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    Summary

    Good and bad tend to balance each other out, so although Ondolemar has to endure Elenwen's visit to Markarth, Brelas too is now in his reach. Furious, she storms into his quarters and Ondolemar sees only one way to calm her.

    “See, I have an idea to perhaps make your day a little better. Only if you want, of course,” he murmured while losing himself in the magenta of her irises. A memory flashed by, her lids half-closed, looking up to him while his cock ran along her palate. Ondolemar pressed his lips together.
    “What? More terrible booze?” Brelas side-eyed the glass to her right.
    “It’s not that terrible, darling.”
    Her mouth twisted; she gave him a sceptical glance. Was her comfort returning, her trust in him? His thumb stroked along her chin for a second, then retreated back to its original place.
    “Debateable.” A pause in that he imagined her to sink deeper into his hold occurred. “And what is it that you’re suggesting?”
    Ah, she wanted to listen to his offer. A first win that brought a glow to his eyes and a smug grin to his already bowed lips.
    “You, my sweet Brelas, need something to calm your nerves, to let you forget about all your duties if only for a moment or two.”

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