Not even ten minutes after the first knight left a shop, another beast man entered.
"Do you have that drink?" he asked casually.
The shopkeeper blinked. "Ah—yes. One silver tale."
"Fine."
The bottle was opened and emptied in one go.
"Gods," the man muttered. "That's good."
He left.
Then another entered.
"Do you have the drink?"
Then another.
And another.
Each time, the shopkeeper sold a bottle. Each time, the reaction was the same—surprise, delight, regret at not buying more.
By evening, the five free samples were gone.
And people were asking.
Every shop experienced the same pattern. One by one. One request at a time. No crowds. No noise. Just a steady, undeniable pull.
By the next morning, the delivery teams returned to the mansion with empty crates—and order slips thick enough to make Dimitri pause.
More orders than stock.
Elara read the reports and set them aside, her expression calm.
The drink had not been sold.
It had been desired.
