Reincarnated into a Femdom Fantasy World (18+)-Chapter 29: Is that Tazka

Jake's bare feet pressed into the soft grass of the meadow, the morning breeze tugging at his gray tunic as he took in Valthera's sprawling beauty, his hazel eyes wide with awe.

The cobblestone path from the drawbridge stretched into a grand road, flanked by statues—towering figures of naked women, their fair skin carved from smooth marble, posed in displays of raw strength. Their muscles taut, arms flexed or legs braced, their sensual curves and chiseled forms glinting in the sun, exuding power and allure.

One statue caught his eye—a woman, her head tilted back, her arms raised as if lifting an invisible burden, her breasts thrust forward, her thighs thick and steady— Is that Tazka?.

Maraith's voice broke his reverie, calm and clipped. "Master, it's time to return—breakfast awaits."

Her curvy frame stood poised beside him, her black maid's uniform stark against the wild greenery, her glasses catching the light as she gestured back toward the castle.

Jake nodded, reluctant but curious, and followed her, the statues' silent strength lingering in his mind as they crossed the drawbridge, the moat's crystal waters rippling below, and reentered the cool, incense-scented halls.

The chamber greeted him with warmth—the massive bed neatly made, the dark silk walls aglow with torchlight, and a wooden table now laden with breakfast, steam curling from the dishes in inviting wisps.

A platter of golden pastries glistened with honey, their flaky edges crisp; a bowl of vibrant berries—reds and blues—shone with dew; a pitcher of cream sat beside a tray of soft-boiled eggs, their yolks peeking through cracked shells; and a loaf of fresh bread wafted a yeasty aroma, sliced and warm.

Maraith stepped forward, her voluptuous hands deft as she sampled each item—her lips brushing a pastry, a berry popping against her tongue, a sip of cream—her serious face unchanging as she tested for quality, her glasses glinting with each subtle taste.

She paused at the bread, her teeth sinking into a slice, and a faint crunch sounded—a dull, gritty snap that made her freeze, her dark eyes narrowing behind her glasses.

She spat the bite into a napkin, revealing a tiny speck of dust, barely visible, and turned sharply to the maid who'd delivered the tray—a young human girl in a skimpy silk dress, her brown hair trembling in its braid. Maraith's hand lashed out, a crisp slap cracking against the girl's cheek, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

"Make it again," Maraith ordered, her voice cold and unyielding, her curvy frame towering over the maid. "No errors—or you're out. Perfection is your duty."

The girl flinched, her hand flying to her reddened cheek, tears welling as she nodded and scurried off, the tray clattering in her haste. Jake's jaw dropped, his fork hovering over a pastry as he stared at Maraith, her expression as still as ever, her glasses flashing with reflected torchlight.

"Hey—don't be so harsh," he said, his voice soft but firm, setting the fork down. "It was just a little dust—nothing worth hitting her over."

Maraith turned to him, her head tilting slightly, her bun of dark hair unmoving. "Master, maids in Valthera are trained from childhood for discipline and perfection," she replied, her tone flat, a statement of fact carved in stone.

"They learn to cook, clean, serve—every task honed since they were young. Errors like this aren't tolerated—not when they've had years to master it." Her dark eyes held his, unblinking, her curvy hands clasped behind her back, her bodice straining faintly as she stood rigid, a pillar of unwavering duty.

Jake sighed, his shoulders slumping as he leaned back, the honeyed pastry untouched. He glimpsed it then—her life, a relentless march of precision, no slack, no rest, just the weight of expectation she'd carried since she was a girl.

Arguing felt pointless; her world was forged in rules he couldn't bend. He picked up a berry instead, rolling it between his fingers, then glanced at her again. "Have you eaten anything today?" he asked, his tone gentler, a flicker of concern breaking through.

"I have, Master," she said, her voice steady, her expression a blank slate, her glasses catching the light as she met his gaze.

He raised an eyebrow, his "are you sure?" look lingering, but her face didn't shift—no crack, no hint of a lie or truth, just that stoic mask. He set the berry down, leaning forward, his voice firming.

"Okay, I'm ordering you—sit, eat with me, keep me company. No excuses." He gestured to the table, his hazel eyes steady, a quiet challenge in them.

Maraith hesitated, a faint crease forming between her brows, then nodded once, a crisp, "As you command, Master." She pulled a chair opposite him, her curvy frame settling with a grace that belied her stiffness, and took a small plate—two berries, a sliver of pastry, a spoonful of cream—eating with the same sophistication she'd shown before, her movements silent, her glasses glinting as she chewed.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

Jake relaxed, digging into his own food, the pastry flaky and sweet, the cream rich on his tongue, the quiet companionship easing the morning's odd tension. They ate until the plates were nearly empty, the last berry rolling on his dish as he leaned back, satisfied.

He wiped his mouth, glancing at Maraith as she stood, her plate cleared, her posture resuming its rigid vigil. "I want to see Tazka," he said, his voice steady, the question of Ssyra and the rescue party gnawing at him again. "I need to ask her about the group—did they get Ssyra back?"

Maraith nodded, her glasses flashing as she stepped toward the door.

"Very well, Master—I'll take you to her." She waited as he rose, his gray tunic rumpled but comfortable, and led him out, her boots silent on the stone as they wound through the halls.