Drake I

In the heart of Goldenwall stood the Golden Fortress, its gilded towers gleaming even beneath the cloud-covered blue sky. The fortress was the pride of the kingdom, built from massive blocks of white stone that shimmered in the sunlight, giving it the name that set it apart. From its high vantage point, one could see miles of fertile lands, forests, and rolling hills that made up the vast domain of the king. The sound of the wind caressed the flags fluttering from the battlements—green banners bordered with yellow lines, bearing the roaring head of a bear at their center, displaying the colors of House Ashford, the lineage that had ruled those lands for generations.

In the chamber of the royal council, King Benjamin Ashford waited impatiently. He was a man of middle age, with fair skin and blond hair streaked with gray. His face, lined with wrinkles, bore the weight of years and the burdens of command. Beside him, Chancellor Gideon Hawke watched in silence, while Treasurer Cedric Galenhold leafed through some papers, seemingly unaware of the tension thickening the air.

“Where is he?” The king’s voice cut through the room, sharp as a drawn sword.

William Welsey, the King’s Hand—a man in his forties with brown hair and a heavy beard—bowed slightly before answering.

“They’ve gone to fetch him, Your Majesty. He’s in... one of the houses in the city,” he said, a touch of discomfort tightening his expression.

“A brothel, then?” the king asked.

William kept his gaze low. “Yes, my lord.”

“That bald bastard,” muttered the king, unable to contain his frustration. “How dare he neglect his duty at a time like this?”

William remained silent, understanding his sovereign’s anger. Drake’s carelessness was no small matter—especially now, when the kingdom stood at risk.

King Benjamin rose abruptly from his chair, fury flashing in his eyes. “Bring him here at once. I’ve no time for his games. The council must begin—and I’ve no patience for a knight who can’t control his vices.”

***

The atmosphere in The Rose, one of the most renowned brothels in the realm, was a whirlwind of laughter and dim light, scented with sweetness and spice. Sir Drake Ashford—a tall, fair-skinned man of twenty-eight, his bald head gleaming in the low light—was lost in pleasure without a care in the world. On crimson silk sheets, he panted as he gripped Jane’s hips, her bare body arched forward, her face buried in a pillow that stifled the moans escaping her lips.

Knighted at nineteen and the king’s younger brother, he seemed untouched by worry. His laughter echoed through the room, and the sword that never left his side rested forgotten in a corner.

Drake thrust with measured force and steady rhythm, the muscles of his abdomen taut with each motion. Sweat beaded on his brow, yet his lips still curled in that trademark roguish grin—as if the entire world existed purely for his amusement.

Maria, meanwhile, lay beside him, leaning in to kiss his neck and trail down his chest, one hand caressing his pectoral, the other guiding his between her thighs, moving in sync with Jane’s gasping rhythm. Her half-lidded eyes watched the scene with languid delight.

“So this is the famous invincible knight,” Maria whispered, her voice husky with desire. “I can’t tell what’s more impressive—your sword or your stamina.”

Drake chuckled under his breath, never breaking his pace.

“I’ve triumphed on many battlefields,” he murmured, breathless. “But the two of you... you’ve cornered me. There’s no escape.”

“No need to,” Jane panted, raising her head just enough to flash him a sultry, hazy look. “Surrender already.”

Drake leaned forward over her back, biting softly at her nape as his movements grew deeper, wetter. His lips murmured something unintelligible—lost in the heat of breath and flesh.

The room was heavy with heat and lust. Shadows danced across the walls like figures in some secret play. The creak of the bed, the slap of skin on skin, the soft sighs and laughter filled the air in a rhythm almost hypnotic.

And then, just as the tension was about to break, the door burst open.

Tobias Dunsmore stood in the doorway, upright and gleaming in armor, his green cloak rippling from the sudden motion. His face was hidden behind his helm, but his stiff posture said enough—discomfort, disdain, and perhaps, just perhaps, a trace of something else.

Jane gasped, dropping flat onto the bed and pulling a sheet over herself, while Maria stretched lazily like a cat, making no move to hide her nakedness. Drake, still breathing hard, straightened slowly, letting the sheet fall loosely around his waist, his chest gleaming with sweat and his eyes alight with mischief.

“So soon, Tobias?” he said, utterly unashamed. “You’ve just missed the best part. Though, if your tastes run refined, you might stay for the next act.”

“Sir Drake,” the knight growled, his voice muffled by the helm, “the king demands your immediate presence.”

“The king again?” Drake sighed, rolling his eyes. “Sometimes I think he’s jealous of everything I do when I’m not by his side.”

Tobias stepped forward, fists clenching at his sides. “This is no time for your jokes.”

Drake sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. The thrill of pleasure was already fading, like smoke from a candle’s wick.

“I know, I know…” he muttered, rising to his feet. “Duty always calls. Damn all the kings who’ve never tasted this.”

As he dressed, Maria slipped a hand down his back. “Don’t be long, knight. We were only halfway through.”

“And I hate leaving things unfinished,” Drake replied with a crooked smile. “Jane, Maria... a short truce, but a glorious one.”

Fully dressed now, he stepped through the door, Tobias close behind. The night still pulsed behind them, thick with promises.

Half an hour later, Drake shoved open the door to the council chamber, his presence clashing with the solemn luxury of the room. King Benjamin Ashford, seated at the head of the carved wooden table, looked up with a mix of irritation and weariness.

“Well, look who decided to show up,” the king said, his voice echoing off the walls.

Drake smirked, leaning slightly forward. “Aren’t you ashamed to disturb me while I’m tending to the citizens?” he quipped.

Benjamin frowned, long used to his brother’s insolence. “Always the comedian,” he said with a sigh, straightening in his seat. “But this is no time for jokes. I have a task for you.”

Drake leaned back with a bored expression. “Finally, something to do in this kingdom,” he muttered.

The king fixed him with a steely glare, patience thinning. “We’ve received reports from Roystone—three coastal villages have been attacked: Oaksea, Ormsport, and Graycove.”

“Never heard of them,” Drake murmured.

Benjamin closed his eyes briefly, reining in his temper. “Could you, for once, just listen?” he snapped.

Drake raised an eyebrow, unflinching. “Listen to what? How you plan to get rid of me by sending me west?”

William Welsey, the King’s Hand, intervened, sensing the growing tension. He leaned forward, voice calm and measured.

“If I may, Your Majesty—Drake, it was the Roy family themselves who requested your help. According to certain witness reports, the attackers might be from Nordenia.”

Drake’s brows lifted in disbelief. “Nordenia, eh? Didn’t they have enough of humiliation after their failed invasion? Wait—was it Marlon who sent for me?”

“Indeed. His message arrived this morning by raven,” replied Chancellor Gideon Hawke.

“And who’ll handle my duties while I’m gone?” Drake grumbled.

“Tobias will see to your responsibilities in your absence.”

The mention of Tobias made Drake grit his teeth, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Tobias? That fool?” he spat. “I won’t have that incompetent meddling in my affairs. When was all this decided?”

“While you were with your whores,” Benjamin replied dryly.

“You think that’s funny?” Drake snapped, his frown deepening. “Because it’s not—”

The king rose sharply, eyes blazing. “Enough! You’ll go—because your king commands it.”

“Fine,” Drake shot back, voice dripping with defiance. “I’ll go to fucking Roystone and do the bloody Roys’ work—but when I return, I expect a proper reward.”

Cedric Galenhold, the treasurer, spoke then, his deep voice calm. “I’ll see to it personally, Sir,” he said, studying Drake.

Drake glanced at him before replying, “You’d better, fat man,” and turned toward the door.

It slammed shut behind him with a sharp crack, leaving Benjamin alone with his council.

Drake lingered in the corridor, half-hidden in the shadows, waiting. He knew Chancellor Gideon Hawke would soon emerge from the council room—and he wanted a word, away from the prying ears of the palace.

Moments later, the door opened quietly, and Baron Gideon Hawke stepped out, his usual air of authority intact. Drake straightened, stepping from the darkness with a firm stride.

“Baron Hawke,” Drake said in a low, steady voice. “I need to speak with you... alone.”

The chancellor regarded him with sharp gray eyes, studying him for a moment before nodding.

“Come with me,” Gideon replied, walking down a quieter corridor away from the palace’s bustle. He was a dark-skinned man, about Drake’s age, his black hair usually shaved close. Though shorter, he carried himself with composed elegance, clad in a red tunic and black shoes.

“Gideon, tell me something,” Drake said as he stepped out of the council chamber, his jaw tight after the meeting. He stopped in front of the chancellor, who was busy arranging several scrolls.

Lord Gideon Hawke looked up at him with mild surprise.

“Sir Drake, is there something else you need?”

“I’ve just left the council, and now they tell me I’m being sent to Roystone. My brother Marlon supposedly asked for me, according to what you said. What’s that about?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, studying Drake for a moment before speaking cautiously.

“Ah, yes, Marlon… A message from him arrived this morning by one of my ravens. It was addressed to the king but mentioned that he required you there. He’s been... uneasy lately. He didn’t say much, but his message was clear—your presence is urgently needed.”

Drake stared at him, searching the chancellor’s face for more than his words revealed.

“Uneasy?” Drake repeated, his voice low and edged with suspicion. “Marlon doesn’t ask for help unless things are getting out of hand.”

Gideon made a placating gesture with his hand.

“The details were scarce, I’ll admit. But if Marlon sent a raven, it’s because he didn’t want his concerns falling into other hands. My duty is to ensure messages reach their recipients swiftly—and once yours arrived, I made sure it was brought up in the council.”

Drake frowned, clearly frustrated by the lack of information.

“All this... over three insignificant villages?”

“If you wish, I can try to dig deeper. Perhaps there was something between the lines I missed—”

“No need,” Drake interrupted, turning to leave. “I’ll speak with Marlon myself.”

Before preparing for his journey to Roystone, Drake made a stop in the castle’s training yard, where young Andrew, the king’s son and heir, was practicing. The boy was thirteen, with curly, shoulder-length blond hair typical of the Ashfords, and still a bit short for his age. Andrew’s round face was drenched in sweat, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried again and again to strike a practice dummy with his wooden sword—but his swings were clumsy.

From the shade of a nearby wall, Sir Drake Ashford watched with a faint, amused smile.

“Are you training to be a swordsman, or are you trying to chase away flies, boy?” Drake called out as he strode toward him with long steps.

At his uncle’s voice, Andrew sighed and let his sword fall.

“I’m trying to focus, Uncle—but it’s not as easy as you make it look,” he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

Drake let out a short chuckle, taking the wooden sword from the prince’s hands.

“Focus, huh? So that’s why you’ve been dancing around for half an hour instead of fighting?” he teased, crouching slightly to demonstrate the correct stance. He moved behind Andrew, adjusting his arms and foot placement with practiced precision.

“Listen, Andrew, being a good swordsman isn’t just about strength.” He tapped the boy’s head lightly with the hilt. “You need skill up here too—not just muscle.”

Andrew laughed under his breath, pretending to be offended.

“Ouch! Was that really necessary?” he protested playfully, rubbing his head.

“Oh, not at all. Next time, I’ll hit you with something softer—like the blade of a sword. How’s that sound?”

Andrew burst out laughing, enjoying his uncle’s dry humor. Beneath Drake’s sarcasm, he knew there was genuine care—a rare warmth hidden behind the teasing.

“One day I’ll beat you, Uncle. You’ll see. Maybe when you’re old and can’t lift a sword anymore,” Andrew said, trying to joke back.

Drake laughed—this time, a real, unguarded laugh.

“I’ll be old, sure, but by then you’ll still be just as clumsy with that sword, so don’t get your hopes up.” He patted the boy’s shoulder. “Still... if you keep training this hard, who knows? You might even surprise me.”

Andrew grinned wide, recognizing the compliment hidden beneath his uncle’s mockery. For all his sharp tongue, Sir Drake always knew how to make him feel capable.

“Thanks, Uncle,” the prince said, his voice full of admiration. “Someday I’ll be as good as you.”

Drake’s smile softened at those words.

“Kid, if you end up half as good as me, it’ll be a miracle.” He gave him a knowing look. “But to be honest, Andrew... you already have something I never did.”

The young prince looked up, curious.

“What’s that?” he asked eagerly.

Drake leaned closer, lowering his voice as if revealing a great secret.

“A very annoying father,” he whispered with a wink before bursting into laughter.

Andrew joined in, shaking his head, used to his uncle’s cutting humor—and grateful for it.

“So... how’s your mother?” Drake asked after a moment.

“She’s not my mother,” the prince replied coldly, without looking at him. “She’s just Alicia’s mother.”

A heavy silence fell over the yard. Drake watched him quietly for several seconds, weighing his response.

Andrew lowered his gaze, refusing to meet his uncle’s eyes.

Drake sighed and stepped closer, letting his arms fall to his sides. The boy’s posture was tense, his anger obvious.

“I know,” Drake said more softly. “Things haven’t been easy for you since... since she arrived.”

He stepped closer still, resting a firm hand on Andrew’s shoulder, guiding his eyes up to meet his own.

“I understand more than you think, Andrew. But you’re not alone in this. I care about you. And I’ll always be here for you.”

The young prince finally looked up—and in his uncle’s eyes, he found something he hadn’t seen in a long time: understanding.

Before leaving, Sir Drake reached out and ruffled Andrew’s hair in that rough but affectionate way of his.

“May Solara guide you by day, and may Lumar watch over you by night,” he said with a faint smile.

Andrew watched him go, feeling that those simple words—and the gesture—were a light breaking through his uncertainty.

Drake climbed into the carriage, feeling it sway as they rolled out of Goldenwall. Around him rode a dozen horsemen—trusted men, alert and ready for anything. The wooden wheels creaked against the cobblestones, and the clatter of hooves echoed steadily in the cool morning air.

“I’m not sure what’s worse—the smell of the horses or of their riders,” Drake joked, flashing the soldiers a crooked grin. “When we reach Roystone, maybe we should ask the queen for some soap.”

A few of the men chuckled nervously, grateful for the levity. Even in tense times, Drake knew that humor was the best armor.

“Ready for the road, Sir Drake?” asked Henry Clark, one of the guards.

“More than ready,” Drake replied with the effortless confidence only he could muster. “My brother Marlon seems to need me—and besides, I’ve always wanted to experience Roystone’s wonderful hospitality again.”

As the carriage rolled farther from Goldenwall, the landscape began to change. Green fields stretched out on either side, and birdsong mingled with the soft chatter of the soldiers.

“Trouble in Roystone?” Drake scoffed with a laugh, letting the breeze carry it away as he disappeared down the road.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***