Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 284: The Last Trip

The desert palace sprawled beneath the afternoon sun like a golden lion at rest, its sandstone walls drinking the heat, its courtyards humming.

Shadows pooled in arched doorways. Fountains murmured in hidden gardens. Somewhere, a servant was playing a stringed instrument, the notes soft and distant, blending into the heat-haze that shimmered above the tiles.

In the royal chambers, Eliam Edengold had his wife pressed against the window.

The thin silk of her afternoon robe was all that separated his hand from her skin, and his fingers were taking full advantage of the fact.

His palm cupped the curve of her buttock, his thumb tracing the edge of where fabric met flesh, his fingers squeezing with the lazy, possessive rhythm of a man who had been married for decades and still could not keep his hands to himself.

Harriet’s laugh was soft, breathless, her forehead resting against the wood. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the light.

"I don’t know anymore." Eliam said, voice rumbling against her ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. "That stupid brat... at least if he wants to do something so filthy, he shouldn’t get caught."

His hand squeezed. Harriet’s laugh turned into a gasp.

"Now we need to spend money to donate to the Athenaeum again to keep those old mouths shut."

Harriet giggled, her hips shifting back against him. "Look at you," she murmured. "Speaking like such a responsible patriarch." Her hand reached back, fingers finding his thigh. "While doing things under the cover."

Eliam’s answer was another squeeze, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin where her robe had ridden up. "I am a responsible patriarch."

"You are a menace."

"I am your husband."

He pressed closer, his body molding against hers, his free hand sliding up her stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breast—

"FATHER!"

The yell shattered the afternoon quiet like a rock through glass.

Eliam’s hand froze. Harriet’s head snapped up. The stringed instrument in the courtyard below stopped mid-note.

"I’M HOME!" Eastiel’s voice echoed off the sandstone walls, bright and eager and completely oblivious. "LET’S GO ON A TRIP!"

Eliam’s face went through several stages.

His hand, still cupping his wife’s buttock, squeezed, not with passion this time, but with the reflexive grip of a man clinging to the last shreds of his perfect afternoon.

"This brat!" His voice cracked. "Did he not know I’m busy?!" Another squeeze, clearly petulant. "It’s my daily stress relief time!" 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Harriet was laughing now, and her laughter made her whole body tremble against his.

"Ah, go." She was breathless, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. "Your son wants to bond with you." She turned in his arms, pressing a quick, firm kiss to the corner of his mouth. "It’s rare for teenagers to want to bond with their dads!"

Eliam stared at her. His hand was still on her buttock. His other hand was still on her breast. His son was still yelling somewhere in the courtyard, probably heading toward the main hall, probably about to burst through the doors at any moment and find his parents in a state that could not be explained by napping.

"...Fine."

The word was torn from him. His hands released her reluctantly, his fingers trailing down her sides as she slipped away, her robe settling back into place, her laughter still dancing in her eyes.

She straightened his tunic collar. Smoothed his hair. Pressed one more kiss to his lips.

"Later," she whispered.

He caught her wrist, brought her fingers to his mouth, kissed them. "Later."

She slipped out of the chambers, her laughter trailing behind her.

He sighed.

"Brat," he muttered, but his voice was warm.

Below, in the sun-bleached courtyard, Eastiel was describing his trip plans to his mother in increasingly enthusiastic detail, his golden hair bright against the sandstone, his arms waving.

Eliam watched them for a moment, mother and son, Harriet’s hand on Eastiel’s arm, her laughter rising to meet his, and felt something loosen in his chest.

He would murder the boy later. Tomorrow. Next week. For now, he would go down to the courtyard and let his son drag him on whatever trip he had planned, and pretend that he had not, just moments ago, been squeezing his wife’s buttocks against the window of their chambers.

He walked toward the door.

"Eastiel!" His voice carried across the courtyard like a lion’s roar, bouncing off the sandstone walls and scattering the servants who had been pretending not to eavesdrop. "What is this about a trip?!"

Eastiel’s face lit up.

Eliam descended the steps, one eyebrow raised. "Did you not bring your brother?"

"Ah, why?!" His face scrunched. "It’ll just be the two of us. Elias can go next time."

"Did you leave him at school?" Eliam reached the bottom of the steps, crossing his arms. "What about your exams?"

"I’m done!" Eastiel threw his hands up. "It’s his own fault his exams aren’t done yet." He pointed an accusatory finger. "And it’s your fault you scheduled the initiation when exams were happening!"

Eliam’s eyebrow climbed higher. "You want to miss the solar eclipse initiation, then?"

Eastiel groaned. "IT’S THE SUN’S FAULT THEN!"

***

"Why do I come along again?" Roarke asked, his voice flat, his hands full of bags he had somehow ended up carrying despite having no clear role in whatever this trip was supposed to be.

He dumped them into the carriage with more force than necessary. The vehicle rocked on its wheels. A trunk shifted. A box of supplies slid across the floor.

Arkai settled into the seat beside him comfortably and unbotheredly. His hand patted the cushion beside him as if inviting Roarke to sit and accept his fate.

"Why not?" Arkai asked lightly. In front of them, August Dawnoro sat with his arms folded, his eyes closed, his presence filling the carriage like a winter front moving in.

Roarke’s eye twitched. "Why do I come with you and your father’s trip?" He gestured vaguely at the packed carriage, the waiting horses, the patriarch of the house sitting three feet away with his eyes closed like a judgment waiting to be passed.

Arkai shrugged. The gesture was maddeningly casual. "Because you’re my bro?"

Roarke stared at him.

The carriage was quiet. August did not open his eyes. The horses stamped their hooves. Somewhere in the distance, a servant was calling out the final checks.

"Bro." Roarke said, barely a whisper. He was exasperated now, not angry, not resigned, just... exasperated. He had spent his morning packing things with deep confusion.

Because last night, he had been informed, not asked, that he would be joining the Dawnoro heir and the Dawnoro patriarch on a trip whose purpose no one had explained to him.