The hall grew unnaturally silent.
The host lifted his cane slightly, tapping it once against the marble. "Now then," he said smoothly, "we proceed to the final item of the night."
All eyes returned to the platform.
The girl stood there—still, composed, far too calm for someone being sold. Candlelight brushed against her hair, her expression serene in a way that made Niana's chest tighten. There you are…
"This young woman," the host continued, voice honeyed, "has been appraised thoroughly. Healthy, obedient, and—most intriguingly—possessing remarkable affinity."
A murmur swept through the hall. Nobles leaned forward. Interest sharpened.
Niana felt it then—the exact moment the story clicked into place.
This is it. This is where everything starts to go wrong if I don't move.
"Bidding shall begin at—"
"Twenty thousand," a voice called out immediately.
Another followed. "Twenty-five."
"Thirty."
The numbers climbed too fast. Too eager.
Niana's fingers curled slowly against her fan. Her expression remained pleasant, bored even, like any noblewoman watching something mildly entertaining. Inside, her thoughts were razor-sharp. No. Not you. Not him either.
Lucien shifted beside her. "Mistress," he murmured, "shall I fetch refreshments?"
"No," Niana replied softly, then paused—corrected herself. "Stay."
Lucien inclined his head, obedient, unaware of how carefully she'd chosen that single word.
The host smiled wider. "Forty thousand crowns. Do I hear more?"
Niana inhaled. Then—finally—she lifted her hand. Not high. Not dramatic. Just enough to be noticed.
"Forty-five thousand," she said calmly.
Heads turned. Whispers followed. A few masks tilted in curiosity.
Lucien looked at her, surprised. "Mistress…?"
She didn't look at him. "It's an interesting acquisition," she said lightly. "Don't you think?"
Lucien studied her for a moment, searching her expression for meaning—and finding none. "As you wish."
The bidding stalled. Briefly.
Then—"Fifty thousand."
Niana smiled beneath her mask. Persistent. As expected.
She raised her hand again, slower this time. Deliberate. "Fifty-five."
A ripple went through the hall. Some nobles frowned. Others leaned back, reassessing. The interest was shifting—not just in the girl on the stage, but in Niana Valeris herself.
At the far end of the hall, Kael stood near the shadows, black hair tied neatly back, arms crossed. His attention was fixed on the platform, sharp and analytical. He hadn't noticed her yet.
Good, Niana thought. Not yet.
The host cleared his throat, delighted. "Fifty-five thousand crowns from the lady. Any higher?"
Silence.
Just as the host opened his mouth—
"Sixty."
Niana's breath caught. Too far.
She hesitated. Not because she couldn't afford it—but because this wasn't about winning. It was about positioning. About timing. About making sure the right eyes landed on the heroine at the right moment.
She lowered her hand. On purpose.
The room held its breath.
The host smiled. "Sixty thousand crowns… going once—"
Niana shifted slightly closer to Lucien and murmured, just loud enough to carry, "Such devotion. One would think the buyer knows her worth already."
It was a gamble.
A subtle one—but enough.
Whispers erupted again. Heads turned. Suspicion bloomed. The bidder stiffened.
Kael's gaze narrowed.
Not at the bidder.
At the room.
Something was wrong. He felt it. The pattern didn't match the original intel.
"Going twice—"
Kael took a step forward.
And still—he hadn't seen her.
Niana watched him from the corner of her eye, heart pounding so hard she feared Lucien might hear it. Not yet. Just a little more…
"—sold!"
The cane struck marble.
Gasps filled the hall.
The heroine lowered her gaze slightly, expression unchanged—but her fingers trembled. Just barely.
Niana exhaled, slow and controlled. Good. You're safe. For now.
Lucien turned to her again, concern faint in his eyes. "Mistress… you look relieved."
She smiled—soft, unreadable. "Do I?"
At that exact moment, Kael's gaze finally lifted—sweeping the hall, assessing reactions—
And stopped.
Right where she stood.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
Too long.
Niana's smile froze.
…Ah.
The story had begun to look back at her.
---
Niana did not regret a single coin she had spent.
If anything, she wished she had raised the bid higher—louder—enough to make the entire hall remember her name.
Because this auction?
It was doomed anyway.
She had known that from the moment she decided to come. The guards stationed too discreetly, the exits placed too conveniently, the air of greed thick enough to blind everyone present. By dawn, this place would be ashes and arrests. Gold would mean nothing.
So she had flaunted it.
Better her money burn here than let that future unfold.
Lucien walked beside her as they were guided away from the main hall, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. "You spent more than usual tonight," he said mildly. Not accusing. Observant.
Niana adjusted her mask, hiding the tightness in her expression. "An impulse," she replied. "I dislike being bored."
Lucien glanced at her again. Longer this time.
Something was off. He could feel it.
Not fear. Not recklessness.
Purpose.
But for what, he couldn't tell.
They passed a velvet curtain. Beyond it, the noise of the auction dulled, replaced by hushed voices and hurried footsteps.
That was when Niana felt it—
The shift.
The heroine was no longer on the platform.
Her breath stilled.
Backstage.
Her memory surged forward unbidden. The original story. The parts she hated rereading. The lines she had skimmed past, telling herself it was just fiction, just necessary cruelty to raise stakes.
After the bidding, the "merchandise" would be separated. Processed. Examined.
And some men—
Men who thought gold bought silence, who believed ownership excused depravity—
Niana's nails bit into her palm.
No.
She pictured the girl clearly now. Delicate, yes—but not weak. Beautiful in a quiet way, like something precious you didn't realize the value of until it was gone. Her eyes had been calm on the stage, but Niana knew better. That calm was survival.
She's the saintess.
The future of the kingdom.
And right now, she was alone.
A servant passed them, avoiding eye contact. Another followed, carrying keys.
Niana stopped.
Lucien halted instantly beside her. "Mistress?"
She turned to him, smile perfectly composed—too composed. "I've changed my mind."
"About?"
"I'd like to inspect what I paid for."
Lucien blinked. "That would be highly irregular."
"Irregular," she agreed softly. "Not forbidden."
Lucien searched her face. Whatever he was looking for, it wasn't there. Only resolve.
"…You're certain?" he asked.
Niana nodded once.
Lucien exhaled quietly. "Then I will remain with you."
Not protection.
Not suspicion.
Instinct.
They moved.
Down a narrow corridor. Dimmer. Quieter. The kind of place where voices carried—and where doors closed very softly.
Niana's heart thundered.
I remember this.
She remembered the line. The implication. The way the scene faded out before it said too much.
"I hate this," she whispered under her breath.
Lucien didn't hear her. Or perhaps he did, and chose not to ask.
Ahead—
She stopped so suddenly Lucien nearly walked into her back.
"…Your Grace?" he said.
She raised one finger. "If someone screams, you did not hear it."
Lucien paused. "…I beg your pardon?"
"Hypothetically," she continued, lowering her voice, "if someone were screaming, you would assume it was… part of the ambiance."
"That is not how ambiance works."
She nodded seriously. "Excellent. We're on the same page."
Lucien was not convinced they were on any page.
They stood before the door—slightly ajar, light spilling through the crack. Voices murmured inside. Male. Too close. Too casual.
Niana inhaled.
Lucien noticed.
"…You are tense," he said.
"I'm fine."
"You are holding your breath."
"I do that when I'm relaxed."
"That is medically unsound."
She shot him a look. "Lucien."
"Yes, Mistress?"
"If I go in there and throw wine at someone's face—"
"I will support your decision."
She blinked. "…Immediately?"
"I will ask questions later."
Her shoulders eased by a fraction.
She pushed the door open.
Inside, the room was lavish in the way only cruelty could afford. Velvet couches. Low tables. Too many empty glasses. And at the far end—
The girl.
Seated, hands folded neatly in her lap. Chains light enough to pretend they were decorative. Head lowered, lashes trembling.
The heroine.
Niana's chest tightened.
One man turned, startled. "Who—"
Niana smiled.
Not kindly.
"Oh good," she said pleasantly. "You're still breathing. I was worried I'd be late."
Lucien stepped in behind her, closing the door with a soft click.
The sound carried.
Everyone froze.
"Madam," one of the men stammered, standing too fast. "This area is—"
"Private?" Niana finished. "So is my patience."
Silence.
She walked forward, heels clicking. "I purchased the final item."
One man laughed nervously. "Ah—yes, but there are procedures—"
Niana leaned in, close enough for him to smell her perfume. "Do you know what happens when procedures inconvenience me?"
He swallowed. "N–no?"
"I buy the building."
Lucien coughed.
Niana didn't look back. "Not now."
The man glanced at Lucien, desperate. "Sir, surely you can reason with her—"
Lucien smiled.
It was… unsettling.
"I would advise," he said calmly, "that you begin apologizing. Quickly."
Niana turned toward the girl.
Up close, she was even more fragile than Niana remembered. Beautiful in that untouched, tragic way stories loved to exploit.
Niana hated it.
She crouched in front of her, lowering her voice. "Hello."
The girl flinched—then looked up.
Their eyes met.
Something clicked.
Niana straightened abruptly.
"…Lucien."
"Yes?"
"Remove them."
The men recoiled. "W–wait—"
Lucien stepped forward, presence suddenly heavier. "You heard Milady."
One of them scoffed. "You can't just—"
Lucien leaned in, voice low. "I can, actually. And if you continue speaking, I will become less polite."
That shut them up.
The chains were unlocked. The girl stood shakily.
Niana offered her cloak. "You're coming with me."
The girl hesitated. "Why…?"
Niana smiled again—this one softer, but fierce underneath.
"Because," she said, "I dislike badly written tragedies."
They turned to leave.
Halfway out, Lucien leaned closer to Niana. "May I ask what exactly you planned to do if I hadn't followed you?"
She whispered back, "Cry."
"…That was not reassuring."
"I know."
They exited into the corridor.
Niana exhaled only once the door was behind them.
Lucien studied her profile. "Your Grace."
"Yes?"
"You said you were bored."
She winced. "…I might have understated."
He paused, then said quietly, "Whatever this is… it matters to you."
She didn't answer.
But her grip on the girl's hand tightened.