Gon's Harem System
Chapter 188: Lord Thane’s charm

Chapter 188: Lord Thane’s charm

Lord Thane strode into the grand hall, his steps measured and deliberate, the polished marble floor reflecting the flickering light of the chandeliers overhead.

The room buzzed with conversation, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine, beeswax, and the faint trace of perfume lingering on the well-dressed nobles who filled the space.

He adjusted the rich fabric of his cloak, ensuring it draped just right over his broad shoulders, and then donned his best charming smile, a practiced expression that exuded effortless confidence.

As he moved through the throng, he greeted each noble with the perfect balance of warmth and authority, his voice smooth, his nods well-timed, his presence commanding without seeming overbearing.

He slowed his pace and came to a stop beside a small gathering of nobles positioned near a towering arched window, where the morning sunlight spilled in like liquid gold.

The light cascaded over them, illuminating the intricate embroidery of their velvet coats, the shimmer of silk gowns, and the glittering jewels adorning their fingers and throats.

Thane adjusted his stance, his expression effortlessly shifting into one of pleasant interest as he joined the conversation, his gaze sweeping over the group with careful appraisal.

A lanky count with a hooked nose and a receding hairline stood at the center of the group, gesturing animatedly as he launched into a lengthy account of his latest acquisition, a prized stallion imported from the southern provinces.

His voice carried an air of self-importance, his thin mustache twitching with each exaggerated detail.

"...Purest bloodline you’ll find, I assure you," he was saying, his words almost breathless with excitement. "The beast moves like a shadow over the ground, not a single wasted step. You’ve never seen a horse with such spirit, such raw power! Why, the stablemaster himself said he’d never laid eyes on a finer specimen."

Thane nodded along, his face composed into a polite mask of interest, though inwardly, his thoughts wandered.

The count’s story meandered with no end in sight, packed with unnecessary flourishes and self-congratulations, as if he expected the entire court to marvel at his impeccable taste in horse.

"Sounds like a fine animal," Thane said smoothly as the count finally paused for breath, his voice carrying the perfect balance of warmth and authority.

He spoke in a way that suggested genuine interest, yet also made it clear that he was steering the conversation now, effortlessly shifting the focus to where he wanted it.

"You’ll have to show me sometime," he added, his tone just casual enough to sound friendly, yet firm enough to make it feel like more of an expectation than a mere suggestion.

His gaze remained steady, his posture composed, the very picture of a man who didn’t need to demand attention, it was simply given to him.

The count’s face lit up, his chest puffing slightly with pride at the thought of Lord Thane taking interest in his prized stallion.

He straightened his coat, nodding eagerly. "Of course, my lord! I’d be honored to arrange a showing, perhaps even a ride, if you’re inclined."

Thane merely offered a knowing smile, neither committing nor refusing the request.

Before the count could launch into another monologue about his prized stallion, a woman beside him seized the moment to speak.

She was a baroness, draped in silks that shimmered under the sunlight filtering through the tall window, though the true spectacle was the sheer amount of jewelry she wore.

Gold and silver rings weighed down her fingers, jeweled bracelets clinked softly with every movement, and a thick sapphire necklace sat heavy against her powdered collarbone, as if she had adorned herself with half the treasury in a single evening.

She leaned forward slightly, her many bangles shifting with a metallic whisper. "We couldn’t have managed without you, my lord," she said, her voice rich with admiration, her kohl-lined eyes full of gratitude. "That road through our town, when the floods came last spring, we thought it was lost. But you... you made sure it was repaired before the season turned. My husband still speaks of it, you know. A miracle, truly."

Thane lifted a hand in a casual, almost dismissive gesture, as if brushing away the praise like a stray leaf on his sleeve.

A modest grin curved his lips, effortlessly charming.

"Just doing my job," he said smoothly, his voice as even and measured as ever.

But deep down, beneath the polished exterior, a quiet pride stirred.

Not the kind that swelled for all to see, but something subtler, more satisfying.

They were thanking him, not the Duke of Hanan.

Not the man whose shadow loomed over every court gathering.

Not the noble whose name carried weight in every whispered conversation.

Not the duke whose power made even kings wary.

No, at this moment, the gratitude belonged to him, Lord Thane.

And that felt good.

Better than he’d admit out loud.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, another noble stepped forward, a gruff, broad-shouldered old knight whose years of service were etched into the lines of his weathered face.

His once-dark hair had faded to steel gray, and a scar ran down his cheek, a relic of battles fought long before most of the younger nobles in the hall had even held a sword.

Without preamble, the knight clapped a heavy hand on Thane’s shoulder, the weight of it firm, solid, less an act of formality and more a soldier’s show of respect.

The force nearly made Thane step back, but he held his ground, meeting the older man’s gaze with quiet confidence.

"You kept my people safe," the knight said gruffly, his voice rough like gravel but honest in a way that carried more weight than flowery courtly praise. "Those bandits had been bleeding my streets dry for months, and none of the duke’s men lifted a damn finger. Then you come along, and suddenly they’re running scared."

There was no flattery in his words, no empty pleasantries, just the straightforward gratitude of a man who valued action over talk.

Thane gave a measured nod, his expression calm and composed, though his eyes held a quiet sharpness.

"It’s what I’m here for," he said smoothly.

He meant it, mostly.

The words were true enough; he did see it as his duty, and he took pride in protecting those who relied on him.

But beneath the surface, beneath the carefully measured humility and the effortless charm, there was something else.

Something unspoken.

The praise settled deep, sinking into him like a slow, satisfying warmth.

Not because he craved flattery, not because he needed validation, but because every nod of gratitude, every murmured acknowledgment, was a small but undeniable victory.

A victory over him.

After a few more exchanges, each one another thread woven into the fabric of his growing influence, Thane felt himself standing just a little taller.

Every nod of approval, every murmured thanks, every lingering glance from the nobles around him reinforced the truth he already knew: he was not just another name in the court.

He was someone they respected.

Someone they needed.

Sensing the moment was right, he turned to the last group he had been entertaining, a cluster of minor lords and ladies, still engaged in easy conversation, their expressions warm with lingering gratitude.

With a smooth, practiced ease, he lifted a hand in polite farewell.

"Excuse me, but I must see the king," he said, his voice laced with just the right amount of regret, as though he truly wished he could linger longer.

The reaction was immediate.

Chuckles rippled through the group, knowing nods were exchanged, and a few of the nobles, particularly the women, watched him depart with thinly veiled interest.

They let him go easily, still buzzing about his help, their voices carrying faintly behind him.

His name would linger in their conversations long after he had stepped away, his influence settling into the cracks of court like roots in fertile soil.

He stepped through the grand archway that separated the bustling hall from the palace proper, and instantly, the atmosphere shifted.

The lively murmur of nobles, the clinking of goblets, and the occasional burst of laughter all dulled into a distant hum, like echoes from another world.

The air was noticeably cooler here, untouched by the heat and energy of the crowded halls he had left behind.

It carried the faint but distinct scent of aged wood, the kind that had stood for generations, its surface polished to a dark sheen by the passage of time.

Beneath it lingered the subtle aroma of candle wax, melted and reformed countless times, leaving behind the soft, smoky trace of long-burning flames.

The high walls loomed around him, their towering surfaces adorned with immense tapestries, each one a silent witness to history.

Woven in deep reds, royal blues, and gold-threaded accents, they depicted battles fought long ago, great cavalry charges frozen mid-gallop, swords locked in desperate struggle, banners of long-dead kings rippling in an unseen wind.