As soon as Sapphire stepped into the stables, brushing off the lingering dust, she heard a familiar voice.
"You took your time," Asahel muttered, tightening the saddle on one of the stallion. His back was to her, but his tone was sharp—he'd clearly been waiting.
"Got pulled into something I didn't plan," she replied, avoiding eye contact as she set down the empty water buckets. Her cheeks were still warm from the breakfast incident, Fletcher's antics, Typhon's presence, the way the staff had stared.
Asahel turned, eyes narrowing.
"With the young lord?" he asked, voice low.
"Word spreads fast in manors like this."
Sapphire paused, brushing dust from her trouser. "It was nothing. Just breakfast."
He scoffed. "Nothing becomes something when you start catching noble eyes, Sapphire. You forget why you're here?"
Her jaw tightened. "I haven't forgotten. I came to work so I can save my son ."
Her Sir Volt! Her precious boy.
Asahel gave her an approving nod
"Good"
Together they set off to the market, as Asahel kept a steady pace by her side.
They had work to do.
The market buzzed with the rush of traders and
nobles alike, the wind carrying the scent of roasted chestnuts and drying herbs. Winter's shadow loomed near, and people were eager to stock up. Sapphire and Asahel moved through the crowd with practiced ease, collecting taxes. Some merchants scoffed at the sight of a woman asking for coin, until Asahel coolly dropped Lord Typhon's name. That always straightened backs.
Coins clinked into their pouch as they continued. Just then, a sharp shoulder grazed Sapphire, almost knocking her off balance.
"Rude," she muttered, brushing her trousers—then froze. Her hand flew to her waist.
"My pouch," she whispered.
Asahel had already noticed her look, and with a nod, both slipped into the crowd, eyes locked on a figure pausing near a pottery stall.
"You took something that belongs to my friend," Asahel said calmly.
"You've got the wrong person, sir," came a soft, muffled voice. A woman, her face hidden beneath a scarf, only streaks of gray hair peeking out.
"I think I got the right person," he said, voice dropping a pitch. "Return it, or shall we take this to the Mayor?"
A pause.
"No need to escalate this, sir," the woman replied, reaching into her robe and handing the purse back to a stunned Sapphire.
"Archemedes…" Sapphire breathed.
She blinked—and the woman was gone.
"Where did she go?" she asked, turning to Asahel.
He shrugged.
"Don't care."
"Thanks for your assistance, Asahel," Sapphire said, frowning as she clutched her pouch. "But… why didn't you turn her over to the authorities? She stole from me. Shouldn't she be punished?"
Asahel didn't stop walking as he replied, his tone calm but laced with something heavier.
"Because the law has better things to do than waste time on a reckless woman," he said.
"And I know a thief when I see one."
Sapphire blinked at that. "Meaning?"
He glanced at her briefly, then ahead again.
"Meaning I've seen that look before. Desperate, but careful. Hungry, but too proud to beg."
He paused, then added under his breath, "That was me, once."
Sapphire looked at him in silence.
"Let's finish our rounds," Asahel said, brushing the memory away.
"Before someone else decides to bump into you."
This time, she didn't argue.
***
The King's study was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight to block out the morning light. Shadows hung thick between the rows of aged tomes and sealed scrolls, while the scent of burning beeswax and old parchment clung to the air. A low fire crackled in the hearth
King Isis stood by the arched window, hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable as he stared into the fading darkness. He didn't turn when the heavy doors creaked open.
"Kael," he said, his voice low and steady.
A tall figure stepped in, robed in dark green trimmed with black, his presence silent but heavy. Wrapped around his arm was a slender, black-scaled snake, its tongue flickering in the air. Its eyes gleamed like molten gold as it slithered higher toward his shoulder.
"My king," Lord Kael replied, dipping his head slightly, more out of formality than reverence. "Still ruling from the shadows?"
Isis turned then, eyes locking with Kael's. "Still keeping serpents as confidants?"
Kael gave a faint smirk, his gloved fingers stroking the snake's smooth body.
"They don't whisper lies. Unlike men."
The king gestured toward the carved chair across from his desk.
"Sit. We have matters that can't wait."
They both sat, the snake coiling lazily around Kael's arm, unbothered by the tension that lingered between the two men. On the desk lay maps inked with battle plans, shifting borders, and marked names—some crossed out, others circled in red.
"The balance is shifting," Isis began. "Ally I once trusted now sit too close to foreign embassies."
Kael's brow lifted slightly. "And what would you have me do, Your Majesty?"
"I need someone whose loyalty is not fragile," Isis said. "Someone with influence. Someone feared."
"And in return?" Kael asked coolly.
Isis leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp. "Power. Land. A seat at the heart of what comes next."
Kael's eyes drifted lazily over the maps on the king's desk. His fingers moved in a slow rhythm across the snake's head as it coiled tighter around his arm, sensing the weight in the air.
"A tempting offer, Isis," Kael drawled, his tone almost bored. "But I know you. You never give power without a leash."
The king didn't flinch.
"And you never accept an offer without twisting it to your gain. So let's drop the courtly dance."
Kael leaned back in the chair, his eyes narrowing. "You want loyalty? I want the coastal manor," Kael said at last.
Isis didn't move. His jaw clenched, muscles tightening just slightly.
"Anything apart from that, Kael," the king replied, his voice low, even. "You always had a thing for that manor."
Kael turned his head slowly, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.
"Because it's more than stone and salt air. It was your haven once. Before you wore a crown. Before everything turned to blood and politics."
"Exactly why you can't have it," Isis snapped.
But Kael didn't flinch.
"Your serfs are dying. Your allies pledge banners to foreign thrones. Your rivers run black. That manor is a dying luxury in a dying kingdom. Give it to me... and I'll be your shadow. Your ears where whispers gather. Your hand when others hesitate."
Silence hung, sharp and personal.
"Damn you," Isis muttered under his breath, stepping toward the window, his back to his old friend.
"You always did know where to press."
Kael's voice was quieter now, sincere—dangerously close to fond.
"That's because once, I stood beside you. Before the crown. Before you became a god among corpses."
Isis turned, tired eyes meeting Kael's cold, calculating ones.
"You'll have your manor," he said finally. "But don't forget who gave it."
Kael inclined his head. "And I won't let you forget who took it."
The snake hissed softly
The accord was sealed—not with ink or blood, but with words.