138. Herptian’s Desired Beauties

The ship bearing the parley flag cut gracefully through the calm harbor waters, its sails billowing like the wings of some great seabird as it glided toward the dock. The vessel was smaller than the merchant galleons that typically frequented the port—sleek and fast, built for speed rather than cargo. Its hull showed signs of recent repairs, the fresh timber standing out against the salt-weathered planks, hinting at a hurried journey across treacherous waters.

At the center of the deck stood a woman whose presence seemed to command the very air around her. Lady Aurora of House Flask, her fiery red hair catching the midday sun like molten copper, surveyed the bustling port city before her with keen interest. The three knights flanking her, clad in the distinctive silver-and-blue livery of the Flask household—stood at rigid attention, their hands resting lightly on their sword hilts, their eyes scanning for any threat.

Aurora's noble dress, though clearly cut in the latest imperial fashion, showed signs of travel wear—the hem slightly frayed, the embroidery along the sleeves dulled by sea spray. Yet even in this state, she carried herself with the effortless grace of high nobility, her chin lifted just enough to convey confidence without arrogance.

"It's quite different than how I imagined," she murmured, her sharp blue eyes tracing the skyline of Kim City. The towering structures, reminiscent of the Western Continent's grandest cities—rose like sentinels along the coast, their whitewashed dome facades gleaming in the sunlight. Cranes and scaffolding clung to several half-finished buildings, evidence of the island's rapid transformation under Ravenna's rule.

The rhythmic clatter of armored boots announced the arrival of Kim City's knights. Vice Captain John led the contingent, his polished breastplate bearing the newly adopted crest of Kim Island—a raven in flight over crossed swords. He offered a crisp salute, his voice carrying the formal cadence of military protocol.

"Greetings, Lady Aurora. Her Highness has requested you wait here—she wishes to welcome you personally." His gaze flickered briefly to the ship behind her, where figures moved about the deck. "Until her arrival, I must ask that no additional passengers disembark."

Aurora's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Ah, Ser John, isn't it?" She tilted her head slightly, as if recalling some long-forgotten detail. "Of course, I'm perfectly content to wait for... Ravy." The childhood nickname rolled off her tongue with deliberate playfulness, her tone carrying the weight of shared history.

The vice captain's stern expression faltered for just an instant, whether at the casual use of the princess's nickname or the sheer audacity of this noblewoman's charm, it was hard to say. But he recovered quickly, signaling his men to form a perimeter around the dock.

The sea breeze carried the mingled scents of salt and fresh timber as Aurora leaned slightly against a mooring post, her fingers tapping an idle rhythm against the weathered wood. Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of the city, the shouts of dockworkers, the creak of pulleys, the occasional burst of laughter—drifted toward the harbor, a living testament to the island's transformation.

The harbor fell into hushed anticipation as the imperial carriage arrived in 15 minutes, sleek black monstrosity lacquered to a mirror shine and emblazoned with the newly placed Kim crest—rolled to a stop. The knights flanking it moved with mechanical precision, their polished armor reflecting the harsh midday sun like a wall of living steel.

Then the door opened.

Ravenna Solarius emerged like a storm given human form.

The Herptian-inspired gown she wore was less clothing and more a declaration of war against Ancorna's conservative sensibilities. The neckline plunged ruthlessly, stopping just short of her navel, its silver-threaded edges glinting like knife cuts against her skin. The sides were entirely absent—no sleeves, no panels, just the intricate lattice of corset strings spanning her bare waist like a spider's web spun from moonlight.

But it was the skirt that truly defied convention of Ancorna.

Twin panels of sheer violet silk hung from her hips, split from waist to ankle with deliberate audacity. Every step sent the fabric parting like theater curtains, revealing the Apostle Mark of Herptian.

Aurora's lips curled in genuine delight. This was no longer the constrained imperial princess she'd known, but a woman fully embracing her Apostlehood. The way Ravenna moved, hips swaying just enough to make the skirt panels flutter, spoke of hard-won confidence.

"Aurora." Ravenna's voice carried across the docks like a whipcrack. "It's quite unexpected to see you barge into my territory." She stopped just outside sword-reach, the harbor breeze toying with the loose strands of her ink-black hair.

The unspoken challenge hung between them: “Explain yourself before I decide whether to hug you or run you through.”

The tension between them crackled like the humid air before a storm. Ravenna's piercing gaze remained locked onto Aurora, her expression unreadable beneath the veneer of regal composure. The dock had fallen unnaturally silent as the two Herptian’s desired beauties stood mere paces apart, the weight of years and unspoken history pressing between them.

Aurora’s curtsy had been flawless, a perfect display of courtly grace, but the moment she straightened, the mask slipped. Her usual playful smirk softened into something far more vulnerable, her fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her travel-worn skirts.

"Ravy, darling," she said, her voice carrying just enough of its usual teasing lilt to mask the strain beneath. "You seem to have finally embraced your Herptian nature, free of those Solious clowns." Her gaze swept over Ravenna’s scandalous attire, and for a brief moment, genuine warmth flickered in her blue eyes. "I’m really happy for you."

Ravenna’s stern expression thawed at the sincerity in her old friend’s voice. A rare, unguarded smile touched her lips—one that only Aurora had ever been able to draw out. "That is true, Aurora," she admitted, her tone losing some of its imperial edge. "Which is why I don’t want trouble appearing right before we host our first Festival of Lust since my arrival."

Aurora’s face lit up with sudden excitement, her hands clapping together like an eager child’s. "That’s right! Your dukedom is a Herptian religious region! Of course you’ll be holding the Festival of Lust!" Her joy was infectious, her voice rising with genuine delight before reality came crashing back. Her shoulders slumped slightly, the spark in her eyes dimming. "But... I have no choice, Ravy. I wrote it in the letter. I’m... quite desperate."

Before Ravenna could respond, Aurora closed the distance between them in three quick strides. The knights on both sides tensed, hands drifting toward their weapons, but Ravenna raised a single finger—a silent command to stand down.

Aurora stopped just inches away from her face, close enough that Ravenna could see the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the tightness in her jaw that spoke of sleepless nights and relentless pursuit. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper, the words meant for Ravenna alone.

"I need asylum, Ravy. Please."

The raw plea in Aurora’s voice struck Ravenna like a physical blow. This wasn’t the bold, carefree woman she remembered—this was someone running out of time.

Read 12+ Advance Chapters by becoming a Patron: 139. Old Friend’s Plead