She remembered the nights spent shivering because the Matron sold the coal meant for the heaters. She remembered the older boys being dragged out to work in the illegal mines nearby, returning coughing and covered in soot, while the Matron wore new silk dresses.
Mira looked down at her hands. They were small, calloused, and rough.
"I learned..." she started, her voice trembling slightly. She wasn't acting. The anger was real.
"Speak," Kaelus commanded.
"I learned that the numbers don't add up," she said, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
Kaelus raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
Mira pointed a small finger toward the orphanage. "The Matron says the King... the Emperor... sends gold. She says good people like you send gold."
"We do."
"But," Mira tilted her head, acting confused. "If there is gold... why is the soup just hot water? Why did Tommy go to sleep and not wake up because he was too cold? Why does the Teacher wear the shiny stones on her fingers, but we have to sew bags until our fingers bleed?"
The atmosphere in the carriage shifted instantly.
Kaelus didn't move, but the air around him grew heavy, dense with a sudden, suffocating pressure. It was killing intent.
Pure, unadulterated rage.
"Sew bags?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "You work?"
"Mmhmm," Mira nodded, pointing to the small scars on her fingertips. "From sunrise until the big bell rings. We make the bags for the flour. The Matron says if we don't work, we don't eat. She says the gold from the sponsors isn't enough. She says... she says she has to play the card games at night to try and win money for us, but she always loses."
She looked at Kaelus, blinking slowly. "Is the gold really not enough, Mister... Your Grace? Did you not send enough?"
It was a masterstroke.
She had planted the knife and twisted it. She hadn't just accused them of abuse; she had accused them of making him look cheap.
She had implied that his sponsorship was being mocked, that his resources were being siphoned off for gambling and jewelry, while he was told it wasn't enough.
For a man like Kaelus, who prided himself on efficiency and control, this was the ultimate insult.
He stared at her fingertips. He stared at the thin, rough fabric of her dress.
He didn't say a word to her. He simply raised his hand and knocked on the roof of the carriage.
Knock. Knock.
The door opened instantly. A knight in full plate armor, wearing the crest of the Black Bastion, stood there. He was huge, his helmet tucked under his arm, revealing a scarred, rugged face.
"Your Grace?" the knight asked.
Kaelus didn't look at the knight. He kept his eyes on Mira's scarred fingers.
"Sir Lucas," Kaelus said. His voice was devoid of emotion, which made it terrifying. "It appears my audit was... insufficient."
Sir Lucas straightened up. "Sir?"
"The administration of this facility has been lying. They have been embezzling the sponsorship funds. They are engaging in child labor. They are gambling with coins that belong to the Crown."
Kaelus turned his head slowly to look at the knight. "They have insulted me."
Sir Lucas's expression hardened instantly. The confusion vanished, replaced by the cold professionalism of a soldier receiving a kill order.
"I understand, Your Grace."
"Burn it down," Kaelus said.
Mira's eyes widened. She hadn't expected arson.
"Wait," Kaelus corrected himself, seeing Mira's expression. "Not the building. The structure is useful. Just... make the staff leave, all of them. Retrieve all the gold and money that were sent, to the last bit of them. Seize their personal assets to repay the stolen funds. If they try to resist..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
"And the children?" Sir Lucas asked.
"Send them to the Western Monastery. The monks there are boring, but they don't gamble."
"At once, Your Grace."
Sir Lucas slammed his fist against his chestplate in a salute that rang out like a gunshot. He turned and shouted orders to the other knights.
"Squad B! Dismount! Secure the perimeter! No one leaves the building! Squad A, with me! We have rats to exterminate!"
The sound of steel being drawn from scabbards filled the air. The heavy boots of the knights thundered toward the orphanage. Screams, adult screams, began to erupt from the building as the doors were kicked in.
Mira watched through the window, her heart pounding. She had wanted them punished. She had wanted justice. But seeing the absolute, immediate efficiency of the Duke's wrath was awe-inspiring.
There was no trial. No investigation.
Her word, the word of a six-year-old he had met five minutes ago, combined with the evidence of her ragged clothes, was enough. He was a tyrant, yes. But today, he was her tyrant.
The carriage door was still open. Another knight, younger than Sir Lucas, with kind brown eyes and a softer face, stepped up to the doorway. He blocked Mira's view of the orphanage, shielding her from the violence that was unfolding.
This was Sir Gallahan, the escort knight assigned to her side of the carriage.
"Little Lady," Gallahan said gently, his voice a stark contrast to the chaos behind him. He offered her a warm, reassuring smile. "Please, move away from the window. There is nothing there you need to see."
He reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a small, wrapped candy. It was a honey drop, rare and sweet.
"Here," he said, handing it to her. "For the journey. Do not worry about the orphanage anymore. The Archduke's justice is swift. Those bad people won't hurt anyone ever again."
Mira took the candy, her eyes travelling from the kind knight to the cold Archduke to see if it was alright to take it, before she made sure it was safe.
Kaelus was no longer looking at the orphanage. He had pulled a stack of documents from a hidden compartment and was reading, already moving on to the next matter of state.