The deal settled into the ledger with the finality of a closing coffin.
The Madam leaned back, a perfectly manicured nail tapping a rhythmic, impatient staccato against the wood. "Faye. Escort our guest to the White Lotus Wing."
The maid stiffened. Eyes sharp as cut glass darted from Roeyachi to her mistress, the command cracking her icy demeanor. "The Lotus Wing? That chamber is reserved for high-value assets."
"Am I in the habit of stuttering?"
"No, Madam." Faye bowed her head, the protest dying in her throat.
Roeyachi frowned, hand hovering near the empty void pouch. "I didn't say I was staying."
The Madam's smile failed to reach her eyes. "Bellavius checks the outer strongholds personally once a week. Tomorrow night. Unless you plan to assault a fortress in broad daylight, you wait." A vague gesture swept toward the door. "Or the 'Golden Tankard' charges five silver pieces a night."
Roeyachi froze. His sash was heavy with weapons. His pouch was heavy with crystals.
His coin purse was empty as the void.
"The Lotus Wing it is."
---
Plush carpet swallowed Faye's footsteps, but the silence ended there.
The path to the guest quarters became a gauntlet. Heads turned. Conversations died, strangled by a heavy, suffocating attention. Sharp glances darted between him and the maid like thrown daggers.
"Why are they staring?" Roeyachi kept his voice low, muscles coiled.
"Not at you." Faye stared ahead. "At me."
"You?"
"You will find out."
Whispers drifted over the balcony railing like toxic smoke.
"Is that him?"
"Faye... to the Lotus Wing?"
"Isharus will flay him alive."
"Dead man walking."
Roeyachi stopped.
The pieces snapped into place. The room wasn't hospitality; it was a statement. Faye wasn't a maid; she was a marker.
"I've been set up."
Faye paused but didn't turn. "The Madam is a businesswoman. She needs to distract the Arshara family's 'Young Master'—Isharus—while she moves merchandise tonight. Isharus is possessive. If he hears I am attending a guest in the Lotus Wing, he will come."
"I'm a shield."
"You are bait."
Roeyachi exhaled a long, tired breath. A target painted on his back before he even left the building.
"I'll worry about it when the knife comes," he said, gesturing forward. "Lead the way."
Silk drapes and porcelain vases screamed excess. Roeyachi ignored the luxury, walking straight to the mahogany table to upend his void pouch.
Clatter.
Items spilled onto the polished wood. Eleven steel kunai. Eight Raw Wind Crystals. Three Raw Fire Crystals.
A pathetic arsenal for a regicide.
"Explain this town," Roeyachi ordered, fingers arranging the crystals by volatility.
Faye watched him sort the unstable minerals with bare hands. "The border town is a hierarchy," she recited, the words tasting like ash. "Peak: The Arshara Noble Family. They own the land, the guards, the law."
"Beneath them?"
"The Three Pillars. Merchants move the goods. Enchanters sell the charms. And..." She hesitated at the glowing stones. "The Refiners."
"Who runs them?"
"Officially? An independent guild. Unofficially? The Arshara."
Roeyachi lifted a Fire Crystal. Heat pulsed against his skin, unstable and jagged. "Control the refinement, control the magic. Smart. Raw crystals are useless to mortals. Hunters, cultivators, soldiers—they all need Refiners."
"Correct," Faye murmured. "That is exactly why the Refineries used to belong to the Silent Moon Sect."
Roeyachi froze. The sharp edge of the crystal dug into his palm, biting the skin.
"What?"
"Five years ago," she continued, voice devoid of emotion. "The Moon Sect controlled the trade. It was your lifeblood. But... after the incident with the Palace Master..."
The Incident.
The memory flashed—blood on snow, a broken body. His fault. All of it.
"When the Master was crippled, the Sect lost its fangs. The Arshara saw a wounded animal and took the meat. They seized the Refineries 'for public safety.'"
Crack.
Mahogany splintered under his fist. The guilt ignited, burning hotter than the stone in his hand. They didn't just break her body; they dismantled her legacy.
"If the Refineries are reclaimed," Roeyachi whispered, "the Sect gets its gold. The Master gets her medicine." He looked up, eyes dark pools of intent. "Is the only way through the Noble Family?"
Faye flinched. The intent radiating off him was suffocating, stripping the air from the room.
"Unwise," she warned, losing her professional mask. "The Arshara are powerful, but they are vassals."
"To whom?"
"The Capital. Destroy a Noble House, and you invite the gaze of the Royal Family. If the Crown looks this way... the Silent Moon will not survive the scrutiny."
Tension bled from Roeyachi's grip. The Fire Crystal returned to the table. He slumped back, eyes tracing the empty darkness above.
A hunter's path was meant to be straightforward. Hunt. Gather. Heal. Instead, I've woven a web of complications before taking the first step.
Best-laid plans shatter first. I never thought I'd be the one holding the hammer.
"One task," he anchored himself, voice low. "The bandit first. Then the Young Master. Everything else waits."
"What will you do?" Faye asked, watching him line up the steel blades.
It was a question she immediately regretted.
Roeyachi turned slowly, looking her up and down. His gaze was detached, calculating, lingering on the delicate silk of her dress and the vulnerability in her stance.
Faye flinched, instinctively crossing arms to cover her body, a cold chill racing down her spine.
"What... do you want to do?"
The only response was a smile.
---
A few hours later...
In the hushed silence of the Madam's private office, a candle flickered. No wind.
The Madam didn't look up from her ledger. Her hand moved with practiced grace, pouring a second cup of tea and setting it on the opposite side of the desk.
"You move loudly for a shadow, Clairelnayl."
Darkness in the corner deepened, coalescing into the form of a woman. The Senior Sister of the Moon Palace picked up the tea, expression unreadable as a moonless night.
"Is it arranged?"
"Yes." The ledger closed with a soft, definitive thud. "He is settled in the Lotus Wing. Faye is attending him."
"Good."
"He asked for intelligence. Just as you foresaw."
"Foresight implies uncertainty, Sister," Clairelnayl murmured, voice barely stirring the air. "This was merely doctrine unfolding. We teach observation, strategy, and resource acquisition. He is simply... following training."
Silence settled, heavy with the language of steam and shadow.
"I remember those lessons," the Madam said, old grief surfacing. "If only our Master had chosen to stand her ground then, we would not be reduced to moving pieces in the dark."
"That is precisely why we must force her hand," Clairelnayl stated, words hanging sharp and deliberate. "Until she has no choice but to fight."
The Madam paused, the cold weight of the plan settling on her shoulders.
"And if he discovers the truth? If he realizes we are steering him toward a war he never sought?"
Clairelnayl set the cup down. The porcelain click sounded like a sealed fate.
"Irrelevant. By the time he realizes he is a piece on the board..." Her eyes held the glacial certainty of a strategist who has already witnessed the final move. "He will have already become the King."
She did not walk to the door. Shadows at the room's edge simply leaned in, and when the candle guttered once more, the chair stood empty.
Alone in the dim, trembling light, the Madam stared at the vacant seat. Her gaze lifted through the ceiling, toward the Lotus Wing—where a young man, loyal and determined, prepared for a mission he believed was his own.
A sigh escaped her, worn thin by years and secrets.
"You are playing with fire, Sister."