Supreme Spouse System.-Chapter 157: Moonlight and Soft Laughter

Moonlight and Soft Laughter

Outside, the wind was soft—soft enough to caress the long curtains and tickle Leon’s hair as he reclined against the soft velvet couch. One arm was slung carelessly over the backrest, the other across the armrest, fingers unclenched. His position, while relaxed, had an effortless poise—a silent authority. Peaceful. Regal. Like a king in repose, or a painting brought to life. Breathtakingly serene, as if he were more of myth than man.

For a long, still instant, time itself delayed around him.

Then, the stillness of the evening was interrupted by the quiet sound of footsteps coming down the sweeping staircase.

Leon’s eyes opened—slowing, creeping.

Golden irises shone under sulky lashes as he swept his eyes in the direction of the stairway. And there they were—his wives, drifting down in neat procession like shooting stars, aglow in their comfortable clothes. Beside them, a little behind, was Mia. Her walk was a shade uncertain, her gaze dancing toward him, then away, like a spark dancing in a soft wind.

Rias went barefoot, her confidence warm like fire. She had on a loose silk nightgown in black that flowed over her curves like liquid darkness. Her fiery red hair was still wet, sticking in damp hanks to her shoulders, the smell of her bath lingering just behind her.

Next to her glided Aria with moonlit elegance. A white nightgown with flowing folds enshrouded her like wind-tossed cloth, and violet tresses of hair were tied with a delicate silver ribbon, highlighting her small features.

Cynthia came after, beautiful in understatement. A blue nightgown edged with gold clung to her lanky body, emphasizing the serene inner force of her eyes. Candlelight danced along her cheekbones and the smooth curve of her collarbone.

And then there were Syra and Kyra—the emerald-haired twins—mischievous, untamed, and radiant in their own right. They sported identical loose linen blouses and supple leather pants, their relaxed clothing incapable of concealing the magnetism in their every step. Laughter glinted in their green eyes, even though they hadn’t yet uttered a word.

Mia hung back a few steps behind them. She was dressed in a pale lilac robe that was loosely tied at her waist, the soft material draping across her knees. Her black hair had been brushed but left loose, falling like silk down her back. She seemed nervous and yet glorious, like a young doe emerging into moonlight.

Leon’s eyes rested, not on all of them, but softly, unobtrusively, on her.

Close on Mia’s heels came her blush, deepening before she even had time to hit the floor. She was dressed in a pale pink, ankle-length nightgown under a cream-colored cardigan: modest, but the material clung just sufficient to suggest the soft curve of her form. She was uncertain of herself, a little lost among the poised beauty of the others. and yet, inexplicably, she belonged just as well—like a sweet note on a lovely melody.

Leon’s eyes passed over them in comfortable admiration, his smile broad. He rested his eyes on each of his dear wives in turn—Aria’s elegance, Rias’s confidence, Cynthia’s serene calm, the twins’ unrestrained charm—but when his eyes fell on Mia, and noticed how she squirmed under their weight, he immediately moved them away, not wanting to scare her anymore.

As soon as they had all come into the room and the quiet whisper of nightgowns and footsteps ceased, Syra broke the silence first—naturally.

Walking forward with her characteristic cheeky grin, she teased, "Darling, are you going to say something, or just continue to gobble us up with your eyes?"

Leon laughed, the sound deep and velvety. "Can’t a fellow ogle his lovely wives without being cut off?"

"We’ll allow it," Aria replied smoothly as she took her seat with graceful ease. "Just this once."

The room shimmered with soft laughter at Leon’s playful retort and Aria’s deadpan reply.

"You all look radiant tonight," Leon said sincerely, his golden gaze sweeping over them. "Truly."

The ladies smiled more widely at his words—radiating under the heat of his affection. Even Mia couldn’t help it; her lips formed a soft, bashful smile, but her cheeks still gave away her flush.

Then Fey entered the room with her accustomed serene poise, providing a polite bow. "Lord Leon. Ladies. Dinner awaits in the dining hall."

Leon stood, tall and effortless in motion. "We’re coming, Fey. Please see that the plates are set."

"At once, my lord," Fey said with a graceful nod before departing, her skirts trailing softly behind her.

Leon turned to the others, his tone suddenly playful as he offered a mock-serious warning: "Come. Let’s eat before Syra starts nibbling on someone’s fingers from hunger."

The laughter that ensued was effortless, comfortable, and radiant—mingling with the warm candlelight dancing through the great hall like a second pulse.

Syra, who was strolling beside Leon, suddenly spluttered in mock indignation. "H-Hey! Why me? I never said a word about fingers—I don’t even bite!"

Leon raised an eyebrow, smiling wickedly. "Because you’re the prettiest among my wives, and I love teasing you the most."

Syra gave a dramatic little cry, slapping his arm with mock offense. "You always tease me!"

The others laughed—Kyra smiling widely, Aria shaking her head in amusement, and even Cynthia gave a soft, rare laugh. Mia smiled quietly herself, her eyes darting toward Leon’s profile as he laughed with them so easily. So naturally.

Their footsteps lightly echoed over the waxed floors as they set off down the hallway towards the dining room, the soft hush of the evening following them like a familiar cloak. Leon, at the center of it all, made an air that was both noble and unstressed—a starry emperor, yet never removed.

The dining room greeted them with a warm glow. Soft crystal lanterns swooped overhead, tossing down a radiance like moonlight through fantasy. The long dining table—huge and exquisitely carved from dark wood called moonwood—stood tall in the center of the room, its surface shining in the lanternlight. Delicate etchings creased along its edges, telling tales of lost battles and blessings.

Chairs were pulled. Gowns made of silk whispered. The smell of jasmine wafted weakly from an open window.

As they found their places, a soft rhythm started—silverware placed, napkins spread.

Then the maids appeared—elbow-bendingly gentle, each with trays of hot food from the kitchen. One by one, the elaborate lids were pushed back with exquisite care.

A mist of scented steam curled up, rich and warm, releasing the aroma of roasted herbs, buttery vegetables, tender spiced meat, and light sauces that promised lemon and lavender.

Leon’s stomach even rumbled, inspite of his usual reserve.

"Mmm," Rias sighed happily with a smile, brushing her lips lightly. "The moment I live for."

"I thought that was when darling accepts your love," Cynthia said dryly, drinking a sip of water.

"Also that," Rias smiled. "But meals are immortal."

Laughter murmured around the table. The evening was young, but already the warmth of the room was complete.

When the covers were lifted off the plates, the air was filled with a rich aroma. On his plate, Leon noticed an impressive array—sapphire-glazed duck, velvetroot stew, dusk potatoes roasted golden with herbs, and a towering crystal jug of honeyed nectar.

"Mmm," Leon exhaled, glancing at Fey and the other kitchen staff. "That smells divine."

"We’re glad the aroma pleases you, my Lord," Fey replied with a humble smile, her cheeks glowing with pride.

His wives sat in their chairs, smiling as they looked at each other over the shared experience between Leon and Fey. Then, individually, they started serving him—Aria portioned out the duck with careful precision, putting it onto his plate. Rias added a side of greens. Kyra spooned stew, and Syra filled his glass with nectar wine with a practiced flourish. Cynthia placed a bowl of stew quietly in front of him.

And then... there was only Mia not moving.

She sat upright, hands clasped, eyes darting between the platter and Leon, observing the way the others had served him up with such tender love. Her eyes lingered for an instant before she glanced away once more. She obviously wished to add something to his plate as well—to express her love—but demurred, unsure whether it was her right.

Leon saw her. Naturally.

With soft warmth in his tone, he spoke, "Mia?"

She jumped, looking up. "Y-yes, Lord Leon?"

"Everyone’s feeding me," he told her with a gentle smile. "Don’t you think you’re going to do the same courtesy?"

Her eyes grew wide, and her blush was back in full fury. She resembled being caught red-handed at something sweet. The way she looked at him—as if he had somehow guessed her thoughts—made her even more embarrassed.

She twitched at the edge of her sleeve. "I... I don’t know how. I mean—I’m just a guest... and not of the household."

Leon’s voice grew softer still. "You’re Rias’ close friend. You’re sitting at this table with us. That already makes you one of us. If you’d like to—I’d be honored. And even just one dish is fine."

Mia looked up at Rias, who was grinning slyly and nodding once. On the other side of the table, the rest of the women smiled softly and encouragingly, regarding her with calm patience.

Taking a deep breath, Mia reached for the ladle. Her hands shook slightly as she filled a portion of golden rice and tipped it onto Leon’s plate. She was burning with embarrassment.

"Thank you," Leon said genuinely, looking at her with kind eyes.

Mia’s heart thumped like a drum. She managed a small, silent nod, flustered, and quickly retreated to her seat, her face blazing red.

As she sat down, Rias leaned in and whispered teasingly, "Mmm. First step to becoming my daddy’s wife. I’m so proud. Huh?"

Mia, who had just brought a spoonful of stew to her lips, almost dropped it. She glared at Rias—but the impact was lost on the flush that spread across her face even more intensely than before.

Leon and the others affected not to listen—but he smiled to himself all the same.

They started eating—the soft clinking of silver on ceramic, soft talk filtering through the air, interrupted occasionally by outbursts of laughter.

Mia ate slowly, her blush still warm, and couldn’t help sneaking glimpses of the man who sat at the head of the table. And once—just once—Leon glanced back.

And smiled.