NOVEL NEXT Chapter 60: The Beehive
Nobody seemed to pay any attention to them as they wove through the labyrinthine streets of the city. The twisting alleys and towering structures cloaked them from prying eyes, and the city itself felt suffocating, like a well-kept secret. There was an eerie, almost sacred stillness to the air—an oppressive magic that silenced the outside world while trapping the noise within its mysterious walls. A barrier so thick that no sound could escape, yet everything from within was audible to those outside. It was as if the city itself were guarding something deep in its core, protecting secrets older than the land itself.
"Sylvaris, how much longer to the tailor?" Liraeth asked softly, her voice betraying the unease gnawing at her. She could feel the eyes of several men upon her, their hungry gazes brushing against her skin like a physical touch. It made her skin crawl, her chest tighten, and her breath quicken. The feeling of being on display made her pulse race with embarrassment. She tugged self-consciously at the hem of her robe, wishing it could shield her more, protect her from their watchful eyes.
Her fear stemmed from a more personal concern—beneath the layers of cloth, she wasn't wearing any panties. The thought made her stomach churn, and her mind raced, nearly panicked. She only wanted Sylvaris to see her, to feel his hands on her in the ways that made her burn—not these strangers. She wanted him to claim her, not them.
"It's okay, Liraeth. We're already here," Sylvaris said, his voice low, just for her. He moved closer, his presence a comforting weight beside her, and his large, strong hand found her silver hair, gently running his fingers through the soft strands with a possessive ease. His touch was tender, but undeniably commanding. Each pat to her head made her elf ears twitch, a delicate pink flush creeping across the edges as the warmth of his hand spread into her skin.
Her breath hitched slightly, and though the contact comforted her, it also deepened the sense of his dominance. The world around them seemed to blur, his presence the only thing that mattered. Her nervousness melted into something else—a strange warmth blooming in her chest, an undeniable desire she couldn't push aside.
But the other thoughts, the worry, the vulnerability… they still lingered. His touch made her feel wanted, but it also made her realize how much of herself she had already given to him—physically and emotionally. His claim over her was undeniable, and she couldn't help but burn with the shameful desire for more.
"Then what are we waiting for, lovebirds? Let's go shopping!" Faylira's voice broke through the moment, her usual boisterous energy filling the air. Her fox tails swayed happily behind her. Sylvaris had promised her new clothes, and she was more than ready to take full advantage of his generosity—both materially and, perhaps, physically. As a warrior beast, she had no intention of losing out to this "slutty" elf.
Her strong hand shot out, grabbing Liraeth and pulling her into the shop, the two moving with a playful, almost predatory energy. Sylvaris's gaze lingered on their bubbly backsides, his mind veering toward more carnal thoughts as he imagined how good it would feel to have them both writhing beneath him. His cock twitched in his pants as he followed them inside, his steps purposeful and charged with dominance.
The tailor shop, The Beehive, was as luxurious as its name suggested. Elegant attire filled the racks—everything from casual adventure clothes to suits and dresses that could transform anyone into royalty. The section dedicated to women's lingerie boasted pieces so suggestive that any man walking by would imagine their wives or girlfriends wearing them.
Sylvaris's eyes drifted across the store, sharp and predatory. He imagined the women in the clothes, but his mind couldn't help but wander to how they'd look on their backs instead. The primal thoughts came easily, and his hands tingled with anticipation.
"Mr. Sylvaris, what happened to you?!" A voice broke through his thoughts. An elderly man, a clerk with a thick mustache curling upward, hurried over, his eyes widening at the sight of Sylvaris—bloodstained and shirtless, flanked by ragged companions. He practically collapsed into a bow before him, concern etched across his round face. "Oh my heavens, you look like you've been through a war—and these poor women!" The fat on his cheeks jiggled as he shook his head in disbelief.
"Haha! Mr. Klaus Weidenbloom, it's been too long, my friend!" Sylvaris boomed, his voice casual, like he hadn't just emerged from a bloody battle. He clapped Klaus on the shoulder with a hearty laugh before turning to face the two women. "This old man used to be my sword master, and let me tell you, his blade was sharper than any demon's fang!"
Klaus's eyes widened as he scanned Sylvaris's battered form. His violet eyes darted over the blood and dirt covering his old friend, then to the women—Liraeth, her clothes ripped and filthy, and Faylira, her fox-like beauty slightly tarnished by the day's chaos. "This old man is unworthy of your praise, young hero. But, my god, what happened to you? You look like you've been through hell! You, too, miss," he said, looking at Liraeth with fatherly concern. "You all need a bath, new clothes, and—please, for the love of gods—some rest."
Sylvaris chuckled, the deep rumble of his laugh filling the room. "Mr. Klaus, you're always so dramatic. But no need to worry." He waved it off with a grin. "We've been through a little bit of a scrap, but nothing we can't handle." He slapped Klaus on the back, sending the old man stumbling slightly from the force. "But it's good to see you again. You're still looking strong. Think you've got it in you for one last sparring match?" He raised an eyebrow, teasing. "I've been getting stronger. I'll even let you try and land a blow this time."
Klaus chuckled, but there was concern in his voice. "Sparring? After all this?" he asked, gesturing to the ragtag group. "You're mad, young master. Sometimes I wonder if I hit you too hard with my sword when you were a kid—maybe knocked some sense out of you… Just let me help you. You need to clean up, and so do your companions. This elf looks like she came out of the sever, just what the hell did you do to this poor girl... and the beastkin?" Klaus's voice trailed off, his embarrassment palpable. "You can't have women dressed so exposingly in a city like this. The church will eat you alive..." His gaze flickered between them, something unspoken in his tone, as if this wasn't the first time he'd witnessed Sylvaris's chaotic lifestyle. "Come, come, I'll prepare a bath for all three of you upstairs. Don't mind bathing together, right?"
"Not at all, the faster the better!" Sylvaris said eagerly, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He didn't seem at all embarrassed, his mind already focused on the reward waiting for him.
Faylira's fox tails flicked playfully as she rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Klaus," she said sweetly, her cheeks faintly reddened, but she accepted her fate with grace. As for Liraeth, she was panicking, but the look on Sylvaris's face made her hesitate to resist. "Thank you, Mr. Klaus..." she murmured softly, her voice almost a whisper. In that moment, she looked so innocent—like a delicate flower too shy to meet his gaze, even as she stood by him.
"Then it's decided—let's go, let's go, quickly!" Sylvaris urged, his voice eager. The old man shook his head, a silent chuckle escaping him. He couldn't help but think, He's really just like his grandfather. The two of them are both perverted beyond belief… Klaus couldn't suppress a mental laugh, he remembered that night years ago—when Sylvaris's grandfather had emerged bloodied from battle, dragging two priestesses behind him, their holy robes soaked with something far less divine.