Are Beast Nobles Supposed to Be This Lewd?

Someone stood on the other side of the square.

Someone she knew.

Or, well. Knew might have been a generous description. Mirabelle stopped chewing.

A little farther down the marketplace, surrounded by ribbons, colorful awnings, laughing families, and enough cheerful decorations to make the entire square look like someone had thrown a rainbow over Steinstein, stood a dark figure who looked profoundly out of place among all of it.

Like someone had invited the God of Death to a summer festival.

Mirabelle slowly lowered the skewer in her hand.

It was him.

The strange Beastman from Rotwald.

She would have recognized him anywhere.

He stood behind a broad market stall almost overflowing with goods. Unlike the stalls around it, there were no colorful fabrics, pottery, jewelry meant purely for decoration, or baskets of food arranged to tempt passing customers.

Everything displayed there looked... unusual.

Valuable and slightly dangerous.

Polished Cores rested in padded wooden trays, some no larger than walnuts, others nearly the size of Mirabelle’s fist. Their surfaces caught the sunlight with an almost oily shimmer.

Beside them lay strange twisted roots in shades ranging from pale ivory to nearly black, dried leaves bound into bundles with thin cords, pieces of bark, small bottles containing liquids of questionable colors, and several mushrooms that emitted a faint glow even beneath the bright midday sun.

One particularly unsettling fungus seemed to pulse. There were pieces of horn. Claws. Small crystalline fragments. Seeds enclosed in glass containers. Things she couldn’t even begin to identify.

And behind all of it stood the male who had somehow managed to occupy a corner of her thoughts ever since she’d encountered him in Rotwald. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, and she certainly hadn’t told any of her mates, but more than once, she’d seen those silver eyes in her dreams.

His appearance hadn’t become any less striking. If anything, surrounded by ordinary Beastmen, it was worse.

He wore another combination of ceremonial clothing and armor, although Mirabelle couldn’t tell whether it was the same outfit she’d seen before. Dark layers of fabric wrapped around his body, broken by heavy silver plates across his chest and shoulders. Chains crossed the muted taupe-gray skin of his exposed abdomen and disappeared beneath layers of black cloth. His very ripped exposed abdomen...

Silver ornaments caught the sunlight whenever he moved.

His enormous black ears rose above his head, decorated with delicate chains and earrings that flashed between strands of long black hair. Fine braids disappeared through the darker lengths, threaded with tiny metallic charms.

And, once again, the lower half of his face was hidden behind a translucent black veil.

Mirabelle stared. She couldn’t help it. The male simply didn’t look like someone who should exist.

Not here. Not surrounded by children with ribbons tied around their tails and old women buying pottery.

There was something too dark about him.

Too elegant.

Too —

As though an ancient deity had accidentally wandered into Steinstein, realized there was a market happening, and decided he might as well sell cultivation materials while he was there.

He hadn’t noticed her. His attention was focused entirely on the male standing in front of his stall.

Mirabelle recognized that one too. A soldier.

She couldn’t remember his name, but she was fairly certain she’d spoken with him after the military demonstrations yesterday. One of the officers, perhaps?

The soldier held something dark and irregular in one hand while the foreign Beastman spoke to him. Mirabelle couldn’t make out the words from this distance.

She could hear his voice, though. Barely.

A low murmur beneath the festival noise. It carried strangely well.

Not loudly enough to distinguish individual words, but enough that she recognized that deep, melodic cadence immediately.

The same voice that had made her think, for one completely ridiculous second in Rotwald, that some forgotten god had decided to speak directly to her.

The Beastman reached across the table. Long fingers picked up one of the pale roots. He turned it once, then pointed toward a darker section near its end while explaining something. The silver bracelets around his wrist shifted with a quiet metallic sound.

The soldier nodded. The Beastman put the root down and selected something else. A small reddish Beast Core this time.

Apparently, whatever he was selling wasn’t simply merchandise. He was advising the soldier.

Mirabelle watched as he compared two items, then deliberately pushed one aside and handed the other to the man.

"Mirabelle?"

She didn’t react. Kaelith had been saying something beside her. Something about —

Actually, she had absolutely no idea what he’d been talking about.

"Mirabelle."

"Hm?"

Kaelith went silent. Mirabelle continued staring.

A second passed. Then his gaze followed hers across the square.

His entire body changed. It was subtle.

Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed.

His shoulders stiffened.

The easy posture he’d carried while walking through the festival disappeared, and the pleased amusement still lingering through their bond from the food and celebrations flattened beneath something considerably sharper.

Recognition. And immediate dislike.

Mirabelle glanced sideways at him.

Kaelith was staring at the dark Beastman.

Right. He remembered him too.

And judging by the sudden irritation moving through their bond, he also remembered exactly how the stranger had looked at Mirabelle the last time they’d met.

Lucien noticed Kaelith’s reaction before he noticed the reason for it.

The fox’s ears shifted. He looked at Kaelith.

Then at Mirabelle.bThen followed their line of sight.

His chewing slowed. Unlike Kaelith, Lucien didn’t stiffen immediately. His green eyes narrowed instead.

Mirabelle felt curiosity move through their bond, followed by recognition of an entirely different kind.

"You know him?" Lucien asked.

Mirabelle finally tore her eyes away.

"Sort of."

Kaelith made a sound beside her.

Mirabelle ignored him. Lucien continued studying the male.

"A jackal."

Mirabelle’s attention snapped back to him.

"A what?"

"Jackal Beastman."

’Oh.’

That... Mirabelle looked across the square again.

The enormous black ears.

The narrow, elegant features she could see above the veil.

The overall vaguely death-god-like appearance.

Of course he was a jackal. Because apparently the universe had decided subtlety was unnecessary.

Lucien’s expression, however, became increasingly puzzled.

"I know him before."

Now Kaelith looked at him interested.

"The festival in Rotwald," Lucien explained, his eyes remaining fixed on the stall. "He was with the merchant group that accompanied the festivities. I spoke with him several times while coordinating things with the visiting merchants." His brows drew together slightly. "The group is from Bregenz."

That caught Mirabelle’s attention.

Bregenz. Silas was heading there. Or would eventually, after Zasar and Bergheim.

"The merchant caravan he leads is large," Lucien continued. "Very large."

"He’s the leader?"

Lucien nodded slowly.

Mirabelle looked back at the Beastman.

Somehow, that also made sense. She couldn’t imagine him following anyone.

"But where is everyone else?" Lucien murmured.

Mirabelle glanced around. Only now did she realize what he meant. The stall was substantial, but there was no caravan surrounding it.

No group of similarly dressed merchants.

No assistants moving merchandise.

No guards.

Nobody who appeared to belong to him at all.

Just the jackal.

Alone.

Standing behind a market stall in Steinstein as though this were the most normal thing in the world.

Lucien’s brows drew together.

"He shouldn’t be traveling alone."

"Maybe they’re somewhere else in the city," Mirabelle suggested.

"Perhaps."

He didn’t sound convinced. Kaelith sounded even less interested in solving the mystery.

"Let’s go."

Mirabelle looked at him.

"What?"

"There are other stalls."

"Yes, I’m aware."

"Good."

He placed a hand lightly against her lower back.

"This way."

Mirabelle almost laughed. The direction he was attempting to guide her toward was, unsurprisingly, directly opposite the jackal’s stall.

"Kaelith."

"What?"

She looked up at him.

He looked entirely innocent. The emotion coming through their bond was considerably less convincing.

Mirabelle opened her mouth —

And across the square, the jackal raised his head.

Everything seemed to slow. The soldier was still speaking to him. A woman laughed somewhere close to Mirabelle. Music drifted between the buildings, joined by the beat of a drum. Hot fat hissed on a grill nearby, and the warm air carried honey, smoke, spices and the sweetness of something being baked.

The festival continued around them.

But Mirabelle barely noticed any of it.

Silver eyes found her.

Actual silver. Liquid metal caught beneath dark lashes and black kohl. And Mirabelle’s golden eyes met them across the crowd.

The jackal went still.

So did she.

For several heartbeats, neither moved. People passed between them, briefly breaking their line of sight.

A rabbit female carrying a basket.

Two children holding hands.

A broad Beastman with a drinking cup.

Every time the space cleared, those silver eyes were still on her. Mirabelle felt something strange twist low in her stomach.

Not fear.She was sure of that.

But there was something deeply unsettling about being looked at by him.

Perhaps because he didn’t react like everyone else had.

No surprise.

No immediate smile.

No bow.

No enthusiastic cry of Duchess.

He simply looked at her. Slowly, deliberately, his gaze moved over her face. Then downward.

Mirabelle suddenly became acutely aware of the heavy golden signet ring on her finger.

The jackal’s eyes stopped there.

Something changed. So quickly she almost missed it. His silver eyes sharpened.

The soldier in front of him said something.

The jackal didn’t respond. His entire attention remained fixed on Mirabelle’s hand.

On the ring.

Then his gaze rose again.

Gold met silver.

Mirabelle’s ears twitched.

He knew.

... If course he knew what the ring meant. Everyone in Steinstein knew by now.

But the way he looked at it didn’t feel like the reaction of someone who had simply realized the woman he’d met in Rotwald was now Duchess.

It was too focused.

Too knowing.

Then, almost imperceptibly, his head tilted. The black veil shifted with his next breath.

And although Mirabelle couldn’t see his mouth beneath it, she had the unmistakable feeling—

that he was smiling.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!