CHAPTER#25:Merchants

The stained glass doors leading to the terrace caught Luciana's gaze, their intricate mosaic of reds, blues, yellows, whites, and greens filtering the midday sunlight into a kaleidoscope of color. She reached out, resting her fingers against the cool glass, admiring the craftsmanship. The design was more than decorative—it carried an almost mystical presence, as if the light itself whispered secrets through its artistry.

Whoever designed this had an exceptional eye for detail.

Her gaze drifted across the room. The walls bore framed paintings, each telling a different story. Some depicted serene, snow-covered landscapes of steep mountains and dense forests, while others were stark contrasts—scenes of war, fallen soldiers, and demonic battles. Two portraits stood out: paintings of Leo, the formidable three-legged demon wolf.

The room was spacious, befitting the master of the fortress, yet the furnishings were of noticeably modest quality. She recalled overhearing Jafar's heated discussions with Erebus about the domain's economic struggles, but her husband had dismissed his concerns without hesitation.

Her attention shifted to the wooden table near the fireplace, where his war axe and cloak lay discarded. Amid the rugged items, something small stood out—a tiny, round wooden painting, no larger than the palm of her hand. She picked it up carefully.

It was an expertly rendered portrait of two young boys, both around six years old. One was unmistakably Erebus. The other, identical in height and stature, had striking golden eyes.

Golden eyes? A chill ran down her spine. Demons?

Before she could examine it further, a sharp voice cut through the air.

"Don't touch that!"

Luciana startled, nearly dropping the painting. She turned abruptly to find Erebus standing in the doorway, water dripping from his dark hair. He wore a black woolen robe and ankle-length trousers, his presence heavy with unspoken tension.

She fumbled for an explanation. "I— That! I apologize, I didn't mean to—"

"You don't want to be cut by it."

Her heart stuttered.

Cut?

She followed his gaze to the war axe resting on the table.

Ah… Relief, tinged with lingering nerves, washed over her. "I'll be more careful next time."

He merely shrugged before shifting his attention elsewhere.

His next words caught her off guard. "How long do you plan on wearing that?"

Luciana blinked in confusion before realizing—her attire.

Her wedding dress.

Flustered, she grabbed the fresh clothes Mina had prepared and rushed into the bathroom. The moment she entered, an overwhelming metallic scent hit her. She froze.

Blood.

The crimson-stained bandages lay discarded on a small table near the stone bathtub, stark against the dim lighting. A sickening realization settled in her chest. The wounds beneath those wrappings weren't just superficial.

She stepped closer, inspecting the torn fabric. The cuts were deep—lacerated. Infected.

Her mind raced. Her mother had often treated soldiers returning from battles with demons, explaining the various wounds and the specific medicines required. Poison from demonic weapons often festered, worsening the injuries.

Erebus had been fighting again.

A renewed sense of urgency gripped her. She quickly changed and stepped back into the main chamber. Erebus sat by the window, sharpening his axe. His gaze flickered to her, momentarily surprised.

Silence stretched between them.

Awkwardness settled in her stomach like a stone. She knew she had to speak, but how?

How do I convince him to remove his robe?

Her mind conjured an embarrassing realization. He'll think I'm indecent!

She swallowed hard and forced herself to speak. "My lord—"

"Erebus," he interrupted.

She hesitated. "Pardon?"

"Call me by my name. We're married, aren't we? There's no need for formalities."

His words unsettled her, but she nodded. "Then… please address me as Luciana."

He studied her for a moment before his eyes narrowed slightly. "Is it normal to wear such revealing clothes in your country?"

Heat rushed to her face. She looked down. The nightgown was far too sheer. Instinctively, she moved to cover herself, but before she could, his hands closed around her wrists, stopping her.

His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm.

Luciana's breath hitched. This time, there was no forceful dominance—only quiet curiosity. He lowered himself slightly, his dark gaze tracing the exposed part of her chest.

She struggled to form words. "P-Please let go of my hands."

His eyes lingered on the small marking just above her heart.

"You have a strange mark here." His tone was unreadable. "Did you injure yourself?"

She shook her head, voice trembling. "No… It's a mark of purity. Every girl receives one at birth. It fades once she… shares intimacy with her spouse."

A heartbeat passed.

His grip didn't loosen.

"So," he murmured, "you're a virgin."

Luciana stiffened.

She didn't know whether to be offended or mortified, but the bluntness of his words left her speechless.

A sharp knock at the door saved her.

Erebus finally released her, turning toward the entrance. She exhaled shakily, clutching the woolen overcoat around her shoulders as he opened the door just enough to see outside.

The deep voice of an elderly man drifted in. "Apologies for disturbing you at this hour, my lord."

Luciana's ears perked.

Mister Derran? No, the voice was rougher. Someone else.

"What is it?" Erebus asked.

"The merchants from the human world have arrived. They request an audience with you."

Erebus's expression darkened slightly. "Which caravan?"

"They claim to be the Blue Van, my lord." The man's voice dipped to a whisper.

Luciana's heart pounded. Blue Van?

Erebus's demeanor shifted. He grabbed a fresh fur cloak while the butler discreetly picked up the bloodstained one. "Blake, take me there."

The elderly man—Blake—bowed. Before leaving, he turned to her. "Please rest well, madame."

She nodded absently, barely hearing the door click shut.

Her mind was spinning.

Blue Van.

A powerful merchant family. Expanding trade across the eastern and western continents over the past four years. Cornelius had mentioned them multiple times in his letters.

Her pulse quickened. This might be my only chance to return to Amanécer.

She paced, gnawing her thumbnail.

Think, Luciana. Think!

An idea struck her.

She bolted to the bedpost and rang the bell three times.

"Jafar! Yes!"

Her voice was filled with urgency.

I can't let this opportunity slip through my fingers.