Chapter 225 Sunken Pearl Estate

The transition was jarring.

One moment, the desperate flight through demon-haunted wilds, the oppressive fear, the gnawing exhaustion.

The next, stepping through a shimmering curtain into… peace.

Clean air, untouched landscapes, a palpable sense of security radiating from the very ground beneath their feet. The demonic presence that had been a constant shadow for days vanished utterly, repelled by the invisible, potent barrier that now sealed them safely inside.

Queen Margaret took a deep, shuddering breath, the first truly relaxed one in what felt like an eternity. Beside her, Josephine sagged slightly, relief momentarily overwhelming her composure. Archmage Priscilla remained vigilant, her senses sweeping the serene surroundings, but even she couldn’t deny the profound shift in atmosphere.

The dozens of other consorts, wide-eyed and trembling, huddled together, looking around with a mixture of awe and residual fear. The guards and mages let out collective sighs, lowering weapons slightly, the tension easing from their shoulders like a physical weight being lifted.

Before they could fully process their arrival, figures emerged from the nearby woods. Steele Family guards, clad in functional, well-maintained armour bearing the family crest. They moved with quiet efficiency, their expressions professional, betraying no surprise at the sudden appearance of royalty and an Archmage.

‘Of course,’ Margaret thought, regaining her regal bearing. ‘Young Master Steele knew we were coming. Preparations would have been made.’

A captain stepped forward, bowing crisply. Not overly deferential, but respectful. “Your Majesty? Archmage Priscilla? Welcome to the Steele Territory. Lord Alaric awaits you at the manor. Please follow us.”

There were no invasive questions, no demands for identification beyond the obvious. Just efficient acceptance.

The group, weary but buoyed by the prospect of actual shelter, readily followed the guards. The journey was short, traversing rolling hills and well-kept paths. The land felt… prosperous. Healthy. A stark contrast to the increasingly blighted territories they had crossed.

Soon, the Steele Family manor came into view. It wasn’t as sprawling or ostentatiously ancient as the Royal Palace in Eryndal, but it possessed a different kind of grandeur. Solid, imposing, built with both elegance and defensibility in mind. It radiated quiet power.

‘Impressive,’ Priscilla noted silently, assessing the architecture, the subtle arcane reinforcements visible only to a trained eye. ‘Built to last. And likely built with secrets.’

They were led through large outer gates, across a massive central courtyard – the same one Alaric had landed Kai in days earlier – and into the main entrance hall. Servants moved silently, bowing low, their presence disciplined and unobtrusive.

The captain spoke again. “Lord Alaric and Lady Lyra await you in the Great Hall. If Your Majesty, Archmage Priscilla, Royal Consort Josephine, and…” he hesitated slightly, glancing at the group of beautiful women accompanying the Queen, “…the other Royal Consorts would please follow me?”

He gestured tactfully towards the remaining guards and mages. “Arrangements have been made for your contingent’s rest and recuperation elsewhere on the estate grounds.”

Margaret nodded graciously. “Thank you, Captain.”

She exchanged a quick glance with Josephine and Priscilla. Time to face their host. Along with a few select consorts known for their poise and beauty – chosen to represent the ‘assets’ they brought – they followed the captain towards a set of imposing double doors.

The doors swung open, revealing the Great Hall.

It was a vast chamber, opulent but tasteful. High ceilings, rich tapestries depicting Steele family history (mostly martial victories and prosperous trade), polished wood floors, and a large, ornate fireplace currently dormant. Sunlight streamed through tall windows.

At the far end, on slightly raised chairs that weren’t quite thrones but clearly denoted status, sat the core of the Steele Family.

Lyra Steele, the Matriarch, presided centrally. Her blonde hair gleamed, her blue eyes sharp and assessing as she watched them enter. She radiated an aura of calm authority.

To her right sat her son, Alaric Steele. He lounged slightly in his chair, a picture of relaxed confidence. His ruby eyes held an unnerving depth, a hint of amusement dancing within them as he surveyed the arriving royals. He offered a polite, almost charming smile.

Beside Alaric sat his wife, Griselda Steele. The Sixth Princess looked lovely, her expression softening immediately upon seeing Margaret. A genuine smile lit up her face.

To Lyra’s left sat Cassandra Galanis, Lyra’s sister. Her purple eyes were just as sharp as her sister’s, perhaps with a touch more cynicism as she observed the newcomers.

Next to Cassandra was her daughter, Fiora Galanis. The young martialist looked slightly overwhelmed, her emerald eyes wide as she took in the Queen, the Archmage, and the other stunningly beautiful consorts. She fidgeted slightly in her seat.

Standing slightly behind and to the sides were other key figures.

Saintess Ceanna, radiating a gentle, calming aura. Her white robes were simple, yet she possessed an undeniable presence. Her eyes held a serene devotion when they flickered towards Alaric.

‘Odd,’ Priscilla mused, sensing Ceanna’s aura. ‘It feels… divine. But different from the Radiant Church’s signature. Warmer? More… direct? Curious.’

Iridelle, the head artificer, stood near a side table laden with what looked like arcane blueprints. Her expression was studious, analytical, her gaze lingering on Priscilla with professional interest.

And Rosalind, overseeing the family’s business ventures, projected an air of sharp intelligence, her mind likely already calculating the implications of this royal influx.

The air crackled with unspoken power dynamics and silent assessments.

Margaret, drawing on years of courtly experience, moved forward gracefully, despite her travel-worn attire. Josephine and the other consorts followed, arranging themselves respectfully. Priscilla stood slightly apart, her Archmage presence commanding attention without needing overt gestures.

“Lady Lyra,” Margaret began, her voice clear and carrying the weight of her station, though tinged with genuine gratitude. She inclined her head respectfully to the Matriarch. “And Young Master Steele.” A nod towards Alaric.

“On behalf of myself, my sister consorts,” she gestured encompassingly, “and all those who travelled with us from Eryndal, I offer our most profound thanks. Your willingness to grant us sanctuary in these desperate times… it is a kindness the Kingdom of Eloriath shall not forget.”

Lyra offered a gracious, regal nod. “Your Majesty is welcome within our lands. The Steele Family understands the gravity of the current threat. It is our duty to offer aid where we can.” Her gaze was steady, acknowledging Margaret’s status but subtly establishing her own authority as mistress of this domain.

‘Well-spoken,’ Alaric thought, appreciating his mother’s diplomatic handling of the opening. ‘Asserts our strength without being insulting.’

Margaret continued, “We endured a difficult journey. Seeing the borders of your territory, feeling the power of your defensive barrier… it offered the first true hope we’ve felt in days.” She glanced towards Priscilla. “Even Archmage Priscilla was deeply impressed by its sophistication.”

That was Priscilla’s cue. The Archmage stepped forward slightly, her gaze focusing directly on Alaric, bypassing Lyra for this specific, technical inquiry.

“Young Master Steele,” Priscilla’s voice was calm, measured, but held an undercurrent of professional curiosity that bordered on demanding. “Forgive my directness, but the defensive array surrounding your territory is… extraordinary.”

Alaric met her gaze, his expression shifting to one of polite interest. “You found it satisfactory, Archmage?”

“Satisfactory?” Priscilla allowed a faint, dry smile. “It is leagues beyond any standard array I have encountered. The power source integration, the multi-layered rune sequences, the sheer stability… it suggests knowledge far exceeding what is typically available, even within advanced magical orders.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I confess, I am struggling to understand how such a complex system could be designed and implemented. Even possessing a Seventh Order beast core is merely the first step. The theoretical knowledge required…”

She paused, letting the implication hang. “You are known as a genius artificer, Young Master, of that there is no doubt. Your inventions speak for themselves. But you are, if reports are accurate, seventeen years of age? And not yet ascended to the Archmage rank yourself.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Forgive me, but how could you possess the understanding of Archmage-level capabilities – their offensive potential, their methods of breaching defenses – necessary to construct a barrier seemingly designed to repel us?”

The question hung in the air. It was polite, framed as professional curiosity, but the underlying challenge was clear: How do you know things you shouldn’t know?

Lyra’s expression remained neutral, but her eyes flickered towards her son. Cassandra leaned forward slightly, intrigued. Fiora looked confused by the technical talk but fascinated by the Archmage questioning Alaric. Griselda looked at her husband with trusting eyes, certain he had a brilliant answer. Ceanna simply watched Alaric, her faith absolute.

Alaric chuckled softly, a self-deprecating sound. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed disarmingly casual.

“Archmage Priscilla, your assessment is, as expected, perceptive,” he began, his tone light. “And your question is entirely valid.”

He leaned back slightly, his ruby eyes taking on a distant, shadowed look. “The truth is rather… grim, I’m afraid.”

He sighed dramatically. “As you know, the Kingdom launched a major offensive against the Demon Fortress some weeks ago. A necessary gamble, perhaps, but ultimately… disastrous.”

His gaze swept over the assembled Steeles. “My mother, my aunt, Saintess Ceanna, and I were part of a contingent supporting that assault.”

Priscilla nodded slowly. “I heard reports of Steele family involvement. And… of the terrible losses sustained by all forces.”

“Indeed,” Alaric continued, his voice lowering slightly. “We witnessed firsthand the power unleashed in that chaotic battle. We saw Archmages clash with demon lords. We saw Martial Kings carve paths through demonic legions, only to be overwhelmed.”

He looked directly at Priscilla. “I saw Archmage Gideon Thorne unleash storms of fire that melted obsidian. I saw Archmage Rahel Klinghoffer weave wards that defied comprehension, holding back tides of darkness. I saw their power… and I saw their limits when faced with overwhelming demonic force and treacherous terrain.”

He shook his head, a convincing portrayal of grim recollection. “The situation deteriorated rapidly. The fortress itself seemed… alive, hostile. Retreat became the only viable option if we wished to preserve our core strength.”

He gestured towards Lyra, Cassandra, and Ceanna. “My priority became ensuring their safety. Escaping that deathtrap with my family and the Saintess intact required every bit of cunning and resourcefulness I possessed.”

He met Priscilla’s gaze again, his expression sobering. “So, to answer your question, Archmage… I understand the capabilities needed to counter beings of your power because I witnessed them nearly fail against an even greater threat. The barrier design incorporates observations gleaned from that harrowing experience. It is built upon the lessons learned from witnessing Eloriath’s finest struggle and fall.”

He finished with another faint, self-deprecating smile. “Call it… learning under extreme duress. Necessity is, after all, the mother of invention. Or in this case, fortification.”

Silence followed his explanation.

Priscilla studied him intently. His story was plausible. Surviving the Demon Fortress disaster would indeed provide invaluable, if terrifying, insight into high-level combat. And his focus on protecting his family aligned with the actions of a responsible leader.

‘He attributes it to observation and necessity,’ Priscilla analyzed internally. ‘Plausible. Perhaps even true, in part. Though the sheer sophistication still feels… advanced for mere observation. But it’s a reasonable explanation. Blaming him for escaping when others fell would be unjust. Caution and strategic retreat are virtues, especially for one so young and vital.’

She finally inclined her head. “A grim lesson indeed, Young Master Steele. But one you seem to have learned well. Escaping that catastrophe speaks volumes of your capabilities and prudence. The kingdom suffered irreplaceable losses that day.” Her voice held genuine sadness for her fallen colleagues.

‘She bought it,’ Alaric thought, inwardly satisfied. ‘The partial truth mixed with a sob story. Always effective.’

He shifted his attention back to Queen Margaret, his expression becoming more formally courteous.

“Your Majesty,” he said, rising slightly from his chair in a gesture of respect. “While I appreciate your thanks, allow me to express my own gratitude.”

Margaret looked slightly surprised. “Gratitude, Young Master?”

“Indeed,” Alaric affirmed. “When I extended the offer of sanctuary, I hoped you would see the wisdom in consolidating vital personnel and resources away from the escalating danger in the capital. Your decision to accept, to undertake such a perilous journey, bringing not only yourselves but also key members of the court, esteemed mages, loyal guards, and invaluable cultural treasures…”

He gestured broadly. “You have preserved a core of Eloriath’s strength and heritage that might otherwise have been lost. Had the capital fallen with all of you still inside… the blow to the kingdom would have been catastrophic. So, thank you, Your Majesty, for your courage and foresight in accepting my humble offer.”

He framed it perfectly – making her escape seem like her wise decision made upon his wise suggestion, positioning himself as a benefactor concerned with the kingdom’s welfare.

Margaret seemed slightly taken aback by his framing but recovered quickly. “We… We did what we felt was necessary for survival, Young Master Steele. Your offer provided the means.”

‘He twists it elegantly,’ Josephine noted silently, observing the exchange. ‘Making us feel grateful for following his plan.’

Griselda beamed, clutching Alaric’s arm lightly. “My husband is always thinking of others, Your Majesty!” she exclaimed happily, genuinely believing his altruistic framing.

Margaret offered Griselda a warm smile. “He certainly seems to be, my dear Griselda. It gladdens my heart to see you well.”

Griselda blushed prettily. “I’m very happy here, Your Majesty. And so happy you are safe!”

Alaric gently patted Griselda’s hand before turning back to the practicalities.

“Now, regarding your accommodations,” he announced, his tone shifting to that of a gracious host. “I understand the Sunken Pearl Palace in Eryndal was the traditional residence for the Royal Consorts?”

Margaret and Josephine exchanged a quick, subtle glance. The other consorts shifted nervously. Mentioning the harem palace so directly…

“It… yes, that is correct,” Margaret confirmed carefully.

Alaric smiled smoothly. “While we cannot replicate the history and grandeur of the Royal Palace, we have endeavoured to provide comfortable and private lodgings for you and your sisters.”

He gestured vaguely towards the direction outside the manor. “We have prepared a rather large, newly refurbished estate not far from this main manor. It offers privacy, security, ample space, and luxurious appointments suitable for esteemed guests of your station.”

He paused, letting his gaze linger for a moment on the collection of beautiful consorts standing behind Margaret.

“In honour of your former residence, and to provide a sense of familiarity perhaps, we have taken the liberty of naming it the ‘Sunken Pearl Estate’.”

The name dropped into the room with deliberate weight. Sunken Pearl Estate. Not palace, but estate. A property owned by the Steele family. Designated specifically for the women of the royal harem. The implication was crystal clear, despite the polite phrasing.

Margaret’s composure remained intact, but a faint flush rose on her neck. Josephine’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. Some of the consorts looked confused, others apprehensive, a few perhaps even intrigued by the handsome, powerful young lord making such arrangements for them.

Priscilla raised a subtle eyebrow. ‘Blatant. He’s essentially claiming the royal harem as guests in his specifically named annex.’

Lyra and Cassandra remained impassive, likely having anticipated something of this nature from their unpredictable son/nephew. Fiora looked completely bewildered by the name’s significance. Griselda, bless her innocence, simply thought it was a lovely, considerate name.

“That is… most thoughtful of you, Young Master Steele,” Margaret managed, her voice smooth. “Such considerations are deeply appreciated after our ordeal.”

“We are truly grateful for your generosity,” Josephine added, her tone equally polite.

The consorts murmured their thanks, following the Queen’s lead. Outwardly, it was all gracious acceptance.

‘They understand,’ Alaric smirked inwardly. ‘Good. Saves awkward conversations later. They know where they stand. Guests, for now. Assets, eventually.’

“Excellent,” Alaric said brightly. “I am pleased the arrangements meet with Your Majesty’s approval.”

He pushed himself fully to his feet. “If you are feeling up to it after your journey, perhaps I could escort you ladies there now? Allow you to settle in and refresh yourselves?”

He specifically said ‘ladies’, clearly indicating Margaret, Josephine, the consorts, and perhaps Priscilla if she chose, while implicitly excluding the guards and other mages who had already been directed elsewhere.

Margaret hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Refusing the host’s personal escort would be rude. And perhaps… unwise.

“We would be honoured, Young Master Steele,” she replied graciously. “Lead the way.”

“Wonderful,” Alaric beamed, offering his arm in a gentlemanly gesture towards the main doors, though not specifically to Margaret, leaving it open who might take it.

Margaret gracefully ignored the offered arm, maintaining a queenly distance, and simply proceeded towards the exit. Josephine and Priscilla followed, trailed by the nervous but curious consorts.

Alaric chuckled softly to himself and fell into step beside Margaret as they walked out of the Great Hall, leaving Lyra, Cassandra, Fiora, Griselda, Ceanna, Iridelle, and Rosalind behind.

“He’s personally escorting them?” Fiora whispered to Griselda, confused. “To the ‘Sunken Pearl Estate’?”

Griselda nodded happily. “Isn’t he thoughtful? Making sure the Queen and her ladies feel welcome and comfortable right away!”

Lyra and Cassandra exchanged a look. It spoke volumes without a single word.

‘Here we go again,’ Lyra thought with weary resignation.

‘His appetites are insatiable,’ Cassandra mused, a flicker of something complex – disapproval, envy, reluctant admiration – in her purple eyes.

Ceanna merely smiled serenely, trusting her Lord’s plans implicitly.

Alaric led the procession of beautiful, exhausted, and uncertain royal women out of the main manor and towards their new gilded cage.