The castle bell tolled hoarsely at noon, announcing the arrival of the entourage. Adrian watched from the high window of the main hall, arms crossed, ice-blue eyes fixed on the carriage stopping in the courtyard covered with fine snow.
He had just returned from the eastern ravine the previous dawn — body still carrying the scent of smoke and goblin blood, mind sharpened by the newly earned level up. Greater intelligence, greater charisma, a new skill pulsing in his mana: Static Ice Field. But none of this would he reveal. The system was his absolute secret. No one would know. Not allies, not lovers.
Lydia Blackwood stepped down from the carriage with calculated elegance. Crimson velvet cloak lined with white fur, hood thrown back revealing black wavy hair down to her waist, deep brown eyes and full lips painted dark red. At twenty-six, she carried the mature beauty of a woman who knew her power — and how her husband's absence left her restless.
Her eyes met his as soon as she looked up to the window. A brief pause: she measured him from head to toe, noting the upright posture, the silver hair loose over the shoulders of the dark-blue tunic, the aristocratic face too handsome for a ruined land. Adrian held her gaze without blinking, a slight smile curving his lips — dangerous, yet courteous.
He descended the stairs slowly, deliberately, letting her see him approach. He stopped three steps away in the courtyard, inclining his head in noble greeting.
"Baroness Lydia Blackwood," he said, voice deep and low, almost a purr. "Winterhall greets you… though with less splendor than a lady of your stature deserves."
Lydia raised an eyebrow, lips curving into a smile half amusement, half challenge.
"And I greet the young Count Adrian von Winterhall. Rumors reached my home: you inherited too soon… and are far too handsome for such a cold place." Her eyes roamed him openly. "At least in that, the rumors did not lie."
Adrian stepped forward, narrowing the distance to something bordering on improper in public. Her scent struck him: expensive lavender, subtle musk, and a faint touch of sweat from travel — something warm, alive, contrasting with the icy air.
"Rumors rarely capture the essential," he replied, holding her gaze. "And you… are even more impressive than the whispered descriptions in the courts. It must be tiring to carry such beauty alone, without a husband to appreciate it."
The air between them crackled. Lydia inhaled slowly, chest rising visibly beneath the tight bodice. Her eyes darkened.
"Careful with your words, young lord," she murmured, low enough for only him to hear. "They might make a married woman forget where she is… and with whom."
Adrian smiled — slow, dangerous. He extended his hand, palm up.
"Then allow me to guide you inside, Baroness. The hall is warm… and there are delicate matters to discuss. Debts. Favors. Needs that cannot wait months more of absence.
Let my servants tend to yours."
She hesitated for a second before placing her gloved fingers in his palm. Adrian closed his hand firmly, thumb tracing a subtle circle on the back of her hand — a touch both courteous and possessive.
As he led her up the stairs, he leaned slightly, lips nearly brushing her ear.
"You know," he whispered, "winter here is merciless. It freezes everything… except desire. That it only sharpens."
Lydia shivered — not from cold. Her fingers squeezed his for an instant.
"Show me this hall, Lord Adrian," she answered, voice now husky. "And perhaps… I will show you how generous a neglected woman can be… when she finds someone who knows how to listen."
They entered the castle. The heavy door closed behind them with a dull thud.
In the main hall, the fireplace crackled loudly. Adrian released her hand only to shut the door, sealing them from the outside world. Lydia walked to the fire, warming her hands, but turned to face him.
"I came to speak of the debt," she said, trying to sound firm. "1,850 gold. My husband is away, but the due date approaches. Winterhall needs gold… and I need… guarantees."
Adrian approached slowly, stopping an arm's length away.
"Guarantees," he repeated, voice low. "And what guarantees would those be, Baroness? Immediate gold? Alliances? Or perhaps… something more personal?"
Her eyes traced his face — lips, icy eyes, defined jaw. She bit her lower lip for an instant.
"I heard last night there was… turmoil in the eastern ravine. Fire. Screams. The Bloodfang goblins… vanished. My scouts say none survived."
Adrian did not blink.
"They chose the wrong path. I merely… corrected the mistake."
Lydia stepped forward, reducing the distance to almost nothing.
"So you are more than a handsome lord. You are dangerous. And I… am intrigued."
She raised her hand and touched the collar of his tunic, fingers tracing the edge of the fabric.
"Perhaps I can offer more than gold to ease this debt. Information. Influence. And… company, when winter grows too lonely."
Adrian took her hand gently, but did not push it away. Instead, he lifted it to his lips and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles — a gallant gesture, yet heavy with promise.
"Company," he repeated, eyes locked on hers. "And what kind of company does a married baroness offer a seventeen-year-old count?"
Lydia smiled — slow, predatory.
"The kind that makes the cold bearable… and desire inevitable."
Adrian leaned closer, lips hovering a whisper from hers.
"Then let us negotiate, Baroness. Debt for debt. Favor for favor."
He did not mention the system. He did not mention his plans. He did not mention the twenty-one goblin heads he had severed himself.
He simply let silence and his gaze do the rest.
End of Chapter 3