SHK CH 742 (Patreon)

Sol leaned forward and tapped the crystal on his desk. “Call Clara.” The magic interface shimmered, and after a soft chime, a calm and compo

Sol leaned forward and tapped the crystal on his desk.

“Call Clara.”

The magic interface shimmered, and after a soft chime, a calm and composed voice answered.

“Yes, Your Majesty. How may I assist you?”

“You don’t need to use such a formal tone, Clara.”

“I believe protocol demands it, Your Majesty. Especially while you are seated on official business.”

“How is work on your side?”

“Fast. Thanks to Lord Anubis, we were able to complete much of the pending work and reparation for the victims of the recent Ritualistic Massacres.  Currently, I’m only handling fourteen parallel budget streams, six ambassadorial requests to Souther Pride, Wratharis, and Envilya, and a rather idiotic group of nobles who think your wedding with a Witch is a strategic mistake and an insult to your ancestors.”

Sol sighed. The group of nobles that was protesting was a pain for Sol. If they were belligerent or corrupt, he could have simply exterminated them as an example. But those guys were true loyalists of the crown. They were also extremely conservative and fought some of his reforms, but they truly thought of the betterment of the Kingdom. 

This made everything more complicated, but thankfully, they never went too far in their protests. 

He smiled faintly. “Thanks for all your hard work, truly. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Your highness!! This is too much honor. I am simply doing my duty.”

“That is true. But all good work should be rewarded. You’ve been working too hard. You need a break. Effective immediately, I’m giving you a mandatory vacation.”

A pause. “Your Majesty, I truly appreciate your concern, but I assure you I am still functioning at optimal efficiency.” He could feel some worry in her voice. But he made sure to reassure her. 

“I know you are, and just to be clear, I am not trying to replace you,” he said gently, “You’re not a golem, Clara. And Lustburg needs you whole. This is why I ask you to take some rest.”

“…Understood. Then may I make a request, Your Majesty?”

He blinked. “A request?”

“I cannot rest now as we are still finishing some important documents, but when things calm down, if I must rest, I would be honored to spend two nights in Southern Pride with you. I would like to take the opportunity to introduce you to my mother.”

Sol froze.

“…Your mother?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Was she present the last time I visited?”

“She was, as far as I know. She sometimes visits the Astral Realm, but she stays in Southern Pride most of the time.”

A flicker of anxiety crossed Sol’s face. Memories of his stay in Southern Pride flashed in his mind. He had gone pretty wild during that time, and the number of elves he slept with was blurry. His only rule had been not to touch anyone married or in a relationship, but as far as he remembered, Clara’s mom was a widow.

Did I? He thought briefly, wondering if he laid a hand on her without knowing.

Just to be sure, he reached out with his soul and tugged on the Threads of Karma leading back to that trip.

The thread twisted.

It pulsed strangely.

Sol immediately pulled back.

Nope.

 He was not going to peek. He was not going to know. Sometimes, one should act as an ostrich and deny the truth.

“Your highness?”

He coughed lightly, straightening up.

“Very well. Two nights. It will be an official diplomatic visit.”

“I am most grateful, Your Majesty. I will handle the arrangements accordingly.”

“Haha…” He laughed awkwardly as he cut the communication and released a sigh while sagging in his chair. 

Perhaps it was time to be less of a manslut? 

He briefly pondered this but concluded quickly. 

Nahhh!!!

***

The Milaris Manor was quiet.

Located just beyond the central market of Lustburg, it wasn’t ostentatious, but built with purpose. It had no high towers or gemstone gates. Just clean architecture, solid enchantments, and the faint scent of silk and incense.

Inside her private workshop, Arachne Milaris was working.

She didn’t stop.

The enchanted threads moved as they always did—slow, precise, without wasted motion. The loom hummed, guided by her magic. Nearby, sketches floated mid-air, adjusting themselves whenever she gave a silent nod.

Arachne Milaris was a woman born with a supreme talent when it came to art. A talent that had somehow dulled after all those years since she closed her heart. But now, her heart was blazing again as she poured everything into those clothes.

On the main table lay the ceremonial suit of Sol Luxuria.

She had been at it for days. Adjusting fabric weight, recalibrating mana conductivity, and modifying defensive layers. She knew he didn’t need it. Even if she were to become a King, there was no way she could create a defense more effective than his own body. 

But she did not care. 

Everything needed to be perfect. It wasn’t just formal wear. It was symbolic armor—something that would represent both the King and the man.

She stopped for a moment, brushing a hand down the chestplate lining.

Her thoughts, uninvited, drifted.

Mars Luxuria.

Sol’s father.

The only man she’d ever had feelings for. Tall. Handsome. Reliable to a fault and yet infinitely clumsy when it came to dealing with women. 

Not charming like Sol. Not flirtatious. Not complicated.

Just focused.

He loved only one person—Blaze. And he never once gave Arachne, or any of the other women who loved him, a second look. Not out of cruelty. Just honesty. In a way, it was quite admirable. After all, the women chasing him had all been of the highest pedigree. But his love was steadfast.

She had accepted it long ago. Despite her obsession with him, she knew that she never had a chance.  

Still, as she worked on Sol’s suit, those memories returned. Not with bitterness. Just with the dull weight of something left behind but never buried. His memories lived forever in her heart.

“Stubborn old bastard,” she muttered, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

Mars wouldn’t have liked this suit. Too flashy. Too delicate. He preferred thick armor and utilitarian function. But Sol wasn’t Mars. He needed something that balanced power with symbolism.

And for once, Arachne wanted to go beyond just delivering quality.

She wanted Sol to stand tall. To look like someone worth following. Someone even Mars would’ve acknowledged. This was the only gift she could give him. 

The suit was nearly done now. Just a few final stitches.

And maybe, once she saw Sol walk down that aisle, wearing what she made, smiling like a proper man—not as prince, nor as the Son of the Hero King—but just a man …

Maybe that would be enough for her to close that old chapter.

A knock came at the door.

Her butler and contracted partner stepped in, standing at attention. A nightmare crow. He had been her staunchest ally for all these years. A friend she could rely on, even as she nearly sank into madness because of a love that would never be. 

“Mistress Milaris. His Majesty has arrived.” His gaze was gentle and she could see the worry in his eyes.

She nodded. “Good. Tell the apprentices and the servants to clear out. I’ll handle this one myself.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

As the butler left, Arachne made one last check on the cuffs, brushing off invisible dust.

She didn’t love Sol. She would never do so.

But she respected him. And she cared for him. Not just because he was Mars' son. But because he was someone worthy of respect.

This wasn’t just tailoring.

This was her way of saying goodbye to the past and welcoming a new future.