Mikhail gazed contemplatively out of the grand window of his bed-chamber, the early morning sun casting a warm glow across the room. The maids had just finished selecting his attire for the day, laying out impeccably tailored clothes on the ornate wooden chair. The outfit, chosen meticulously, consisted of a deep blue velvet doublet embroidered with intricate silver thread, a pair of black trousers that fitted him perfectly, and a crisp, white ruffled shirt. Mikhail nodded in approval at their choice and dismissed them, preferring to dress himself.
Adorned in his regal attire, Mikhail heard the familiar knock of Pascal at his door. The sound was distinctive, a gentle but assertive tap that he had come to recognize over the years.
"Enter," Mikhail called.
Pascal, his lean figure outlined in the doorway, stepped into the room with a respectful bow. "Your Grace, the knights have returned from Zandel Forest."
Mikhail's interest piqued. "Escort them to my study. I shall join them shortly."
Pascal hesitated a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "And what of the items they found?"
"Bring those to the study as well," Mikhail replied, his tone leaving no room for further inquiry.
Pascal departed, his shock evident but unvoiced, as he knew the Duke's dislike for repeating himself all too well.
Mikhail cast a final, scrutinizing glance at his reflection in the mirror, ensuring his appearance was flawless, before striding towards his study.
Upon entering, he found the knights already gathered and an unexpected guest – the Silverfur pup- lounging contentedly on one of the plush velvet couches.
"You brought the Silverfur with you?" Mikhail inquired with a hint of amusement.
"He insisted on following us, Your Grace," Ivan explained, showing the shallow bite marks on his hands. The other knights mirrored his action, revealing similar marks.
Mikhail's amusement grew into a soft chuckle as he approached the pup. The Silverfur, sensing his presence, immediately shifted, its small body wriggling with delight. It repositioned itself to rest its head on Mikhail's lap, a gesture of trust and affection. The young Duke's expression softened, a rare glimpse of warmth in his usually composed demeanor. He extended a hand, gently stroking the pup's soft fur, feeling the soothing rhythm of its breathing.
Ever the stickler for etiquette, Pascal stepped forward with a disapproving frown, intending to relocate the pup. However, with a shared understanding, the knights silently signaled him to refrain. They had learned the unspoken rule – the Silverfur had earned a special place beside their Duke.
Now comfortably seated with the pup, Mikhail turned his attention to the items retrieved from the forest. Before him on the coffee table lay an assortment of intriguing artifacts – crumpled sheets of paper covered in an unknown script and a weathered notebook, its cover worn with time.
"Yes, Your Grace. These were uncovered in the pits dug up by the Silverfur," Ivan replied, gesturing towards the artifacts with a respectful bow. "We also revisited the surrounding area but found nothing more. However, the ground bore the marks of many horses, as if a large contingent had recently passed through."
Mikhail's mind instantly went to the Church and its Holy Knights. Now he had confirmation that they were in the same area, and whatever they had discovered was also connected to the items they had found.
"Excellent work. You may go now. Get some rest."
The knights, their faces marked by relief at being dismissed, replied in unison, "Yes, your grace," before exiting the room with disciplined strides.
Pascal, ever attentive to Mikhail's preferences, hesitated. "What of the Silverfur, Your Grace?" His gaze subtly implored the knights to reconsider taking the pup with them.
But Mikhail's response was firm, his voice tinged with an unusual gentleness. "It stays here with me. It isn't hurting anyone." He reached down, his fingers brushing the pup's soft, snowy fur. The Silverfur, in turn, nestled closer to him, its tail wagging in contentment.
The men in the room exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of surprise and awe. They had never seen the Duke display such tenderness, save for his beloved horse.
Left alone, Mikhail turned his attention back to the mysterious findings. He picked up the crumpled sheets, studying the strange symbols and script that felt oddly familiar yet unreadable.
Theo entered the study as he was about to reach for the timeworn notebook.
"The Holy procession is about to enter the estate grounds, Your Grace."
Mikhail exhaled deeply, his thoughts momentarily torn away from the artifacts. He stood up, a sense of duty steeling his resolve.
"Well then, we must go down to greet them," he declared, a regal authority resonating in his tone.
The pup trailed behind Mikhail, its tiny paws padding softly on the polished floor. Its playful demeanor shifted as Mikhail turned, his gaze softening at the sight of the little creature. "You are to stay here," he instructed gently, his words causing the pup's enthusiastic tail to halt its wagging and its perky ears drooped. The pup gazed up at Mikhail with soulful eyes brimming with a puppy's innocent plea for companionship.
Mikhail's expression softened momentarily before turning towards Theo. "Make sure the Church does not see him," he commanded with a seriousness that belied the tender moment that had just passed. His eyes held a glint of concern, reflecting his deep awareness of the Church's troubled history with magical beings.
After Elirius' defeat, the Church's zealots spun tales and spread narratives that linked all mythical creatures to the fallen adversary. Their fervent crusade drove the once revered beings of magic to near extinction, most of them long forgotten now by the world. The Duke also knew the implications all too well; the presence of a magical creature like the Silverfur pup could ignite a firestorm of controversy, perhaps even danger for the Asters should the Church become aware.
Theo stepped aside as Mikhail strode past him, his mind already racing through the different scenarios that could play out during the Church's visit. He knew the Church was a powerful entity that held sway over the masses. And if they came up with an agenda, it could create problems for the Duke.
As he descended the main staircase and walked out the front of the mansion, Mikhail's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps. He turned to see that his knights had gathered behind him, their armor clanking with every move.
With a nod from the Duke, they followed him into the sprawling gardens surrounding the estate. Mikhail's eyes swept over the verdant expanse, taking in the vibrant colors and lush greenery.
The first of the Holy Knights crossed through the gated threshold, and an almost mischievous grin played on Mikhail's lips. He watched as an almost imperceptible shudder coursed through each knight's body, reacting to the potent protective magic that enveloped the estate's grounds.
Within the confines of the elegantly adorned carriage, Celeste sat, her mind a storm of thoughts and schemes. The command from Silas to seduce Duke Mikhail Aster weighed heavily on her, the challenge of it stirring a mix of apprehension and determination within her.
Lost in her plotting, she was suddenly assaulted by an overwhelming wave of dizziness. The sensation gripped her so fiercely that she doubled over, her elegant posture crumbling as she clutched at the luxurious upholstery for support.
"What the hell was that?" Celeste gasped, her voice a blend of shock and confusion. Struggling to regain her composure, she looked up at Silas, only to find him similarly afflicted.
Silas, usually a picture of composed authority, had turned a ghostly shade of pale, clearly suffering under the spell's impact. It took him a moment to gather himself before he could speak.
"It is an ancient protection spell from the era before Lumicrestia was formed," he managed to say, his voice strained.
Celeste's eyes narrowed, her tone sharpening with suspicion. "I thought all such ancient magic was banned across the Empire."
"In other territories, yes," Silas answered through clenched teeth, his discomfort evident. "But the Ducal bloodline of Aster retains the privilege, a legacy of their pivotal role in vanquishing Elirius."
The carriage stopped, its gentle sway ceasing as they arrived at their destination. Outside, the sounds of knights dismounting their steeds filtered through the wooden panels, signaling their arrival at the heart of the Aster Estate.
As they both regained their bearings, Silas recovered quicker than Celeste, his seasoned resilience to magical forces evident.
He leaned towards Celeste, his face mere inches from hers, his eyes cold and calculating. He reminded her in a menacing whisper that sent a shiver down her spine, "Don't forget your task." The words hung heavy in the air, a dark omen of the intricate web of deceit and manipulation they were about to weave.
As the carriage door swung open, Celeste's thoughts drifted back to all her encounters with the public. She had always known the power of her beauty; every man she had ever encountered seemed captivated, almost trapped, by her stunning appearance and divine aura. To Celeste, Duke Mikhail would be no different - just another conquest, another man to charm and bewilder with her allure.
With these thoughts swirling in her head, she gracefully descended from the carriage, her head demurely bowed in line with the expectations of a Saintess. The soft rustle of her gown whispered with each movement, a symphony of elegance and grace.
"Welcome to the Aster Estate, Your Holiness," a voice rich with authority greeted them.
"Thank you for having us, Your Grace." She heard Silas answer. "Please allow me to introduce our Saintess, Celeste, who is joining me today." He introduced her, prompting her moment in the spotlight.
As she stepped forward, Celeste elegantly lifted her veil, fully expecting the usual gasps of awe. Yet, to her surprise and irritation, the response from the Duke's staff was a stark, unnerving silence. A flare of indignation kindled within her. These peasants know nothing of beauty!
Suppressing her annoyance, she maintained her composure, only to be caught off-guard by the Duke’s striking appearance.
"An honor to meet you, Saintess Celeste," he said, his voice a captivating melody.
Lifting her gaze to meet his, Celeste's breath hitched. Before her stood Mikhail Aster, a man whose physical beauty transcended the wildest tales she had heard. Towering over her, his presence was commanding, exuding an air of effortless nobility. His physique was a harmonious blend of strength and grace - broad shoulders tapering to a trim waist, his well-fitted trousers hinting at the muscularity beneath.
His hair was silver-blue like moonlit snow, framed a face of chiseled perfection. But it was his eyes that genuinely mesmerized her. They were an icy gray that shimmered with flecks of blue that echoed the hues of his hair and luxurious coat. He was a captivating sight that held her spellbound.
"Let us head inside," Mikhail's voice broke through her reverie, pulling her back to the present.
As she followed him into the mansion, a tumult of emotions churned within her. Her task, she realized with a sinking feeling, would be infinitely more challenging than she had anticipated. The Duke was not just another man to be swayed by her beauty; he was a force in his own right, a man who commanded attention and respect, his allure rivaling, if not surpassing, her own.
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