the indecent state.
Before she could speak I casually waved a hand.
"Scold me after I take a shower first, Grandma."
I turned and walked toward the bathroom. As I passed the tea table I heard it—the faint, unmistakable rustle of sheer black stockings as she pressed her thighs tightly together beneath the low table, trying to hide the reaction.
A slow, wicked smirk spread across my lips.