Chapter 97: Iridelle Arrives At Steele Family’s Mansion

The Steele family mansion stood as an unyielding testament to wealth and power, its massive stone façade gleaming in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Sculpted from the finest marble, the mansion was adorned with intricate carvings and statues that lined the perimeter like silent sentinels. A sprawling garden, meticulously landscaped with vibrant flowers and towering hedges, stretched out as far as the eye could see. The carriage bearing Iridelle Khysarel rolled to a halt on the gravel drive, the sound of crunching stones breaking the tranquil stillness of the estate.

Iridelle stepped out carefully, her simple traveling dress fluttering in the light breeze. Her breath caught as she took in the sheer magnificence of the scene before her. The mansion’s numerous windows reflected the sunlight like a thousand tiny stars, and the grand entrance—two towering oak doors banded with gold—loomed ahead, exuding an aura of authority.

’It’s even more impressive than I imagined,’ she thought, swallowing hard as a mixture of awe and apprehension coursed through her. The grandeur was suffocating in its intensity, and she couldn’t help but feel like an intruder in this world of luxury.

The butler approached her with practiced ease, his black tailcoat immaculate and his white gloves pristine. His face was a mask of polite detachment, but his deep bow and measured tone were steeped in professional courtesy.

“Welcome to Steele Manor, Miss Khysarel,” he said, straightening to regard her with a slight tilt of his head. “If you would be so kind as to follow me.”

Iridelle nodded, her fingers tightening on the small satchel she carried. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest.

She followed him up the broad steps and through the grand double doors, entering a world that felt entirely separate from the outside. The entrance hall was overwhelming. Polished marble floors stretched endlessly, their surface so pristine that they reflected the vaulted ceiling above. Intricate frescoes adorned the ceilings, depicting gods and goddesses in celestial splendor. Massive chandeliers, encrusted with what Iridelle could only assume were genuine crystals, cast a warm glow over the space.

“This way, miss,” the butler instructed, gliding smoothly ahead.

As they walked through the mansion’s labyrinthine corridors, Iridelle couldn’t help but gawk at the splendor. Each room they passed seemed more opulent than the last, a showcase of wealth and taste. Tapestries woven with golden thread, oil paintings larger than life, and furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl and precious metals made her own humble surroundings seem like a distant memory.

’This isn’t just a home—it’s a palace,’ she thought, her steps faltering slightly as they passed a massive ballroom where a glistening grand piano stood beneath a domed skylight.

Eventually, they reached a long hallway, its windows overlooking a secluded courtyard. In the center of the courtyard, two figures moved with startling speed and precision, their bodies locked in a fluid dance of combat. Iridelle paused, her eyes drawn to the scene.

Alaric Steele, tall and commanding, was engaged in a sparring session with a woman who moved with an almost predatory grace. The woman’s tight-fitting leather training gear highlighted her athletic figure, her movements powerful yet elegant. Alaric, clad in a sweat-soaked shirt that clung to his toned frame, was clearly struggling to keep up with her. His movements were sharp and deliberate, but the woman’s strikes came faster, forcing him to stay on the defensive.

“That’s Lady Lyra, the young master’s mother,” the butler informed Iridelle, noticing her interest. There was a touch of pride in his tone.

Iridelle blinked. “His… mother?” she echoed, her voice tinged with disbelief. She had expected a stately matron, not a woman whose every movement exuded strength and sensuality.

In the courtyard, Lyra smirked as she pressed her advantage. “You’re holding back, Alaric,” she chided, her voice light but firm. “Do you think I’m going to go easy on you because I’m your mother?”

Alaric grunted as he parried another blow, sweat dripping down his temples. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he shot back, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve made it abundantly clear over the years that mercy isn’t your strong suit.”

Lyra laughed, a rich, melodic sound that carried through the air. Her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled with pride as she assessed her son’s progress. ’He’s improving,’ she thought, her strikes becoming more measured as she tested his reactions. ’He’s close to matching me now. Soon, he might even surpass me.’

But as their spar continued, Lyra became increasingly aware of the closeness between them—the heat of their exertion, the faint musk of sweat mingling with the garden’s floral aroma. She could feel Alaric’s strength in every block, every counterstrike, and it sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t entirely suppress.

’Focus,’ she scolded herself, shaking off the stray thought. But her gaze lingered on him for a moment too long, taking in the way his damp shirt clung to his chest, the way his muscles flexed with each movement.

Alaric, for his part, found it increasingly difficult to maintain his composure. He admired his mother’s skill and beauty, but today, there was something more—something he couldn’t quite name. He noticed the way her leather gear accentuated her curves, the way her body moved with a fluidity that was almost hypnotic. It was distracting, to say the least.

“Your form is sloppy,” Lyra taunted, snapping him out of his reverie with a swift strike to his shoulder.

Alaric winced, rubbing the spot with a sheepish grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said. “You’re not exactly an easy opponent.”

Before Lyra could retort, the butler’s voice cut through the air. “Young Master Alaric,” he called, his tone calm but commanding. “Your guest has arrived.”

Both combatants froze, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. Lyra turned first, her sharp gaze locking onto the newcomer. Iridelle felt a pang of self-consciousness under her scrutiny, but she held her ground.

“Who is she, Alaric?” Lyra asked, her voice cool but tinged with an edge that Iridelle couldn’t quite place.

Alaric wiped his brow with the back of his hand, flashing his mother a disarming smile. “A friend, Mother,” he replied, his tone light. “Nothing to worry about.”

Lyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, her expression unreadable, but she said nothing further.

“Welcome, Iridelle!” Alaric called out, gesturing for her to join him. “Come on, let’s head inside. We have a lot to discuss.”

As Iridelle approached, her eyes darted between Alaric and Lyra. The tension between them was subtle but palpable, and she couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath the surface.

Alaric led her back toward the mansion, his demeanor relaxed and confident. But as they ascended the steps, he cast a glance over his shoulder at his mother. She was still watching them, her ocean-blue eyes unreadable, but there was a flicker of something—jealousy, perhaps? — that made the corner of Alaric’s mouth quirk upward in a satisfied smirk.

’Let her stew on it,’ he thought, amused by the way her emotions betrayed her. He had always enjoyed pushing his mother’s boundaries, and this would be no exception.

Inside the mansion, Alaric guided Iridelle through the labyrinthine corridors with the ease of someone who knew every turn and alcove by heart. He moved with a casual confidence, his steps light but purposeful. Iridelle, on the other hand, was still overwhelmed by the sheer opulence surrounding her. Every corner of the Steele Manor seemed to be dripping with luxury—gilded mirrors, handwoven rugs that muffled their footsteps, and paintings that must have cost more than entire villages.

Alaric broke the silence with a warm chuckle. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Iridelle.”

She blinked, startled by his words. “I—well, it’s just… I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she admitted, her voice tinged with wonder. “It’s like walking into a dream.”

Alaric glanced at her, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “A dream, you say? Funny. I often find it more like a gilded cage.”

Iridelle raised an eyebrow at that, curiosity sparking in her chest. “A cage? Surely there are worse places to be trapped.”

“Perhaps,” Alaric replied with a shrug. “But even a golden cage is still a cage.” He paused, as if considering his next words. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Before Iridelle could press him further, they reached a set of heavy double doors adorned with intricate carvings of mythical beasts. Alaric pushed them open with ease, revealing his private chambers.

The room was magnificent. A roaring fire crackled in the grand stone hearth, casting flickering shadows over walls adorned with tapestries and polished wood paneling. A massive four-poster bed draped in fine silks dominated the space, its headboard carved with a scene of knights and dragons. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and curiosities hinted at Alaric’s intellectual pursuits, while a crystal decanter of amber liquid and matching glasses sat atop a nearby table, adding a touch of indulgence.

Iridelle hesitated at the threshold, her eyes wide. “This… is where you live?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Alaric said with a wry smile, stepping inside and gesturing for her to follow. “Make yourself comfortable. You’ve had a long journey.”

She entered cautiously, her fingers brushing against the fine fabric of a nearby chair. “It’s incredible,” she murmured, still in awe.

Alaric poured himself a drink from the decanter, the liquid catching the firelight as it splashed into the glass. “Would you like one?” he offered, holding the glass out to her.

Iridelle shook her head. “No, thank you. I’d rather keep my wits about me.”

Alaric chuckled, taking a sip. “Fair enough. You’ll need them.”

As he set the glass down, the doors opened again, and two maids entered.

One was Ulyria, the voluptuous milf maid, her curves accentuated by her tight, revealing maid’s uniform. The other was Kara, the youthful voluptuous maid, her body just as enticing, her breasts threatening to spill out of her low-cut top.

“Master, we’re here to assist you with your bath,” Ulyria said, her voice soft and sultry as she and Kara followed Alaric out of the room.

“Master,” Ulyria began, her voice smooth and honeyed, “we’re here to assist you with your bath.”

Alaric’s smirk deepened, and he nodded. “Perfect timing, as always. I’ll need a quick refresh before we begin our discussions, Iridelle.”

Iridelle blinked, caught off guard by the casual exchange. She felt her cheeks flush as the maids flanked Alaric, their deference to him both intriguing and unsettling. She had heard rumors of the indulgent lives of nobles, but seeing it firsthand was something else entirely.

“Wait here,” Alaric said to Iridelle, his tone almost playful. “I won’t be long.”

With that, he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, the two maids trailing behind him. Iridelle stood there, unsure of what to do with herself. She wandered over to the fireplace, letting its warmth soothe her nerves as her thoughts swirled.

’What have I gotten myself into?’ she wondered, her eyes tracing the flickering flames. Alaric was charming, undeniably so, but there was a sharpness to him, an edge that kept her on guard. And his mother… Lyra’s gaze had been like a blade, cutting through Iridelle’s confidence with effortless precision.

As Alaric entered the bathroom, his maids close behind, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation and excitement. He knew what awaited him, knew the pleasures that his maids could provide, and he was eager to indulge in them.

The bathroom was a grand, opulent space, filled with marble tiles and golden fixtures. The air was thick with steam, the scent of exotic oils and perfumes filling the room. In the center of the room was a large, sunken bathtub, filled with hot, bubbling water.

Alaric stripped off his sweat-soaked clothes, his body glistening with a sheen of perspiration. He could feel the eyes of his maids on him, could feel their desire and anticipation, and he knew that he was in for a treat.

Ulyria and Kara approached him, their hands reaching out to touch his body, their fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the curves of his form.

“You’ve been pushing yourself hard, Master,” Ulyria remarked, her fingers massaging his shoulders with practiced skill.

“Training with Mother has that effect,” Alaric replied, his voice low and relaxed. “She doesn’t exactly hold back.”

Kara giggled softly, her touch feather-light as she trailed a cloth over his chest. “You’re more than holding your own, Master. She won’t admit it, but she’s impressed.”

Alaric smirked, his eyes half-lidded as he let himself enjoy their ministrations. “Good. She should be.”

The maids exchanged a glance, their admiration for him evident in their expressions. Ulyria leaned in slightly, her lips brushing against his ear. “You’ve grown stronger, Alaric. Not just in body, but in presence. We can all feel it.”

Alaric turned his head to meet her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “And what do you feel, Ulyria?” he asked, his tone both teasing and serious.

Ulyria’s cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze. “That you’re destined for greatness,” she said softly.

Alaric chuckled, reaching out to cup her cheek. “Flatterer,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple before turning to Kara, whose wide eyes sparkled with excitement. He pulled her close as well, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that left her breathless.

Alaric leaned back, his eyes closed as he reveled in the sensation of their hands on his body. He could feel their breasts pressing against him, their nipples hard and erect, their bodies warm and soft and inviting. He reached out, his hands cupping their breasts, his fingers squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.

Ulyria moaned softly, her body arching into his touch as he played with her nipples, his fingers rolling and pinching the sensitive flesh.

The two maids continued to wash his body, their hands roaming over his skin, their touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through him. He could feel his desire building, his need growing as they explored every inch of him, their hands lingering on his chest, his arms, his legs.

As they finished washing him, Alaric stood up, his body dripping with water as he stepped out of the tub. Ulyria and Kara wrapped him in a soft, fluffy towel, their hands lingering on his body as they dried him off, their touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through him.

He could feel his desire building, his need growing as he watched them, their sexy bodies on full display as they moved around him, their curves and voluptuous forms sending a thrill of pleasure coursing through him.

As they finished drying him off, Alaric turned to them, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and gratitude. “Thank you, my dear maids,” he murmured, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, his mouth capturing each of theirs in a deep, passionate kiss. “You’ve served me well, as always.”

Ulyria and Kara blushed, their eyes filled with a mix of desire and devotion as they watched him dress, their gazes lingering on his body, their breaths coming faster as they anticipated his next command.

Alaric turned to them, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and command. “Wait for me in my chamber at night,” he said, his voice firm and commanding. “I have a feeling I’ll be needing your services again later.”

The two maids nodded, their eyes filled with a mix of desire and anticipation as they turned and left the bathroom, their hips swaying seductively as they walked away.

Alaric watched them go, his heart pounding with a mix of desire and excitement as he turned and made his way back to his chamber.

Alaric dressed quickly, his mind already shifting back to Iridelle. He couldn’t deny that she intrigued him—her curiosity, her determination, and the way she carried herself despite being so clearly out of her depth.

Back in his chambers, Iridelle had taken a seat by the fire, her satchel resting on her lap. She looked up as Alaric entered, her expression a mix of relief and apprehension.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said smoothly, his dark hair still damp but neatly combed. He crossed the room to stand before her, his presence commanding even in the relaxed setting. “Shall we get down to business?”

Iridelle nodded, her fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel. “Yes, Young Master Alaric. I’m eager to learn more about the Mystic Rejuvenation Elixir and what it can do.”

Alaric’s lips curved into a slow smile, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and intent. “Ah, the elixir,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “A marvel of alchemy, to be sure. But as with all things of great value, there are certain… conditions.”

Iridelle’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. “Conditions?” she echoed, her voice steady despite her nerves. “What kind of conditions?”

Alaric leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. “Nothing unreasonable, I assure you,” he said, his tone soothing. “But we’ll need to discuss them in detail.”

Iridelle swallowed hard, her mind racing. She had come here prepared to negotiate, but the intensity of Alaric’s presence made it difficult to focus. Still, she couldn’t afford to falter—not now.

“Very well,” she said, her voice firm despite the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m willing to listen.”

Alaric’s smile deepened, and for a brief moment, Iridelle couldn’t help but wonder if she was walking into a trap—or if she was simply walking toward something she didn’t yet understand.