Chapter 353: Ethan doesn’t demand vassalage
The atmosphere in Goldenveil was festive.
Hundreds of first- and second-stage beasts had been captured and slaughtered by the Goldenveil army, while dozens of chefs from the city’s finest restaurants had spent the entire night studying unique recipes sent directly from the palace.
There was everything.
Various ways to prepare rice, corn, beans, sauces, and countless side dishes.
There were even ideal methods for cutting and roasting the beast meat, all carefully designed to bring out the best possible flavor and effect.
With more than ten chefs and countless assistants tending to the arena’s kitchens, the aroma of what they were preparing—enough food to feed thousands of spectators—soon drifted through the streets of Goldenveil, mingling with the growing buzz of the crowds.
Faelith caught that scent on the breeze as she walked alongside Doran through the gates leading to the noble district.
It was mouthwatering, she had to admit.
Her elven senses—especially her sense of smell and hearing—were far keener than those of humans, and every note of that tempting aroma seeped into her nostrils.
That was when her eyes fell upon the Tree of Life, standing tall at the heart of the district, guarded by dozens of elven paladins clad in the highest-quality elven silver armor.
She felt the urge to kneel right there, to beg for the chance to just brush the tips of her fingers against that sacred trunk.
Resisting was difficult, but she was still a noblewoman on a diplomatic mission.
She masked her desire with a slight look of curiosity, swallowing the impulse that called to her.
"That’s a Tree of Life, correct? How long has it been here?"
"A few months. It was planted by Lady Arwen, the Lord’s sixth wife," Doran replied, his tone as formal and polite as always.
Faelith nodded. Obviously, Arwen must be a high elf, but...
Her eyes suddenly widened.
"Wife... and sixth wife?"
She hadn’t heard a single word about an elven wife during her conversations with the escorts.
The mere fact that a human had a high elf as a wife was already absurd, but a sixth wife?
That meant there had been five women before her!
Of course, things weren’t quite that simple.
Although Arwen was considered the sixth wife, her age and wisdom made her respected and treated as a superior even by Amelia and Ysara, Goldenveil’s most powerful experts.
Besides, Ethan himself cared little about which number appeared above his wives’ names.
He loved them, and to him, that was all that mattered.
Faelith, however, had no way of knowing that, and could only smile bitterly at the absurdity of it all.
"Lady Arwen is already here to welcome you." Doran’s respectful yet stern voice made Faelith stop in her tracks.
She stood before the grand gates of Ethan’s palace, guarded by beautiful and skilled female soldiers, all clad in armor that reflected the sunlight in dazzling flashes.
Faelith looked up, observing the woman who waited for her.
Green hair, a noble face, and an even nobler lineage.
Sensing that Arwen was truly a high elf, Faelith couldn’t help herself.
Her instinct spoke louder, and she bowed deeply, lowering her head in reverence.
"High Priestess..." she said humbly.
She didn’t know Arwen’s position in Goldenveil, but in any case, to the elves, every high elf was a priestess of life, beauty, and death.
"Don’t bow, dear; you’re our guest." Arwen moved immediately to stop her, delicate fingers resting on Faelith’s shoulders and helping her rise again.
Face to face, their full breasts met as Arwen drew her into a warm embrace.
The two pairs of voluminous mounds pressed together in a soft, silken kiss of flesh, each plump swell molding against the other and squeezing outward, spilling upward to form a deep, sensual valley between their delicate bodies.
"Come, follow me. My husband is eager to meet you," Arwen said, slipping her arm through Faelith’s.
Faelith did not resist, following in silence.
They did not head for the palace, but rather for the arena, whose stands were already beginning to fill.
Nearly all of Goldenveil had gathered to watch the ceremony, and the anxious murmur of the crowd buzzed through the air like a restless swarm.
"What exactly is the occasion? What is everyone celebrating?" Faelith asked as she climbed, alongside Arwen, up a long flight of polished marble stairs.
"Today, my husband will announce the pregnancy of his first wife and the decree unifying all the lands of Goldenveil."
Upon hearing that, Faelith froze for a moment, swallowing hard.
So, indeed, that was it.
She had already been expecting this, but having it confirmed still came as quite a shock.
"And I suppose he summoned all those lords to demand vassalage?" Faelith asked.
Normally, she would have raised her voice, but in the presence of a high elf—one of the most important and revered beings of her race—she remained silent and respectful.
"Almost. Ethan doesn’t demand vassalage. Their nobility would be preserved, with titles and a monthly allowance, but their cities would become Ethan’s property.
In those cities that weren’t dissolved, the Lords would remain as hereditary rulers—though also as public officials."
"That’s..."
"Absurd? Yes, to many it is." Arwen nodded, finally reaching the highest part of the arena.
It was a VIP seating area, still empty except for the main seat—the one offering the best view of the entire arena—Ethan’s family seat.
"My husband doesn’t need you. If you don’t want to accept these terms, just prepare for war."
Arwen truly had no interest in sugarcoating things.
That approach worked well with the Lords of the rest of the continent, but not with the Lords of the Eternal Forest.
It was a violent place that, more often than not, truly knew only the language of force.
Faelith nodded.
She wasn’t born in the Eternal Forest, but she had lived there for centuries and knew well how things worked.
It was a cruel and violent place.
She just hoped she had the wisdom to make the decision that would be best for her people.