A Garden of Goddesses
The soft groan of the majestic doors led to Leon’s silent steps on the marble floor, but even those died away once he entered the mansion’s living room.
His golden eyes grew wide—just a fraction—when his breath was arrested.
What lay before him was something even dreams didn’t have the courage to imagine.
A garden of goddesses. At his feet was a scene so tranquil and beautiful it seemed to have been conjured by the gods.
The golden light of the morning sun poured through the high arched windows, casting golden glow on all it landed on. The warmth of it settled on the luxurious living room like a benediction, highlighting the soft velvet couches posed like an opening flower around a glass table. And on those petals sat the women who captured his heart.
Each one, glowing in herself, seemed to burn under that golden light—not like humans, but like living incarnations of seasons and stars. They reclined sprawled out in elegant comfort, laughter weaving through the air like the sound of silver bells on the wind. The time had no hurry, only elegance—gentle, unhurried, and flawless.
Crimson, violet, jet black, emerald—hair in silk rivers shone in the sunlight. Their skin had the radiance of life at its highest, of happiness and warmth and bountiful peace. Their bodies—curved, soft, unyielding—bent but slightly as they leaned in, whispered jokes, or exchanged soft smiles. And the music of their laughter—light, teasing, melodic—was a song that awakened even the quietest recesses of Leon’s heart.
There was Rias, her scarlet hair ablaze with firefight as she threw back her head to laugh, flirting with Cynthia, whose dark and unemotional eyes flashed with concealed mirth. Next to them, Aria’s purple eyes shone as she reclined carelessly on a cushion, her smile looking both playful and discerning. On the other couch, Syra stretched out like a cat, a leg crossed over the other, pushing her twin Kyra who, despite being more quiet, had a smirk hovering around the edge of her mouth.
Their dresses—soft silk and lace, flowing beautifully—molded themselves around their shapes in ways that caused Leon’s eyes to linger. The golden light enfolded them in a heavenly gentleness, as if the sun had stopped to revere their presence.
And a little off to the side from the center, Mia sat with hands softly encircling a teacup. Her lips curved into a soft, bashful smile as she smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. She did not talk much, but her eyes never ceased to flicker between the others, as if quietly drinking in the warmth of this living, breathing world she was slowly claiming as her own.
Opposite the twins, Tsubaki and Lira sat together. Lira, as always poised, cradled her cup in the effortless elegance of a princess, her silver-white locks spilling like moonlight down her shoulder. She looked up every so often, wickedly amused and thoughtful, her eyes following after Leon’s wives with loving mischief. Alongside her, Tsubaki was as sharp as a razor, but today something was different—her customary rigidity had relaxed, her shoulders were no longer tense, her eyes a warmer, more radiant light, as if she were finally learning how to breathe.
And there, stationed like guardians of beauty and fidelity, were the five maids—Fey, Mira, Mona, Rui, and Lena. Their black hair shone like the polish on onyx; their enticing bodies dressed in perfectly fitted uniforms that hugged every contour with tantalizing grace. They remained still, unblinking and serene, but their very being was compelling. Each of them possessed herself with dignity, but their dark eyes vibrated—alert, warm, and charged with far more than obligation.
It was a portrait that no painter could have painted, no poet written. Each moment—the rustle of silk, the toss of hair, the arc of a smile, the fire behind an eye—braided itself into something sacred. The air in the room pulsed, not only with loveliness, but with life, with love, with comfort. It was not merely a party—it was a haven of hearts joined together in love, in power, in destiny.
Only Sona and Nova were absent. And yet. even now, the air seemed to shimmer with an intoxicating sweetness.
He just stood at the doorway, stunned and smiling weakly. His eyes roved from face to face—staying with awe, admiration, and a dash of reverence.
So this is heaven, he thought.
Is this what immortals behold when they look at paradise?
The gossip gentled. The wave of laughter that had swept the room gradually receded. One at a time, the women on the opulent couch swung around, their words stopping abruptly as they sensed it—a presence.
Their gaze shifted to the living room doorway.
His physique bent with serene elegance against the archway, dressed in his distinctive black-and-gold robes that spoke of power and royalty. Light from the tall windows kissed the golden threads of his robes, and he resembled a figure emerged out of myth—beautiful, deadly, and irresistibly compelling.
Their eyes met with his—each of them—and the room was halted, suspended in a strange, breathless tranquility.
A sly smile spread over Rias’s lips, her bright crimson eyes sparkling. She was the first to break the silence, her voice slicing through like silk.
"Daddy," she purred, drawing out the word with mischief and playfulness.
Her banter style caused a wave of heat to wash over the room, shattering the silence like a splash. of wine on porcelain.
Leon blinked, the daze on his face melting into a knowing smile. His lips curved slowly, golden eyes sharpening with delight.
"Hm? Ah—yes, sweetheart," he murmured, stepping forward. "I’ve returned."
A soft chorus of giggles followed. The tension dissolved into shimmering air as the women exchanged glances, amused by his momentary loss for words, knowing full well what kind of scene had left him stunned at the door.
But Leon didn’t say anything.
He straightened anyway.
With silent authority.
He strode in, the soft whisper of his robes announcing his slow approach. As he came closer, his eyes never wavered, with ease commanding the air around him.
Lira’s heart fluttered softly.
She hadn’t intended to stay when she got there. She had come to visit him—to face what had been growing within her—but had only found the light banter of Rias and the evasive responses that accompanied it.
He’s gone away. He’ll be back in no time, Rias had remarked, with a sparkle in her eyes.
But nobody had informed her where he’d gone. Nobody had said anything about his being gone.
And now—here he was. So serene. So unruffled.
Lira stood up with dignity, her hair like woven starlight catching the sun: silver-white. Her steps were smooth, almost automatic. Next to her, Tsubaki moved—the silent guard—a measured reverence in her steps.
Both women bowed together, their stance perfect.
"Greeting, Lord Leon," Lira said in a smooth, regal voice, with a slight tremor of warmth under it.
"Lord Leon," Tsubaki repeated, deepening her bow. Her voice was calm, but her ears turned a telling red.
Leon’s smile never wavered. His golden eyes shone with an unstated something as he gave a slow, dignified nod. He saw the faint flicker in Lira’s eyes, the way her poise faltered for an instant.
So. I was correct, he thought, smiling. She did come here for me.
How could he forget? Lira had sought her mother’s permission to be here. And he had been with Queen Sona all night. That knowledge alone made his smile deepen—secret, knowing.
"They said it in perfect harmony," he thought with subtle delight—Lira’s voice playful, Tsubaki’s dutiful. So different, yet both entirely drawn to him.
He returned their greeting with velvet smoothness. "Princess. Knight Tsubaki. A pleasure, as always."
The allure in his tone was not to be denied. It flowed through the room like liquid honey, touching skin and thought both.
Lira’s lashes fluttered, her face serene—but her heart betrayed her. A pink flush rose to her cheeks before she covered it with a diplomat’s smile. Her eyes, however, danced with something else—delight, curiosity... longing.
Tsubaki, the ever-suave knight, didn’t respond.
But her ears—so clearly red—spoke otherwise.
Leon moved deeper into the room, and the mood changed again.
Without a word, Fey stood up from her seat. Her movement was akin to a dancer finding the beat—smooth, precise, lovely. Her hips shifted gently under her maid’s dress as she moved across the room, quiet beauty in motion.
She knelt on the low table beside her, her body moving smoothly, hands firm and beautiful as she poured the fresh tea into a fragile porcelain cup. Steam curled upwards in soft waves, mixing with the delicate trace of jasmine that clung to the air.
Leon’s eyes scanned the scene, his smile lingering as he drank it all in—the gentle chorus of laughter, the drape of golden lamplight on silk and skin, the figure of the women who had entered into his world.
So this is heaven, he considered again.