The Gilded Pavilion - Noble District
The establishnt was called the Gilded Pavilion, though everyone who frequented it simply referred to it as "the Pavilion." It was the kind of place where only the wealthiest and most powerful could gain entry, not because of explicit restrictions, but because a single evening here cost more than most families earned in a year.
The architecture was designed for intimate indulgence. They provided services that made it seem like heaven in this realm. The rarest alcohol flowed without restraint, beautiful attendants served with effortless charm, and delicacies prepared by expert chefs filled the air with irresistible scents. It was a place built for indulgence, where every detail whispered wealth and pleasure.
The main hall branched into dozens of private rooms, each one a square-shaped wooden structure with open sides that could be closed with silk screens for privacy.
Inside, plush mattresses covered the floors, surrounded by low tables laden with the finest wines, delicacies, and whatever else guests desired.
Jolthar sat cross-legged on the cushions, already several bottles into the evening. The wine was exceptional, smooth and complex in ways that made even expensive vintages taste crude by comparison.
Around him, beautiful attendants moved with flawless grace, pouring drinks and engaging in light conversation.
Beside him, a woman in silk robes carefully refilled his cup, her movents elegant and attentive. She was beautiful in the conventional way, with pretty features, and skilled at making guests feel desired and important.
Across from Jolthar, Andrion sprawled in comfortable relaxation, being attended by both a stunning woman and an equally attractive young man.
The prince seed completely at ease with the arrangent, laughing and flirting with both attendants with equal enthusiasm.
"This," Andrion declared, his words slightly slurred from wine, "is life. Good wine, beautiful company, no one trying to arrest anyone or challenge anyone to duels."
He raised his cup in a toast.
"To simple pleasures!"
"To simple pleasures," Jolthar echoed, drinking deeply. The wine was making everything pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.
Milan sat sowhat apart, attended by a single woman who seed content to pour his wine in comfortable silence. The prince was drinking but remained more composed than his brother, though even he seed more relaxed than usual.
"You know what you need to experience?" Andrion said, leaning forward conspiratorially toward Jolthar.
"The pleasure houses. The real ones, not these simple drinking establishnts."
"Andrion," Milan warned, though without much force behind it.
"I’m serious!" Andrion insisted.
"The pleasure houses in Cahns’ar are unmatched anywhere in the empire. The Pinkblossom House especially, Mistress Rani has cultivated talent that would make poets weep. Won and n of such absolute beauty that just looking at them is an experience."
He gestured grandly.
"Art, brother. Living, breathing art."
Jolthar smiled despite himself.
"You make it sound like a museum."
"Better than a museum," Andrion replied.
"Museums you can only look at. Pleasure houses are... interactive."
His grin was wicked.
"The closeness of her body, the softness of her touch, the silent conversation carried through skin and warmth... it doesn’t overwhelm like wine. It lingers, sweeter, deeper — a subtle intoxication no drink can rival."
Andrion was quite the poet as he kept on talking about n and won. He must have had plenty of n and won too, judging the way he describes.
Milan winced every ti Andrion talked about n, while Jolthar seed lost in the mory of the face he saw in the market.
The attendant beside Jolthar refilled his cup again, his eighth? Tenth?
He was losing count.
The wine was affecting him more than he’d expected. Normally his constitution could handle alcohol better, but this particular vintage was deceptively strong.
They continued drinking, the conversation andering through various topics—politics, won, the absurdity of court life, and Andrion’s various romantic scandals. Milan contributed occasionally, though he seed content to mostly listen and observe.
Then the atmosphere in the room changed.
It was subtle at first, a shift in the air, a sense that sothing significant had entered their space. The attendants seed to notice it too, their movents becoming slightly more deferential.
A woman appeared at the entrance to their private room.
And she was... devastating.
Beautiful didn’t capture it.
Stunning fell short.
She possessed a quality that transcended simple physical attractiveness into sothing that felt almost dangerous. Her beauty was the kind that could kill, not taphorically, but in the sense that n might actually forget to breathe when looking at her.
She was tall and perfectly proportioned, with skin like polished bronze and hair that fell in dark waves past her shoulders. Her features were sharp and elegant—high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that were almost feline in their shape and intensity. She wore a dress of deep burgundy that clung to her figure in ways that seed impossible, as if the fabric had been painted onto her body.
But more than her physical appearance was her presence.
She moved like a tigress, graceful and powerful, every gesture deliberate and controlled. There was a fierceness to her beauty, a sense that she was not rely attractive but formidable.
Jolthar, despite his inebriated state, felt sothing stir in his chest. His mind, unbidden, made a comparison to Elsona.
Where Elsona had been ethereal and naturally elegant, like a goddess descended to walk among mortals, this woman was fierce and commanding. A swan versus a tigress. Both beautiful, but in fundantally different ways.
The woman’s eyes swept over the room, taking in the two princes and Jolthar with a gaze that seed to assess and catalog everything in an instant.
When her eyes t Jolthar’s, sothing flickered in their depths: recognition and interest.
"Your Highnesses," she said, her voice low and musical.
"Forgive the intrusion." She bowed with perfect grace, the gesture sohow managing to be both respectful and subtly seductive.
"I noticed distinguished guests and wondered if I might join you for a drink."
Even Milan, who had maintained his composure throughout the evening, seed montarily lost. His cup paused halfway to his lips, his eyes tracking her movents with unconscious fascination.
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