Are Beast Nobles Supposed to Be This Lewd?

Her hair had been gathered into an elegant knot at the back of her head, still carrying traces of the same rich brown that dominated Mirabelle’s own curls. But time had woven silver and white through it until the colors blended together like winter slowly overtaking an autumn forest.

A long, intricately carved hairpin held the knot securely in place, its branching shape and delicate texture resembling a piece of pale coral taken straight from the sea.

Her lynx ears stood proudly atop her head.

The characteristic dark tufts remained, though even they had begun to fade, individual strands touched by silver-gray.

The same signs of age showed in her long tail. Brown remained beneath, but gray and white hairs now threaded visibly through the fur.

Her clothing, however, looked nothing like anything Mirabelle had seen in Bergheim.

The fabric wrapped elegantly around her narrow body in flowing layers designed for a much warmer climate.

There was no heavy velvet.

No thick embroidery.

No structured bodice.

Instead, impossibly fine material flowed around her like a second skin before falling loosely from her hips.

Its surface shimmered.

Tiny overlapping patterns had been woven into the fabric, creating the illusion of fish scales whenever she moved.

Turquoise.

Pearl.

Pale green.

A faint blush of coral.

Colors of shallow tropical water.

Of shells.

Of sunlight dancing across the surface of the sea.

It was strange. Beautiful. And utterly foreign against the gray stone walls of Luchsenstein.

Four Beastmen accompanied the elephant. All remained in their human forms as they walked beside him. And all were old.

Or... older.

Mirabelle corrected herself almost immediately. Calling any of them old somehow felt dangerous.

Gray threaded through their hair. Lines marked their faces. One had a beard almost entirely white. Yet the aura surrounding them made several of the younger Beastmen waiting behind Mirabelle seem almost insignificant by comparison.

These were not males weakened by age.

They were males who had survived long enough to become old.

There was a difference. A significant one.

They moved with the quiet confidence of predators who had absolutely nothing left to prove.

Their clothing followed the same unfamiliar style as her grandmother’s. Light fabrics. Loose sleeves. Open collars. Flowing layers that stirred with every warm breeze.

Some shimmered like scales beneath water.

Others bore patterns reminiscent of waves, shells, or the shifting colors found inside mother-of-pearl.

Turquoise and deep ocean blue mixed with white, pale green, and occasional touches of soft pink.

Mirabelle suddenly had the distinct impression that someone had taken an entire seaside court and dropped it directly into the middle of Bergheim.

The elephant continued forward.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Birds scattered from the edge of the courtyard. Somewhere behind Mirabelle, one of the servants drew in a startled breath.

The enormous Beast male calmly circled the fountain occupying the center of the reception courtyard, his trunk swinging gently with each step.

Water splashed softly behind him. Sunlight caught in the droplets.

Then he stopped. Almost directly before Mirabelle and her mother.

For one heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then the elephant slowly lowered himself.

His front legs bent first. His enormous body followed with surprising control until he knelt upon the stone.

The movement brought Mirabelle’s grandmother considerably closer to the ground.

One of the accompanying Beastmen immediately stepped forward.

He was broad-shouldered despite his age, with salt-and-pepper hair swept neatly away from his face and a well-maintained beard carrying considerably more silver than black.

He raised one hand. Mirabelle’s grandmother placed her fingers into his without hesitation.

There was something so practiced about the movement that Mirabelle suspected they had done this hundreds of times before.

The male steadied her as she descended.

One foot touched the stone.

Then the other.

Her flowing, sea-colored garments settled around her slender figure.

The Beastman released her hand. And Mirabelle found herself looking directly into the eyes of her grandmother for the first time.

The older lynx female said nothing.

She merely looked at her.

Slowly. Thoroughly.

From the tips of Mirabelle’s ears...

...all the way down to her feet.

Then back up again.

One second her eyes lingered on her missing sleeves.

Her expression remained severe.

Completely unreadable.

Mirabelle suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being inspected by someone who had already found three things wrong with her...

...and hadn’t even opened her mouth yet.

Mirabelle’s mother drew a slow, audible breath. Then a radiant smile spread across her face as she opened her arms. The golden jewelry around her wrists chimed softly with the movement.

"Mother!"

Her grandmother made no move to return the embrace. Instead, she gave her daughter another long, critical once-over.

"Miranda." A pause.

"You’ve gotten old."

Only then did she allow herself to be embraced.

Which, in practice, meant Mirabelle’s mother rested her hands lightly on her shoulders while they exchanged air kisses against each other’s cheeks.

’Why does that seem so familiar?’

Fascinated, Mirabelle watched the exchange. Her mother was acting... strangely.

The Duchess’s tail had stilled completely behind her.

"Mother, you know what this position is like. I think I’ve aged rather well."

"Hmph."

Her grandmother remained thoroughly unimpressed. Her gaze drifted past Miranda toward the mates standing behind her.

"...And I see you still haven’t added another one." She clicked her tongue. "You’re still of childbearing age.

A little fresh blood wouldn’t hurt, hm?"

Then she glanced sideways at Mirabelle.

"Perhaps another daughter?

Just to be safe."

That landed.

"Mother!" Miranda frowned. One corner of her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly.

"You just said I was old."

"I didn’t say old." Her grandmother corrected her without missing a beat. "I said you’ve grown old.

There’s a difference."

"In any case, you’re certainly not old enough to stop having children.

Luchsenstein needs capable males."

"Yes, but not more daughters." Miranda rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You’re here for Mirabelle’s investiture ceremony."

"One female heir is always one too few."

The old lynx’s eyes bored into the Duchess.

"You, of all people, know how many things can go wrong."

Now, the Duchess no longer seemed quite so imposing.

"And now stop arguing with me. You’re a grown woman. It’s embarrassing."

There was an unmistakable finality to her tone. The firm line of her mouth and her perfectly straight posture left no room for debate.

The old female did not tolerate contradiction.

Mirabelle had to give her mother credit. At least she’d made a respectable attempt to defend herself.

Now, however, she stood there looking suspiciously like a scolded child... Her ears flattened against her head.

A gust of wind swept across the courtyard, it carried the fragrance of sun-warmed grass and blooming orchard trees, sending the fabrics draped over the elephant rippling gracefully. As they brushed against one another, they produced a soft, pleasant rustling sound.

Mirabelle found herself wanting to reach out and touch them, if only to discover how they felt beneath her fingertips. They looked cool despite the warmth, the fine weave catching the sunlight with every movement.

Once again, her grandmother’s attention settled on the males standing behind her mother, who had all become noticeably rigid beneath her scrutiny.

Then her gaze shifted to the three Beastmen standing behind Mirabelle.

It was almost as if her mates instinctively straightened under the former Duchess’s piercing stare. Mirabelle could actually hear Kaelith swallow.

His tail, normally never still for more than a heartbeat, hung in a perfectly elegant curve without so much as the slightest twitch. Even the tuft at its tip remained perfectly still.

Silas, whose expression alone could usually reduce children to tears, was making what appeared to be a sincere effort to look approachable. The expression looked almost painful on him.

And Lucien had somehow become the very embodiment of a refined noble gentleman. If someone hadn’t known him, they would’ve mistaken him for royalty.

Without sparing Mirabelle so much as a glance, her grandmother strode past her. A heartbeat later, she was already standing in front of the three Beastmen with surprising speed.

She carried the scent of salt and the open sea, mingled with fresh grass, rain-soaked stone, and the charged air that always came just before a storm.

It was a scent that spoke of authority... or danger.

None of the three males seemed willing to risk even a single unnecessary breath as the elderly lynx Beastwoman slowly circled them. The only sound was the quiet rustle of her fabric.

She gave Lucien a firm prod against the chest.

Squeezed Silas’s bicep with an appraising hand. She nodded once, apparently satisfied with what she felt.

Then she caught Kaelith by the collar.

The hyena instinctively lowered himself before she even had to pull.

And closely inspected the shaved side of his head.

Not one of them offered the slightest protest.

They simply endured the inspection in complete silence.

Mirabelle could only stare.

She wasn’t sure which shocked her more:

that her grandmother had just handled three notoriously dangerous Beastmen as if they were recruits at their first military inspection...

or that all three of them had allowed it without a single complaint.