No one in their right mind could've guessed Sevine Darconer would cross paths with Sebastian Ruberius tonight—Crown Prince's trusted blade—right in the middle of her quiet mission to gather evidence against the Southern nobles.
The night pressed heavy against her skin, the scent of wet stone and distant smoke curling around them as they crouched low, hidden in the splintered shadows.
"What are you doing here, Lady Darconer?"
Sebastian's voice was steady, curious, annoyingly amused.
Sevine didn't bother hiding the irritation curling inside her chest.
"I don't owe you anything," she bit out, keeping her gaze fixed on the men loading crates onto heavy wagons.
Out of every breathing soul in Baterville, it had to be him. Sebastian Ruberius—the last person she wanted near her plans. The man who, by the Crown Prince's command, had sent Yelena Darconer to the scaffold in The Crown Prince Demands Fake Marriage.
"Do you know who they are?" he asked, calm, as if discussing the weather.
"Even if I did, it's none of your business."
He adjusted his glasses with two fingers, the lenses flashing cold in the moonlight.
"It's very much my business, Lady."
The glint from his glasses made her spine itch.She inhaled sharply, measuring the risks. Working with Sebastian might feel like willingly sticking her hand into a wolf's mouth—but it could get her closer to what she needed.
"Looks like we're after the same thing," she muttered, low enough the wind almost stole the words away.
Sebastian didn't answer immediately. When he finally spoke, there was a dry, sharp edge to his tone. "Strange to see a Darconer caring about the slums."
He was baiting her. She knew it.
If they weren't crouched behind rotting barrels, she would've happily rearranged that smug face of his.
Instead, she smiled without warmth.
"If you want my cooperation, keep your mouth shut, Four-Eyes."
For once, he actually listened.
Sevine could feel his gaze on her—measuring, weighing—but he said nothing.
»»——⍟——««
They trailed the wagons through narrow alleys, mud sucking at their boots. Each wagon was guarded by three men, rough-cut and scarred, faces marked by violence and bad choices.
"You only brought one horse, Ruberius?" she said when he returned, reins in hand.
"I like traveling light," he said with a crooked smile that made her want to hit something.
"I don't share rides with strangers," she snapped.
"Then walk."
The way he said it, so effortlessly cruel, made her blood simmer.
She almost did. Almost.
But she knew better than to be reckless tonight. She gritted her teeth, keeping her voice deceptively sweet.
"Surely, a man raised in the art of court manners wouldn't abandon a Lady to fend for herself at night?"
He let out a low chuckle, something dark and genuine, and handed her a hand up onto the saddle behind him.
She made sure to keep her hands and her knife close.
The horse moved smoothly through the crooked streets, their shared silence thick with everything neither of them dared to say.
....
.....
The wagons finally stopped near the southern gate. A man peeled away from the group, slipping into a leaning shack. Moments later, he returned, leading a handful of women with too-bright eyes and too-little clothing.
The deal was quick. A purse exchanged for a handful of painted smiles.
Sevine's lip curled in disgust, but she stayed low. Next to her, Sebastian pulled out a small, glassy square—an object that glowed faintly in his palm. He angled it toward the group, tapping its surface once.
"What the hell is that?" she hissed.
"Memory stone," he answered, focus unbroken. "It captures what you see. Proof enough for treason trials."
"A camera," Sevine muttered without thinking.
Sebastian's head turned sharply toward her.
"Camera?"
"Nothing. Forget it," she said too fast.
She cursed herself silently. She needed to be more careful. One slip could cost her more than just her plans—it could cost her her life."Now focus on what's ahead!"
The women approached the guards with deliberate movements, weaving spells of flesh and laughter. The guards, fools that they were, abandoned their posts in seconds. The city gate gaped open like a broken jaw, and the wagons rolled through without a whisper of resistance.
"They hired whores to distract them," Sevine said flatly. "Whoever masterminded this deserves a crown. Or a noose."
Sebastian turned his head, studying her as if seeing something new. A Lady who spoke like a gutter rat and didn't flinch from ugliness.
"I don't play the good Lady very well," Sevine said, flashing a sharp grin.
The moonlight caught her hair, turning the brown strands into molten gold.
For a moment—just a breath—Sebastian stared like he'd forgotten how to move.
Sevine caught him looking and smirked, devilishly.
"Don't get attached, Four-Eyes," she teased. "I'm not into blind men."
He huffed a laugh, surprisingly real, and turned his gaze back to the path ahead.But something had shifted.Something dangerous. And neither of them was foolish enough to pretend otherwise.
»»——⍟——««
Sebastian had gathered more than enough evidence against Baron Dormund—the bloated rat fattening himself with food tributes meant for the desperate.
And it was thanks to Sevine's ruthless ingenuity: to lure out the white rats, you first had to catch a black one.
The moment they finished spying on the cargo wagons, they circled back to Dormund's manor.Their target was easy to find—a thick-necked warehouse worker, cocky enough to linger too long outside.
Sevine knocked him out cold with a straight punch that cracked knuckles and pride alike.
All those years of boxing in another life—finally, it had found a worthy outlet.
The man slumped like a sack of grain, twitching once before going still.
They dragged him to an abandoned building a few streets away—a crumbling skeleton left to rot, much like the slums Dormund's greed had poisoned.
Sevine watched the man stir awake, shivering, babbling for mercy.
Tears streaked the grime on his face as he crawled to Sebastian's boots.
"I was only following orders, my Lord—please, don't kill me—"
Sevine's hand shot out, fisting a handful of his greasy hair, wrenching his head up to meet her eyes.Her glare was pure venom.
"You want forgiveness?" she spat.
The man sobbed, quaking under her grip.
"I'll do anything, Lady—anything—just don't kill me!"
She shoved him back with a disgusted grunt, wiping her palm on her trousers as if his very existence was something filthy clinging to her skin.
"People are starving out there," Sevine snarled, voice low and shaking. "And you stuff your bellies on their bones."
Flashes of bony children clawing over scraps, of old men dying by gutters, burned across her mind. She wanted to kill him. Beat him bloody, then leave him to rot under the same sun that cooked the beggars in the streets.
Her fingers twitched toward the knife at her belt.
"Lady," Sebastian said sharply, his voice slicing through her rage. "Stay focused. We need him alive."
Sevine gritted her teeth, arms folding tightly across her chest. Right. No mistakes tonight.
"I'm heading back to the manor," she muttered, turning away. "He's your problem now."
Without waiting for a reply, she disappeared into the shadows, boots silent against the broken floor.
Sebastian watched her go.Then, with deliberate calm, he shut the door.
The worker jolted as the lock clicked into place.
"AARRGH!"
He screamed when Sebastian ground the heel of his boot into the man's trembling hand, pinning him like an insect.
Sebastian smiled—an expression stripped of any humanity.
"Now," he murmured, removing his glasses and tucking them neatly into his coat pocket.
"Let's see what you're worth, little rat."
»»——⍟——««
The Next Morning – Baron Dormund's Manor
The Darconer entourage was treated to a lavish breakfast, all silver platters and overripe luxury.Sevine, seated beside Duke Darconer, picked at her food, her real attention locked onto Baron Dormund.
The fat man loitered behind her father's chair, hands wringing together like a greasy merchant hawking rotten wares.
No alarm bells. No frantic shouting.
Good. Their little escapade last night had gone unnoticed—at least for now.
"I trust the food meets Your Grace's standards?" Dormund simpered.
Duke Darconer didn't bother looking at him.
"I heard," Dormund continued, voice honey-slick, "that Your Grace plans to expand business into the Kingdom of Surran?"
Sevine's ears sharpened.Of course he knew.
The man would sell his mother's bones if it got him a seat at a richer table.
Surran—a small but mineral-rich kingdom southeast of Batterville.The scraps of the fallen Aragos Empire, still glittering with untouched veins of magic ore. A fortune waiting to be harvested.
Lucas's goals weren't crude profit—he wanted access. Monopoly.
Securing pure magic ores would tip the balance of power back into Darconer's hands.
"We're still negotiating," Duke Darconer said coolly.
Dormund's fat face twisted with barely concealed eagerness. He wanted in. Badly.
"Our family specializes in cargo transport, Your Grace," Dormund said, puffing up like a toad."We could handle shipments for you—safely, efficiently."
Duke Darconer said nothing. Instead, his sharp grey eyes slid sideways to Sevine.
"What do you think, Yelena?"
Sevine blinked.The whole room went still.
Dormund's smugness faltered.
A child's opinion? Really?
"Of course, Father," Sevine said sweetly, folding her hands the way he did—a mirror image.
"May I speak freely?"
Duke Darconer nodded.
Sevine smiled, slow and razor-edged.
"I've inspected the storage yards, my Lord Baron," she began, voice syrupy with false courtesy.
"I noticed the condition of your wagons...and your horses."
Dormund shifted uncomfortably.
"The animals are skeletal. The wheels are rotting. Frankly, I wouldn't trust them to carry a box of feathers, let alone magic-infused minerals."
Lucas suppressed a smirk behind his tea.
Sevine leaned in, voice dropping to a sharper tone.
"My advice, Father?. Don't entrust rare resources to carriages more suited for hauling crates of spoiled food."
She emphasized crates of food with a casual cruelty that made Dormund's face turn purple.
The Baron's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.
"You hear that, Baron?" Lucas said, dabbing his lips. "Unfortunately, we must decline your offer."
"But—but Your Grace!" Dormund stammered, "Surely you don't intend to take a child's word over a man of experience?"
#BRAK!
Lucas slammed his hand against the table, making silverware jump.
"You dare insult my daughter?" he snarled.
"N-no, Your Grace! I beg your pardon—I only meant—"
"You meant nothing worth hearing," Duke Darconer said coldly. "We're leaving."
He rose from his chair without another glance.
Sevine followed, skirts whispering across the polished floor.Behind her, Dormund glared daggers into her back.
Under his breath, low and venomous, she caught it:
"You little whore. You'll pay for this."
Sevine didn't even flinch. She lifted her chin higher, her mouth curving into a wicked, knowing smile.
Let him try.
He'd already lost—and he didn't even know it yet.