Chapter 4: Arriving at Bramholt

Jenny had woken up sore, extremely sore, in all places at once. Dravisha had been relentless in riding her. Luckily, this time around, none of her clothes were torn apart. Jenny would not have known what to do without clothes in the middle of the forest; she took it as a small mercy from the demoness. But still, she was not in good shape. She stunk. The sweet musky scent of sex and sweat was all over her; anyone who came within a mile of her would know. She tried to cover herself in a good amount of her favourite Lavender perfume, but it barely did anything. She desperately needed a wash.

Jenny was riding her horse. Riding a horse while being sore all over was no fun. It made her groggy. The pain between her legs was especially bad. Clinging onto the saddle felt like torture for her. Every second, she wanted to whine, ‘Are we there yet?’ Of course, she didn’t; that’d be childish. But she wanted to. Finally, her muscles gave out. With a muffled cry, she tumbled off the horse and landed sprawled across the forest floor. The ground was cold and hard, but compared to the saddle, it felt heavenly.

“What are you doing?” Dravisha said.

“I’m done,” Jenny muttered, not bothering to move. “I can’t go any further. Just bind my feet and drag me along.”

“Oh yes, because being dragged through the dirt sounds infinitely better than horse riding. Get up—we’re almost there,” Dravisha said in a deadpan voice. She pointed through the trees at the faint silhouette of spires rising above the horizon. “See? That city isn’t far.”

Jenny briefly glanced up before dropping back down, groaning. “Too far.”

“Jenny.”

“Dravisha.”

“I’m going to count to three.”

“You can’t do that; you’re not my mom,” Jenny protested weakly.

“One…”

“Wait, hold on! What are you going to do?” Jenny tensed nervously, trying—and failing—to sit up.

“Two…”

“You didn’t say what you’d do!” Jenny cried; her voice tinged with panic. She was too sore to move. “Dravisha, stop!”

“And…” The Demoness dismounted her horse with a predatory grin. Jenny scrambled backward, but it was no use. “Three.”

With a wave of her hand, Dravisha bound Jenny in shadowy tendrils, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. Before Jenny could protest further, she was tossed over the horse like a burlap sack. Her sore muscles screamed in protest as her stomach pressed against the saddle horn.

“Really?” Jenny muttered, her voice muffled by the horse’s side. “Was this necessary?”

Dravisha mounted her own horse, smirking. “Absolutely. Now hold on tight—or don’t. Either way, we’re getting to that city.” With a sharp whistle, she spurred both horses forward, leaving Jenny bouncing awkwardly across the forest trail.

They reached civilization by midday. The sun hung low in the overcast sky, a pale smear against the gray expanse. Farmers paused in their fields to gawk as Jenny bounced along behind Dravisha, shrieking curses loud enough to startle crows from nearby trees.

“Curse you by the nine circles of hell, Dravisha! Let me go already,” Jenny spat, her voice hoarse from shouting. “We’re almost there—are you really going to drag me into the city like this?”

Dravisha sighed, knowing full well she couldn’t bring Jenny into the city bound and screaming, though the idea of humiliating her little witch amused her immensely. Still, subtlety had its place. A short distance from Bramholt’s grand entrance, she stopped and untied Jenny’s restraints.

When the ropes fell away, Jenny stumbled forward, rubbing her raw wrists. Her legs wobbled beneath her, stiff from hours of being tied up, but she forced herself to straighten as they approached the gates.

The city could be smelled long before it came into view: a noxious blend of sewer, ash, and dung that clung to the air like a damp blanket. As they drew closer, Bramholt revealed itself in all its grim majesty. Its spires clawed at the gray sky, jagged teeth piercing the clouds. Ancient stone walls loomed ahead, cracked and weathered but unyielding. Smoke curled lazily from countless chimneys, mingling with the stench of refuse and industry.

Jenny stared at the towering gates, her chest tightening. She remembered running through these streets as a child, clutching her mother’s hand. Back then, the city had seemed magical, alive with possibility. Now, it felt suffocating—a tombstone marking everything she’d lost. Yet despite herself, a flicker of nostalgia stirred within her. For better or worse, this was home.

The portcullis of the city stood wide open, welcoming visitors. Two guards lounged lazily beside the entrance, barely glancing at the carriages, horses, and pedestrians streaming in and out. Their bored expressions mirrored the apathy of the bustling crowd as Dravisha and Jenny passed them.

Inside, the city unfolded like a labyrinth of cobblestone streets and tightly packed buildings. They trotted slowly through busy intersections, weaving past carts laden with goods and vendors shouting to attract customers. Jenny navigated confidently, her knowledge of the area evident despite her long absence. Their destination was Richter’s mansion, nestled in the affluent district—a far cry from the squalor of the poorer quarters.

At ground level, shops dominated the landscape. Snake oil peddlers hawked dubious remedies alongside artisans displaying finely crafted wares. Wooden advertisements hung crookedly from nearly every building, competing for attention. Every so often, the sharp stench of urine assaulted their noses, and thick smog choked the air, forcing Jenny to cough repeatedly.

“This is your home?” Dravisha sneered over the din. “It’s dreadful.”

Jenny nodded, her expression grim. “The richer districts are better. It’s only this bad in the poor quarters.”

As they crossed several bridges and navigated crowded intersections, the atmosphere began to shift. The oppressive smog thinned, replaced by fresher scents—baked bread, blooming flowers, and polished wood. The cobblestones gleamed underfoot, scrubbed clean by unseen hands. Flower boxes adorned windowsills, their vibrant blooms spilling over wrought-iron railings. Even the people seemed different here: elegantly dressed nobles strolled leisurely, their faces free of the strain visible in the poorer districts. But Jenny still found the unsettling stare of gargoyles on nearly every building.

They went up to a small mansion at the corner of an intersection. A small black iron spiked fence surrounded the property. Jenny recognized it as Klaus Richter’s residence right away. She got off her horse and went up the steps. Jenny's heart raced as she approached the door. She hadn’t seen Richter for a while. How would he react to seeing her like this? She was nervous for some reason.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked firmly. It took a while for someone to answer. When the door finally creaked open, Konrad Adlerfürst appeared—a pale-faced man with neat short black hair and an upright posture that exuded confidence. His ominous, dark grey eyes studied her intently.

“Lady Nachtdorn,” he said coolly. “What a surprise.”

Jenny straightened her posture instinctively, adopting the rigid stance she’d learned to use in Konrad’s presence. He had always been strict, almost unnervingly so. As a child, she’d dreaded his disapproving gaze whenever she tracked mud into the house or spoke out of turn. Now, standing before him again, she felt that same unease creep over her. “Greetings, Konrad. Is Klaus home?”

“Not at the present.”

“May I come in?”

He looked her up and down, and a scowl appeared on his face. “You reek,” he said with disdain. “I’ll draw you a bath.”

“Umm, thanks, but wait, I also brought a friend,” She pointed behind her. “That woman over there.”

The butler looked around Jenny at the mounted Demoness, who waved a hand. He sighed, “I’ll draw a bath for both of you. Inform the stable boy to tend to your horses. Remove your boots before entering.”

Jenny nodded and quickly slipped off her boots before stepping inside. The old mansion appeared exactly as she remembered, though somehow smaller now, likely due to the difference in height perspective. The grand foyer greeted her with its familiar creaking wooden floors, their surface dulled by years of wear but softened by faded rugs scattered across the space. A sweeping staircase curved upward, its dark-stained banister polished smooth from decades of use. Portraits of stern-faced ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow her every move. The air carried a faint scent of beeswax candles mingling with the mustiness of age, as though the house had been carefully maintained but rarely updated.

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Dravisha entered behind her, her steps silent against the worn floorboards. Despite her demonic nature, she moved with practiced grace. “Cozy place,” she remarked dryly, glancing around with mild amusement.

After being shown to separate bathing chambers, Jenny sank gratefully into her steaming bath. Not only did it wash away the dirt and grime of their journey, but the warm water soothed her aching bones and muscles. Konrad had added rose nectar to the water, filling the room with a delicate floral fragrance that calmed her frayed nerves. For the first time in days, she allowed herself to relax.

Dravisha, on the other hand, didn’t truly need a bath. As a demon, she could cleanse herself instantly with magic. But when Konrad insisted, she complied with mock resignation, lounging in the tub with feigned boredom. “If the butler insists, who am I to argue?” she quipped, smirking to herself.

After their refreshing baths, for Jenny at least, they were provided fresh gowns. Their origin remained unclear, but Jenny assumed they were meant for unexpected visitors. She didn’t press the matter, choosing instead to focus on the comfort of clean clothing.

They reconvened in the living room, a cozy space dominated by a crackling fireplace. Plush armchairs and a couch surrounded a low table laden with snacks: bread rolls, fruits, cheeses, dried sausages, and biscuits, accompanied by fine herbal tea. The warmth of the fire and the aroma of the food created an inviting atmosphere that momentarily eased Jenny’s worries. Together, the pair snuggled close by the fireplace.

Konrad hovered nearby; his expression unreadable. When Jenny caught him glancing at them, he merely adjusted his cufflinks and offered a polite nod. His silence spoke volumes, suggesting either professionalism or quiet acceptance—either way, Jenny felt a wave of relief.

Jenny took the food with delight, savouring each bite after days of hunger. She had been craving food for so long that she almost wanted to grab the platter and devour everything in sight. But under Konrad’s watchful gaze, she forced herself to eat with proper manners befitting a lady.

Dravisha, meanwhile, showed no interest in the spread. As a demon, she sustained herself by feeding on emotions and life force. Human food held no appeal for her—it provided no sustenance, only fleeting amusement at Jenny’s eagerness.

As they settled deeper into the cozy ambiance, Dravisha leaned closer, whispering softly, “Comfortable, little witch?”

Jenny sighed, leaning into the Demoness despite herself. For a fleeting moment, surrounded by warmth and soft light, she allowed herself to imagine she was safe.

Soon, Jenny was half-asleep in Dravisha’s lap, lulled by the gentle rhythm of the demoness petting her head. It felt surprisingly tender, though Jenny suspected it was just another attempt to manipulate her. She didn’t mind; the gesture helped ease some of the stress gnawing at her frayed nerves.

Outside, the sky had grown dark, the only sounds the crackle of the dying fire and the occasional creak of the old mansion settling. The faint scent of woodsmoke lingered in the air, mingling with the herbal tea they’d shared earlier. Jenny’s thoughts drifted as exhaustion overtook her.

Suddenly, the door creaked open unexpectedly. Jenny jolted upright, her heart racing despite her fatigue. There, silhouetted against the dim hallway light, stood Klaus Richter. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into his sharp blue-grey eyes.

“Jenny,” he said, surprised.

“Klaus,” she replied, scrambling to her feet. Without hesitation, she ran to him, throwing her arms around his tall, broad frame. Leaning into his embrace, she finally felt like a child again—safe and protected.

Richter hugged her back tightly, his calloused hands resting gently on her shoulders. “Welcome home,” he murmured, his voice steady but laced with unspoken emotion.

They all made themselves comfortable around the fireplace. As the flames danced softly, casting flickering shadows across the room, they talked about the past—the many childhood memories that bound them together. Eventually, Richter changed the topic.

“So, what brings you back to Bramholt? I thought you’d be busy with the Coven.”

Jenny grimaced, unsure how much she should tell him. But as she met his steady gaze, she realized he deserved nothing less than full honesty. Taking a deep breath, she began to explain everything: the demon summoning, her bond with Dravisha, and finally, her exile from the Coven.

Richter listened intently, his sharp blue-grey eyes softening as she spoke. Though his expression remained composed, she noticed the faint tightening of his jaw—a sign of suppressed anger, perhaps, or worry. “Sounds like you’re in a lot of trouble,” he said finally, his voice heavy with concern. “If there’s any way I can help, please let me know.”

Jenny nodded, relief washing over her. She hadn’t known how he’d react, but his concern filled her with hope.

From the corner of the room, Dravisha watched silently, her amber eyes gleaming with amusement. “How sweet,” she purred, leaning closer to Jenny. “Your mortal protector truly cares for you.”

Jenny ignored her, “Thank you for everything.” She hesitated before adding. “I do need your help with one thing.”

Klaus indicated for her to continue.

“I’m going to kill my father.”

Richter took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair and running his hand through his salt and pepper hair. He’d known this day was coming. Jenny had always made her intentions clear—she wanted revenge, and nothing would sway her. He’d hoped that with the proper care and guidance of the Coven, she might stand a better chance. But now, exiled and unprepared, she was walking straight into danger. “It’s reckless,” he said, his voice strained. “You’ll… you’ll die.”

“Please,” Jenny pleaded, her hands clenched tightly together. “I need to do it. I need to make him pay for what he did.”

Richter saw the intensity burning in her eyes—the same fire that had driven Seraphina. He knew she wouldn’t listen to reason; if anything, trying to stop her would only push her further away. If he couldn’t dissuade her, it was better to do what he could to prevent her from dying. “I will help,” he said, his tone firm. “But you have to promise to do exactly what I tell you. We’ll be in serious danger—one misstep, and we’ll all die. Do you understand?”

Jenny nodded, her resolve unwavering.

Dravisha smirked, her voice dripping with mockery, “Jenny won’t die. She’s too valuable to me.”

Richter’s gaze turned to Dravisha, anger marred his face, “She’s not a trinket Demon.”

Dravisha laughed.

He calmed himself down with deep breaths, there was no use for anger now, what’s done is done, he thought. He knew the contract between Jenny and Dravisha was irreversible for now. For now, all he could do was try to mitigate the damage.

They continued their conversation for a while longer before going off to bed.

Jenny woke up far more refreshed the next day. The Demoness had slept on top of her. Initially, they had gotten separate chambers, but Dravisha had snuck into hers in the middle of the night. Jenny hadn’t minded; her warmth was cozy. After she untangled herself from the Demoness, she got washed, put on makeup, put on a fresh pair of clothes, namely a skirt, a shirt and a corset bodice. Richter had a surprising selection of female clothing. Her other clothes meanwhile, were drying on the clothesline.

Jenny’s sore body had completely disappeared. The Demoness had said that it was due to the demon essence in her, which made recovery remarkably fast. They ate breakfast together before Richter delved more into their plans.

Jenny’s father, Lord Aldric Nachtdorn, was a notorious gambler. Part of the reason he gave a false confession against Jenny’s mother Seraphina, was to use the inherited wealth he would get to pay off his gambling debts.

“Your father frequents a place called ‘The Crimson Paradise,” Richter explained. “It’s where all the high-stakes gamblers gather. We’ll need to forge an identity for you to infiltrate that world—it’s the best way to get close to him without drawing too much attention.”

Jenny chewed on her scrambled eggs and sausages, swallowing them quickly. “I’ve been practicing a lot of glamour magic. I can disguise most of my face perfectly.”

“That’s excellent,” Richter nodded approvingly. “But be careful—Inquisitors have glamour detectors. Don’t get near any.”

“Surely The Crimson Paradise wouldn’t have many of those running around,” Jenny said skeptically.

“You’d be surprised at the amount of dealings the Church has with the underground,” Richter replied grimly. “Now, to attract your father’s attention, you’ll need to prove yourself as a skilled gambler. How’s your card game?”

Jenny smiled faintly, memories flooding back. “As good—or better—than the days when you taught me.” She had always been adept at spotting tells and counting cards, skills Richter had honed during their countless games.

“Good,” Richter said, sliding a heavy pouch across the table. “I’ll loan you a hundred gold marks. Don’t lose it.”

Jenny gaped. “A hundred?”

“Yes,” Richter said firmly. “And you’d better repay me. You’ll be posing as a wealthy merchant named Lady Anna Seris. Act confident, act rich—and above all, stay sharp.”

“Klaus… thank you.”

“That’s enough to buy a small estate—or bribe half the officials in Bramholt,” Klaus said. “It should be enough to draw the right attention.”

Jenny looked at the pouch wide-eyed, her throat tightening. She was to gamble with that? If she lost it, she wouldn’t know what to do. She’d owe Richter for the rest of her life—and worse, their entire plan could unravel. Nervously, she reached for the pouch. It clinked softly, its weight settling heavily in her hands—and on her conscience.

“Oh, don’t worry, little witch,” Dravisha said smugly. “If you lose it, I’ll just steal it back from someone else. Plenty of rich fools at gambling dens.”

“Please don’t, we’ll definitely get caught,” Jenny said, her voice tinged with panic. She glanced nervously at Richter, hoping he’d intervene.

“Get caught? Me? I’m the master of shadows,” Dravisha declared proudly, tossing her hair back. “I’d never get caught.” She leaned closer to Jenny, her amber eyes gleaming mischievously. “Which brings us to my part in the plan. What should I do?”

Richter looked at her with mixed feelings, his brow furrowing slightly. He didn’t trust the Demoness, but he knew she was their best chance of keeping Jenny safe. “You’ll be Jenny’s plus one,” he explained. “Your role will be to look pretty, distract the other patrons, and protect Jenny if anything goes wrong.”

“Look pretty,” Dravisha winked an eyebrow at Jenny. “Always.”

Klaus sighed, “Just don’t cause unnecessary trouble. Also, no flirting between you too outside these premises. You know what society thinks of that.”

Dravisha understood. It was her main peeve about the Empire. How could they outlaw Lesbianism? It’s absurd. How was she supposed to publicly show her affection for her possession, if it was illegal? After she conquered Jenny, she needed to conquer the Holy Imperium too and change those stupid laws. But baby steps first.

“You humans have silly laws.”

“You’ll find no argument from me there,” Richter said.