Morning did not bring relief.
It brought witnesses.
By the time the sun rose fully over the border settlement, word had already spread.
The disgraced prince had repaired the well.
The disgraced prince had fought bandits.
The disgraced prince had bled for a lowborn woman.
And now—
the disgraced prince wanted to touch the market.
Severin stood at the edge of the grain square, hands still wrapped in crude bandages.
The smell of damp wheat and sour dust filled the air.
This place was the heart of the settlement.
And like all hearts under stress—
it was unstable.
Merchants watched him carefully.
Not with fear.
With calculation.
Harlan stood beside him, arms crossed.
"You're about to make enemies," the acting governor said quietly.
"I already have them," Severin replied.
Harlan smirked.
"True. But these ones count."
A woman shouted from the crowd.
"Is it true you're changing rations?!"
Another voice followed.
"My children didn't eat last night!"
A third, sharper.
"Why should we trust the man who ruined her?!"
Selyne.
Her name was never spoken.
But it didn't need to be.
Severin lifted his gaze.
She stood near the well, wrapped in a borrowed cloak, pale but upright.
Her wound had been cleaned.
Not healed.
She hadn't looked at him once since dawn.
Good, Severin thought.
If she looks at me now, I'll hesitate.
And hesitation would cost lives.
He raised his voice.
"From today onward," Severin said,
"grain will no longer be sold freely."
The square erupted.
"What?!"
"That's theft!"
"You think you're king now?!"
He let the noise burn itself out.
Then continued.
"Grain will be distributed.
Per household.
Based on size and labor contribution."
A merchant laughed harshly.
"And who decides that? You?"
"No," Severin replied.
"The settlement does."
Silence crept back in.
"That sounds nice," another merchant said slowly.
"But it's nonsense.
People lie.
People cheat."
"Yes," Severin agreed.
"That's why hoarding will be punished."
The word struck like a hammer.
Punished.
Selyne finally looked up.
Her eyes locked onto his.
Sharp.
Disbelieving.
You promised not to rule like them, her gaze said.
Severin held it.
I promised you survival.
"You don't have soldiers," someone shouted.
"You don't have chains!"
Severin inhaled.
"You're right," he said.
"I don't."
Then he gestured toward the grain store.
"So I'll start with myself."
A murmur rippled.
Severin turned to Harlan.
"Open it."
Harlan stared.
"…You're serious?"
"Yes."
"Severin," Harlan said under his breath.
"If you do this wrong—"
"I know."
The doors creaked open.
Inside—
the last reserves.
Barely enough for weeks.
Severin stepped forward.
"Count it," he ordered.
"In front of everyone."
Gasps.
Whispers.
This wasn't how rulers acted.
This was how desperate men gambled.
As the sacks were dragged out and counted, tension coiled tighter.
A child cried somewhere in the crowd.
Severin watched faces.
Hope.
Fear.
Suspicion.
Then—
a shout.
"He's lying!"
A merchant pushed forward, red-faced.
"That sack is lighter!
You're hiding the rest!"
The crowd shifted.
Dangerously.
Selyne took a step forward—
then stopped herself.
Severin raised a hand.
"Bring the scales."
They did.
The sack was weighed.
It was light.
A ripple of anger surged.
Severin closed his eyes briefly.
Of course.
Harlan leaned close.
"It was tampered with," he muttered.
"Before today."
Severin nodded.
Then spoke loudly.
"You're right," he said.
"This grain was stolen."
The crowd exploded.
"See?!"
"Just like the others!"
Severin raised his voice again.
"And it will be returned."
The merchant scoffed.
"How?"
Severin turned.
And pointed.
Not at the merchant.
At the storehouse keeper.
The man froze.
The realization spread slowly.
Horror.
Recognition.
Betrayal.
"You've been bleeding them quietly," Severin said.
"Small amounts.
Often enough no one noticed.
Until now."
The keeper fell to his knees.
"I—I needed to survive!"
"So did they," Severin replied.
The crowd waited.
This was the moment.
Mercy—
or example.
Severin felt Selyne's presence like a blade at his back.
If I do this wrong,
I lose her forever.
"Return everything," Severin said.
"Every hidden sack.
You will work without pay until the debt is repaid."
A pause.
"And if he refuses?" someone asked.
Severin met their eyes.
"Then exile."
No death.
No spectacle.
Just consequence.
The keeper broke down.
The crowd slowly exhaled.
Not satisfied.
But… steadied.
The system chimed.
[ Market Stability: Partial Success. ]
[ Trust Index (Population): +0.3 ]
[ Trust Index (Selyne Rowan): No Change. ]
Severin felt it.
That lack of movement hurt more than failure.
By afternoon, ration lines formed.
Uneven.
Tense.
Arguments broke out.
Hands shoved.
Severin intervened twice.
Spoke calmly.
Never raised his voice.
Still—
it wasn't enough.
At dusk, Selyne approached him.
Not close.
Just within speaking distance.
"You humiliated them," she said quietly.
"And you think they'll thank you."
"I don't need thanks."
She laughed bitterly.
"That's the problem.
You don't need anything from anyone."
Her words struck deeper than she intended.
"You speak of survival," she continued.
"But you decide who deserves it."
Severin swallowed.
"I decide who doesn't starve first."
"That's still deciding."
"Yes."
She shook her head.
"This place will hate you."
"I know."
"And you'll accept that?"
"Yes."
Her voice trembled.
"Even if I do too?"
Severin did not answer immediately.
When he spoke, his voice was lower.
"If you survive long enough," he said,
"you can hate me for the rest of your life."
That wasn't reassurance.
That was surrender.
Selyne stared at him.
Then turned away.
That night—
the market burned.
Not entirely.
Just enough.
A grain cart overturned.
A fire started.
Voices shouted.
Severin ran.
Too slow.
Smoke choked the square.
Panic spread.
And in the chaos—
Selyne disappeared.
The system screamed.
[ Protected Asset Location: Unknown. ]
[ Emotional Risk Level: Critical. ]
[ Emergency Override Available. ]
Severin froze.
Override meant force.
Authority.
Command.
It meant becoming the thing he feared.
He clenched his fists.
Then ran into the smoke.
"Selyne!" he shouted.
No answer.
Only fire.
And footsteps retreating into the dark.
Severin's breath came sharp and shallow.
Not again.
Not twice.
The chapter ends with the fire crackling—
and Severin realizing:
The first market he touched
may have just cost him
the woman he rebuilt the world for.