The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 405: Famous house of pleasure

Milan, who had been distracted by thoughts of Nora, focused on the conversation.

”It’s actually not a bad idea politically. Mistress Rani is well-connected. She knows everyone’s secrets, and her favor is worth cultivating. Plus, refusing a direct invitation might be seen as insulting.”

”See?” Andrion said triumphantly.

”Even sensible Milan agrees. We’re going.”

”We?” Jolthar asked.

”Obviously. You think I’m missing this opportunity?” Andrion grinned.

”I’ll accompany you. So will Milan, if he can tear his thoughts away from a certain drake-riding woman long enough to focus.”

Milan glared at his brother.

”That’s not—”

”You were literally staring at the sky with puppy eyes two minutes ago,” Andrion interrupted.

”But yes, I’ll come too. For propriety and observation purposes.”

The lead woman smiled.

”Our carriage is prepared and waiting, my lord and your highnesses. Shall we?”

Jolthar considered briefly, then shrugged.

If nothing else, it would be interesting to see what all the fuss was about. And both princes seemed convinced it was worthwhile.

”Lead the way,” he said.

*

The carriage provided by the Pinkblossom House was itself a statement of quality. Plush interior, smooth suspension, and discrete but attentive service. The women who had come to fetch them rode alongside, and the driver navigated the capital streets with expert precision.

”You seem nervous,” Andrion observed, watching Jolthar.

”Not nervous. Curious,” Jolthar corrected.

”In my experience, when powerful people extend personal invitations, there’s usually an agenda beyond simple hospitality.”

”Of course there is,” Milan agreed.

”Mistress Rani didn’t build the Pinkblossom House by accident. She’s a strategic thinker who cultivates relationships with power. You’ve become famous or infamous in the capital. She wants to assess you personally.”

”Or seduce him,” Andrion added cheerfully.

”Which would also be a form of assessment, just more enjoyable.”

The carriage traveled through increasingly upscale districts until finally stopping before a mansion that managed to be both elegant and discreet. High walls surrounded the property, but they were decorated with flowering vines and artistic metalwork rather than looking fortress-like. The entrance was marked by a subtle sign showing a pink blossom—understated yet unmistakable to those who knew.

They disembarked, and immediately Jolthar noticed the security. Guards in discrete positions, their bearing suggesting military or combat training. This wasn’t just a pleasure house—it was a fortress disguised as one.

The woman who had escorted them led them through the main entrance into a reception hall that was tastefully luxurious. Crystal chandeliers, art on the walls, furniture that looked expensive without being gaudy.

”This is where the general clientele is served,” Andrion explained quietly as they walked.

”The main halls and the common rooms.”

Jolthar turned his head towards Andrion and asked him, ”Just how many times have you visited this place?”

Andrion rubbed his nose as he looked smug and said, ”Enough to know the place.”

”You don’t have to be proud of yourself,” Jolthar said, turning to the front.

Indeed, Jolthar could see through archways into larger spaces where well-dressed men reclined on cushions, attended by beautiful women who served drinks and food, engaged in conversation, and created an atmosphere of relaxed indulgence.

Nothing explicitly sexual was visible, but the undercurrent of sensuality was unmistakable.

Their guide led them past these public areas toward the back of the mansion.

Here, the corridor opened into a space divided by silk veils around low tables, creating semi-private alcoves. The sounds were muted—quiet conversation, occasional laughter, the clink of glasses.

”Private dining and entertainment,” Andrion murmured.

”More exclusive, more expensive.”

But they didn’t stop there either.

Instead, they continued through a door that led outside into a courtyard, and here Jolthar’s eyebrows rose.

The courtyard was surrounded by walls that were at least twenty feet high, constructed of smooth stone that would be difficult to climb. Guards were positioned at regular intervals along the top—not decorative guards, but serious warriors who tracked their movement with professional attention.

”The inner sanctum,” Andrion said, his voice dropping with something like reverence.

”Very few ever get invited here.”

A small door was set into the larger wall, attended by two guards who nodded to their escort and opened it without question. Beyond was another level of luxury entirely.

The space was enormous, a chamber with a high ceiling that could have held a hundred people comfortably. The floor was covered in thick carpets in rich colors. Mattresses of exceptional quality were arranged throughout, each with low tables, silk cushions, and privacy screens that could be deployed or retracted. The lighting was soft and warm, coming from lanterns that cast a golden glow.

And everywhere were women.

Not dozens but scores of them. Each one was extraordinarily beautiful, dressed in elegant but revealing clothing in a variety of styles. Some lounged on mattresses, reading or conversing quietly. Others practiced what looked like dancing or playing musical instruments.

A few were engaged in what appeared to be some kind of training, movement exercises that combined grace and martial precision.

It looked like heaven in the midlands, filled with beauty and pleasure.

They all looked up as the three men entered, and Jolthar felt dozens of assessing gazes.

The hall was even more impressive from within.

Jolthar took in the details: the quality of the fabrics, the subtle scent of expensive incense, and the way every woman present carried herself with confidence and purpose.

As they stood in the middle of the chamber, a woman entered and walked straight towards them. As she walked, women were bowing to her.

She moved with the grace of someone accustomed to command.

She was Rani Muccari. She was a striking woman, brown skin that seemed to glow in the soft lighting, white hair styled in an elegant arrangement that framed sharp, intelligent features.

She wore robes of deep rose that managed to be both modest and subtly alluring. Her age was difficult to pin down, perhaps late forties, but she carried herself with the confidence of someone who had built an empire through wit and will.

”Prince Andrion,” Rani said warmly, bowing with precisely calibrated respect.

”It’s always a pleasure to see you grace our establishment.”

”Mistress Rani,” Andrion replied with genuine warmth.

”The pleasure is entirely mine. Your house remains the finest in the capital.”

”You flatter me, but I’ll accept it nonetheless.”