Sapphire had gone too far. She'd been walking the length of the market for hours, not stopping once, not to eat, not to sit, not to breathe. She told herself she was just clearing her head, but the truth clawed beneath the surface.
She was weak. Lord Typhon had been right.
Anger bubbled beneath her skin, at Albert, at herself. For all the years she thought he might love her, might accept her. For the way she had waited like a forgotten flower in a corner, silent and hopeful. For the way he saw only her title, not her soul.
He had betrayed her. Given up on their son. Painted her as a black sheep and left her to rot in shame.
So she worked. Collected taxes with rigid precision. Distracted her mind with ledgers and coin. But it wasn't enough.
Then, a firm hand gripped her arm, halting her motion.
She turned sharply, startled.
"Milord," she muttered, eyes wide as she looked up into Typhon's frowning face.
Typhon's expression was unreadable, carved in that cold indifference he wore so well. His hand dropped from her arm, but his gaze lingered, scanning her too-pale face, the way her shoulders tensed as if bracing for something.
"You've been out here too long," he said flatly.
"I was just…" she glanced down, "making sure everything is in order."
"Hm." He didn't press. Of course not. That wasn't his way.
Instead, he looked toward the nearby stall with forced interest. "I needed to check on the market chief anyway. Thought I'd pass through."
She knew it was a lie. The market chief always came to him.
Still, she nodded politely. "Understood."
Typhon, still silent, reached into the fold of his cloak and handed her a small cloth bundle. She looked down, surprised to see warm bread and cooked meat wrapped neatly inside.
"I had Eugene pack it," he said simply, his tone casual like he wasn't watching her reaction. "You've been out since morning."
Sapphire held the bundle gently, the warmth seeping into her hands. "Thank you, milord."
He didn't respond, only turned, his cloak brushing against her arm as he began walking. After a heartbeat of hesitation, she fell into step beside him.
They made their way through the bustling market in silence. The weight of shame, anger, and heartbreak still pressed against her chest, but now, there was something else too.
Warmth. Quiet, unexpected, and steady.
Typhon stopped before the Market Chief's booth, a sturdy wooden structure nestled between the baker's stalls and fabric vendors. The Chief, a gruff man with a leather-bound ledger always close by, bowed low at the sight of him.
"Milord," he greeted, voice wary.
"I want to see the ledgers. The latest records, levies, stall payments, and trade contributions."
The Chief blinked, clearly caught off guard, but quickly fetched a thick, bound scroll. He unrolled it across the wooden counter. "These are from the past two weeks, milord."
Typhon scanned the numbers, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Gate tolls from the northern entrance… these are lower than usual."
"Some traders delayed their journey, milord. Winter," the Chief offered.
Typhon said nothing for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Mark any unusual gaps or missing payments. I want a full breakdown by the end of week."
"Yes, milord."
"Also," he said smoothly, "by order of His Majesty, fixed market prices will rise beginning next week. Twice the price"
The chief stiffened. "Milord, the people are already complaining, winter approaches—"
Typhon cut in. "And the crown must prepare. Increase the levies, raise merchant taxes. Anyone who refuses will be stripped of trading rights."
Sapphire blinked, slightly taken aback. She knew this was how the kingdom survived, but it never got easier seeing the weight fall on the common folk.
The chief gave a tight nod. "As you command, Lord Typhon."
He spotted another ledger on the desk and picked it up, scanning through the pages with a deepening frown.
He muttered, "These numbers aren't adding up," his frown deepening as he flipped through the pages, suspicion growing with every line.
The market chief shifted under his gaze. "Milord, we've had disruptions, minor delays in exportation—"
"Minor delays don't account for missing coin," Typhon interrupted coolly. His gray eyes locked on the man. "Tell me, are goods leaving this market unrecorded?"
"Milord—" the chief started, but Typhon raised a hand.
"Answer plainly. Has there been smuggling?"
There was a beat of silence too long for comfort. The chief's mouth opened, then closed again. "There have been... rumors," he finally said. "But nothing concrete. I've sent men to look into it."
"Not good enough." Typhon stepped closer, lowering his voice. "If coin is being stolen from the King's purse, I'll find the hand and cut it off myself. You know my methods."
The chief swallowed hard. "Yes, milord."
Without another word, Typhon handed the scrolls to Sapphire. "Make a note of the discrepancies. We'll audit this stall by stall."
Then to the chief, coldly: "You best pray we don't find anything, or I'll raise more than just tax."
As Typhon turned to leave, Sapphire followed, her brows slightly raised. "You think it's that serious?"
Typhon didn't look back. "If there's one thing I can't stand more than a thief, it's a coward who lies to cover for them."
***
Albert's boots echoed sharply against the polished stone as he stalked through the grand halls of the Hivites castle, jaw set in quiet fury. The shame of being dismissed by that arrogant Lord still burned hot in his chest, a sting he refused to nurse. Instead, he let his eyes trail the ornate tapestries and regal portraits with mock interest, telling himself he belonged here. That his ambitions were above the slight.
You did right, he told himself. You got rid of that damned woman.
He would speak to the king directly, bypassing petty lords. He had King Kai's letter, sealed, respectful, and most importantly, backed with numbers that would seduce even the greediest of rulers.
Albert turned down a corridor, lost in strategy, when he paused near a slightly ajar study door. Voices inside.
"—we can't afford another delay. The stores are thinning already."
"The Shem riders injured our men, Your Majesty. That wasn't just a refusal… it was a message."
Albert's breath caught as he pressed his ear against the slightly ajar door of the study room, his breath shallow as he caught fragments of a heated discussion — a siege was being planned to force the Shem king to relinquish control. His heart hammered with fear.
Suddenly, a shadow moved, Agnes, the king's eunuch, stood by the door, eyes sharp and suspicious, fixing Albert with a cold stare.
"I got lost," Albert stammered, trying to back away.
Before he could finish, the door slammed shut with a heavy thud, cutting him off completely.
Albert was left outside, the echoes of the conversation ringing louder in his mind.
"We will not show weakness. Not before the ball."