Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 156: Travel Passion.

Chapter 156: Travel Passion.

Night.

The Inn.

Travel. Critic-Ishire.

**************

The innskeeper rushed to them the second they stepped in making Lydia straighten her back. "Ah, Sir Bottomore and Lady Arabella, welcome to our humble establishment" the fat innskeeper acknowledged them with the name Conan must have registered with.

"You table is prepared, as requested." she added, her tummy was large for her body but who were the couple to judge.

Sir Bottomore?

Theodore grinded his teeth at the name Conan had picked for him, he knew the knight was messing with him but it unnerving anyway. He love his name too much.

A table had been prepared for them, adorned with fine linens and gleaming silverware, a testament to their esteemed status.

"Why was she referring to us differently, Bottomore?" Lydia asked sweetly, a small smile gracing her delicate features.

Theodore groaned, his eyes searching for any listener. "Fucking Conan!" He snarled.

"That is a good alternate" Lydia agrred.

If they had to change their names, it is best they use names that we’re far away from their actual names.

"Sir Bottomore! Join me" Conan brought on at the top of his lungs from said table.

Theodore gritted his teeth before helping Lydia sit and then he too. His hair was in a braid Lydia insisted into making out of boredom because Theodore wouldn’t let her read with his thousand ways of distrating her.

"Bottomore, the best you could do?" Theodore probed his friend.

"The very best I tell you, oh and lady Alice," Theodore paused in his action, his heart thundering times faster, he gulped, refusing to meet Conan’s eyes in case he showed too much.

"Please enjoy your meal" Conan invited.

Lydia started to fill a plate after checking Theodores plate to find it empty. "Thank Sir. Obnoxious, but my name was Arabella" she reminded the knight, her smile testing.

"It completely escaped me, it was not lady Alice but lady Arabella" he corrected himself with a grin.

Lydia dropped a plate in front of Theodore before whispering his name to draw his attention to it. "Are you okay?" she asked softly. "Yes, I am fine" he gave answer without meeting her eyes.

While... "Fucking Helena!" Conan said under his breath while Lydia giggled lightly as she still caught it.

Theodore sat pale and unfocused but Lydia’s touch reminded him, he has a chance to make it right again.

After partaking in a sumptuous meal, Theodore and Lydia retired to their chambers. In there steaming water awaited them in a copper bathtub, surrounded by flickering candles casting dancing shadows upon the walls.

"Oh, Theodore, how delightful it is to finally relax. This bath is heavenly." Lydia moaned

"Indeed, my love. And tomorrow, we shall continue our journey to hell" he groaned.

She was yet to answer when he added. "But for now, let us savor this moment of tranquility." his fingers found her shoulders and he began to massage them.

It went lower until he guided his wife into an easy orgasm, hitting peak pleasure and back into his arms, she couldn’t be up there alone so as they laid she freed his shaft from it’s clothing confines and then she suckled on it until she was rewarded.

As they settled into their feather-soft beds, the distant sound of the guards’ footsteps echoed faintly outside their door, a reminder of the watchful guardianship that accompanied them wherever they roamed.

In the morning, as the sun cast its golden rays upon the countryside once more, Ludia and Theodore resumed their journey, their hearts filled with different forms of anticipation and dread as they made their way to the Citadel where the king awaited their arrival.

Perhaps eager to extend his royal hospitality to his esteemed guests or to make a show of his power.

"To the pests citadel we go, my Gooseberry" Theodore said loftily.

"May we not regret this" he added.

"Yes, Theodore," Lydia answered.

They travelled through the night a day and another before finally reaching the Citadel, and still their hair was a mess, her make up gone and his buttons in disarray by the time they got to the gates.

*

* *

*

Next Evening after their departure.

Theodore Mansion.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

***************

Helena had been in her room since the group had left for the Citadel. She felt nothing but to be alone.

She couldn’t believe a business idea had struck in the former perceived enemy’s mansion and she had resolved to embark on a venture to create exquisite pillows, crafted with the finest materials and meticulous attention to detail.

One of the maids had knocked on her door that morning with a smile on, she found it practiced perhaps fake but who was she to judge.

"Miss Helena, the lord asked us to show you something" Dorothy had said.

"Oh, a minute please" she went back inside to grab a robe.

"Follow me" Dorothy.

Helena followed her in harmony downstairs and soon they were standing in front of a door.

"Lord Theodore instructed us to show you this room" the maid started her palm both Infront of her.

"To show me, why?" Helena asked curiousity mixed with apprehension.

Dorothy swung the door open. "This room is yours now for work" she let out.

At Helena’s silence she continued, "In his words, ’use it as industriouslu as you can’t"

"Wow, I... thank you" Helena said with a full and grateful heart.

She couldn’t believe her eyes nor ears, but this was true.

"We could help you carry your things into the room" Joyous offered from behind them. Helena had to turn abruptly.

"Alright, come" she agreed.

They had followed her into her bedroom, and they assisted in putting her working tools in the new room, she was all smiles and gratitude.

She had a shop now, a workshop, she was excited and couldn’t breathe without feeling successful.

With a determined gleam in her eye, Helena set to work, gathering the necessary equipment and materials to bring her vision to life.

In the sunlight-dappled sewing room that she now owned, Helena assembled her tools with care, laying them out in orderly rows on the polished wooden table.

First, she selected bolts of sumptuous fabric from her vast collection, each one boasting intricate patterns and rich hues.

With a discerning eye, Helena choosed fabrics that would complement the aristocratic aesthetic she envisioned for her pillows, ensuring that each piece would be a testament to Critic-Ishiren elegance.

Next, Helena turned her attention to the stuffing, she selected only the finest materials to provide both comfort and luxury for whoever the buyer maybe.

From the downy feathers of the mansion’s prized geese to the soft wool sourced from the local shepherds, she spared no expense in ensuring that her pillows would be nothing short of indulgent.

She then took her needles, thread, and scissors, she threaded the needle and then embarked on the painstaking process of crafting each pillow by hand.

With deft fingers and unwavering precision, Helena measured and cut the fabric, sewing each seam with meticulous care to ensure a flawless finish.

And as she worked, Helena’s imagination soared, envisioning the different ways in which her pillows would illuminate the grand parlors and boudoirs of the elite.

She closed her eyes and imagined them nestled upon ornate settees and chaise lounges, their grand fabrics and exquisite craftsmanship would serve as a testament to her skill and artistry.

But Helena’s ambitions did not end there.

With an eye for detail and a flair for the dramatic, she set about embellishing her pillows with intricate lace trimmings, delicate ribbon bows, and elaborate embroidery and with each stitch was a work of love, an evidence to her dedication to creating pieces of phenomenal beauty, her works.

She opened the doors only to be met with Tom’s caramel face. "Yes?" she wondered why it had to Tom up here.

"There is a parcel for you, Miss Helena" he announced softly but with his booming voice, softly wasn’t so light.

She narrowed her eyes. A parcel? "From who?"

"Sir Conan Jones" he replied and that prompted her eyes to widen immediately.

Her arms stretched. "Please, thank you"

She took it and without losing eye contact with him she shut her doors.

In the soft glow of the afternoon light filtering through lace curtains, Helena sat in her cozy room, a sense of anticipation tingling in the air.

What might this be? She thought.

She rested the small package delicately in her hands is a carton, the cartom is wrapped in paper adorned with intricate patterns and tied with a satin ribbon.

Helena’s heart danced with excitement as she traced her fingers over the smooth surface, her thoughts were consumed by the identity of the sender.

Conan.

With trembling hands, she carefully untied the ribbon, savoring the moment of anticipation before gently peeling away the layers of wrapping paper, and the cover of the box.

As the package revealed its contents, Helena’s eyes widened in surprise and delight, nestled within this carton was a small, furry creature, blinking up at her with wide, innocent eyes.

"Ebony!"

Meow...

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