She hadnt realised it yet. Mae reached the pawn shop, pulling out the second half of the earring she'd hidden in her sleeve. She stepped inside, and as expected, the old man was in the exact same spot as before—bent over, examining some relic with that unnerving stillness.
The bell above the door hadn't even finished ringing when he lifted his head and smiled, his eyes glinting like polished stone.
"Back so soon?" he crooned. "Quick turn-around, I'd say. So what are we selling today?"
Mae didn't answer right away. Her eyes swept the cluttered interior of the pawn shop more carefully this time—less panic, more calculation. Dust clung to old iron chains, cracked lenses, faded charms, blunt knives, and little tokens etched with runes that shimmered faintly.
"I'm not just here to sell," she said finally. "Do you… have anything for protection? A charm, a talisman—something that works?"
The old man's gaze sharpened slightly, but he smiled. "A lady staying at an inn like that ought to have something, yes. Sadly… nothing left in stock. But you could commission one—custom-forged, spirit-bonded, just for you."
Her brows furrowed. "That's a thing?"
"Of course it is. But it'll cost you. Protection magic doesn't come cheap."
Mae sighed and let her shoulder slump. "Then what's the point? I can't afford luxuries. I just want to survive."
She turned to the glass case. A dull, curved dagger caught her eye—the one she'd seen briefly yesterday. "What about that one?"
The shopkeeper followed her gaze. "Ah. Good eye. That's dusk-forged steel. Rare. Deadly in the right hands."
"How much?"
"Two Aurelian."
Her eyes snapped toward him. "Two Aurelian? For one knife?"
"That's how it works, lady." He shrugged, unapologetic. "You want safety? You pay for it."
Mae let out a sharp breath. "You should rename this place to Scam Shop instead of a pawn shop." She turned and stormed out, muttering curses under her breath.
The inn was still quiet—most of the rooms still empty. She hurried up the stairs, only to glance across the corridor and see Lora, surrounded by two drunk men near the storage room. Their tone was mocking, their posture intrusive. Lora was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. Mae froze for a moment, her fists clenched, before turning away. She couldn't save someone else when she barely had control over her own life.
She entered her room.
It had been reset. The bed back in place. The tub freshly filled. The air was no longer thick with last night's stench. Whoever had done it had done so with eerie quietness.
Mae set her bag down and sat heavily on the straw-packed bed. It still itched like hell. She scratched at her thigh and sighed, brushing hair from her face.
"So what do I know so far?" she whispered to herself, as if inventorying her knowledge would help her stay sane.
"I'm in a country called Elareth, ruled by a monarch. The kingdom's split into three Grand Dukedoms, each governed by their own House." She chewed her lip. "There's magic here. Actual magic. And whether I believe in it or not, I'll need it. Especially if I want to survive long enough not to die from plague, poverty… or worse."
Her eyes drifted toward the cracked mirror on the side table.
"I need to find out how magic works. Can I use it? Can I mimic electricity with it somehow? Power? Heat? Anything to get an edge." Her fingers tapped against her leg. "But I can't waste money either. No risks. Not yet."
She exhaled.
"I need a job."
That simple sentence hung in the air like truth carved into stone. She knew it would be the first brick toward reclaiming control.
Slowly, Mae curled up on the itchy bed, pulling the threadbare sheet over herself. Her muscles ached, and her mind throbbed from everything she'd learned, everything she'd still need to figure out. Her eyes closed almost as soon as one could say Starling. Completely forgetting the door that could not be left unattended in any situation.
—------------------------------
The heavy frame of the carved chair stood beside a desk piled with ledgers, scrolls, and half-read parchment. Sitting in it was a man sculpted like the statues of old—aristocratic in every sense. High cheekbones, a clean-cut jaw, and an almost annoyingly symmetrical face. His brows were thick and fixed, casting shadows over his hooded, unreadable eyes. Slicked-back raven hair gave him a cruel sort of regal edge.
He wore the charcoal-black formal uniform of the Crown Prince of Elareth, its surface threaded with intricate gold patterns that shimmered faintly under the morning light slanting through the window.
Draco.
He was deep in paperwork when his attendant appeared silently at his side.
"Reporting to His Highness, the Crown Prince," the attendant intoned.
Draco didn't glance up. "Continue."
"The Grand Duke and Duchess, along with Princess Marianne, departed for Characot earlier this dawn. The Princess was sent through a portal, while the Duke and Duchess followed by carriage."
Draco finally looked up, his sharp gaze lifting from the parchment. "A portal?" His voice had a bite to it. "She arrived by carriage. Why use the portal now?"
The attendant, Myles, hesitated. "I will look into the matter if—"
"I didn't ask you to," Draco cut in swiftly. His tone was cold, but his narrowed eyes betrayed deeper curiosity. Myles took the hint but said no more of it.
"There was also a minor intrusion reported in the East Palace wing during the banquet," Myles continued, with a flicker of amusement in his voice. "The Duke's household tried to keep it quiet. But it was near their assigned quarters."
Draco stilled. "An intrusion? In my palace?" His voice lowered dangerously. "Who dares such idiocy?"
"I shall investigate personally," Myles offered, barely concealing his delight at the brewing drama.
But before the conversation could unfold further, the door swung open with confident weight, and in stepped a man whose presence shifted the room entirely.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a formal tunic lined with gold chains and a sun-shaped crest at the collar. The navy and maroon cloak hanging from his shoulders swirled around him like a command made visible.
Prince Darius.
Myles bowed with practiced grace. "Greetings to His Highness, the Prince."
Draco's entire demeanor shifted. His lips tugged into a smile and he stood, arms opening to embrace the man who was both his younger brother and—some whispered—his only softness.
"Welcome, my brother." Draco clasped Darius in a tight embrace. "I expected you yesterday. You missed my birthday."
"My apologies," Darius replied smoothly. "I was hunting. Spent all night searching for a gift that might suit you."
Draco chuckled. "And did you find it?"
Darius smiled faintly, but there was a strange note in his voice. "I struck the wrong target… injured the wrong one."
Their eyes locked. For a moment, something unspoken passed between them. But it faded.
"It's alright." Draco cupped his brother's face gently, inspecting him like a worried parent. "Don't get yourself hurt. Let your older brother carry the weight." He kissed Darius's forehead, a gesture more fatherly than fraternal. "You just enjoy your life. Tell me, what should I have the chefs prepare for you?"
Darius sank into the chair opposite, flicking his fingers at Myles in dismissal. The attendant bowed and exited.
Lazily, Darius propped his boots—still carrying twigs—onto the edge of Draco's desk. The elder prince grimaced and tugged the files out from under his brother's boots, brushing off the dust and stacking them elsewhere.
"I'll go for the usual. I'm not particularly hungry."
Draco nodded, returning to the papers. But Darius wasn't done.
"Brother," he called.
"Hmm?"
"How's sister-in-law? Did she attend the banquet?"
Draco paused, the memory of the strange garden encounter flickering through his mind. "Can't say she did."
"So you haven't seen her?"
"Why are you so interested in her?"
Darius smirked, leaning in, arms on the rests. "Why are you not interested in her? She's pretty. Doesn't talk much. Shy. That's your type, isn't it?"
Draco scoffed, expression souring. "Shy women are the most horrifying. Silent, observant, persistent—they crawl under your skin."
"Alright, alright," Darius chuckled. "Don't go all dark on me. I was just curious. Everyone's been talking about the way they slipped away this morning. Seemed suspicious. Thought maybe something happened to dear Marianne."
Draco broke eye contact, gaze turning distant.
She seemed perfectly fine yesterday.
"I don't need to know," Draco muttered, returning to the desk with a practiced indifference. "I have far more important matters to handle." His voice was clipped now, and final.
With a sweep of his arm, he pulled a thick, ancient volume from the bookshelf behind him and dropped it onto the table with a dull thud. Dust lifted into the air like forgotten history. Darius drew his legs back, interest piqued, and leaned forward.
"Something serious?" he asked, eyeing the heavy tome.
Draco didn't answer immediately. He flipped through the yellowed pages, each one thick and frayed at the corners, until he stopped halfway and turned the book so it faced Darius.
Darius read the title scrawled across the aged parchment. His brow arched. "Trolls?"
Draco nodded, fingers steepled. "Yes."
"What about them?"
"There's been a series of attacks near the southwestern borders," Draco said, his tone sharpening. "Specifically in the outskirts of the Infoduro. A small village with around seven thousand people—quiet for nearly a millennium—has suddenly become a hunting ground."
Darius leaned back slightly. "Trolls still exist in our empire?" His voice carried a note of surprise… and irritation.
"They didn't." Draco's fingers tapped the edge of the desk, slow and deliberate. "At least, not within our borders. The current theory is they've migrated down from the Bleakfang Mountains. Which—if you recall—is outside Elareth's dominion."
Darius frowned, eyes drifting across the notes Draco had penned. "So it's a breach?"
"Possibly." Draco's voice dropped lower. "Or something worse. Trolls don't wander without purpose. They're territorial, primitive, yes—but instinctively bound to a lair. The fact that they're venturing this far, attacking civilians… it suggests a shift in behavior."