The market square thrummed with life, but in that tight circle of onlookers, the air hung thick and still, like the pause before a storm. Women pressed close, their skirts brushing against one another, baskets clutched tight as if for anchor.
Whispers slithered through the crowd, "He's got her wrist," "Who is he?", faces a mosaic of shock and curiosity, eyes wide under shawls and bonnets. The sun beat down, casting harsh shadows that sharpened every line of tension; the scent of spilled dirt-water mixing with dust and sweat lingered around the area.
Lys's fingers locked around Selene's wrist, halting the slap mid-air with a jolt that rippled up her arm. The impact's echo faded into a collective gasp from the crowd, breaths drawn sharp as knives. Selene's hand trembled in his grip, her fancy dress swishing as she staggered a step, the silver threads catching light like fractured stars. Her face twisted from rage to surprise, eyes bulging as she yanked back, but he held firm just long enough to make the point.
She wrenched her gaze up, locking on his face, her breath catching in a hiss. Recognition flickered, widening her eyes further, the flush on her cheeks deepening from anger to something sharper. "You…" she started, voice a venomous whisper.
But before the word could fully form, the servant woman behind her, a stout figure in a plain apron, her hair tied back in a hasty knot, lunged forward, face contorted in outrage. "What the hell are you doing?" she bellowed, her voice cracking through the murmurs like thunder.
"Don't you know who this is? What gave you the guts to lay a hand on Lady Selene? Get your filthy paws off her this instant…."
Her tirade cut short as she leaned in, squinting at Lys's face, recognition hit her like a slap of her own, her mouth hanging open. "Hey... you. Aren't you that same runt from the shop two days ago? The sickly one?"
Lys met her stare with a dark smile, the corners of his lips curling slowly and deliberately, eyes unblinking. "Yes," he said, voice steady as stone, "I'm the same one you and your lady were so rude to."
The servant huffed, her face reddening like a boiling pot, but the words stuck in her throat as the crowd's whispers swelled, "That's the Veyne boy," "Doesn't he look stronger now," "He's got nerve." She stepped back a fraction, her bluster deflating under the weight of the crowd's eyes.
Lys released Selene's wrist, then, the motion deliberate, his hand dropping to his side as if discarding something insignificant. The release snapped the tension like a bowstring, but it lingered in the air, heavy and electric. Selene rubbed her wrist, her eyes boring into him like daggers, red with fury, her chest heaving under the embroidered fabric. She stood there, mouth parted but silent, the crowd's gaze pinning her in place.
Lys turned his back on her, kneeling down to the girl on the ground. Her hair hung in wet strands, a tangled veil hiding her face, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He placed a hand on her shoulder, gentle but firm, feeling the tremble under his palm. She flinched at first, then stilled, peeking up through the mess. He brushed the wet hair aside with care, revealing her pale face, streaked with dirt and tears, a fresh welt blooming purple on her cheek.
Just as her hair parted from her face, recognition hit him like a gut punch.
It was Mitsu, the neighbor from his old hut, the one he had invited into his house for lunch just two days ago.
Now here she was, broken on the ground, her simple dress torn at the hem from the dragging, scratches raw on her elbows and knees where the dirt had bitten in.
Something hardened in his chest seeing her in this state, another layer of resolve stacking on for getting involved in this commotion. He helped her stand, her fingers clutching his arm like a lifeline, her body leaning into him as she hid behind his back, peeking out with wide, fearful eyes. Her shirt's fabric bunched in her fist, knuckles white.
"Why did you do it?" Lys asked, turning back to Selene, his voice level but edged, cutting through the murmurs like a blade.
The servant woman jumped in again, her face twisting with Lys's cold, emotionless question. "Huh? What is this bastard saying? Hey, do you even know who you're talking to?"
Lys ignored her completely, his gaze locked on Selene, not blinking, the intensity making the air between them crackle. The crowd leaned in, breaths held, whispers dying to silence, as Lys's gaze was locked on her.
Selene also stared back, her eyes meeting his in a locked gaze that stretched, the world narrowing to that connection.
It felt like a stare-down competition, charged with unspoken words, the kind that could spark between rivals or lovers. Her lips parted, but no sound came at first, her chest rising and falling.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice steady but laced with venom. "She poured dirty water over my dress's hem."
Lys glanced down at Selene's dress, the hem barely smudged, a faint stain that could wash out with a rinse, then he looked at Mitsu's. It was ruined beyond repair, torn and mud-caked from the dragging across the rough path. Scratches wept blood on her skin, small but probably stinging.
"Did she do it willingly, or was it a mistake?" he asked, his tone unyielding, eyes still fixed on hers.
The servant barked, stepping forward with a sneer. "Hey, beggar! What does it matter if it was willing or a mistake? Of course she'll pay for the dress!"
Lys turned his head instantly to the servant, his eyes suddenly piercing her soul, seeming to strip away her bluster, gazing deep as if she didn't stop her mouth, then Lys might just sew it closed.
She faltered, stepping back a pace, her mouth opening then closing, words dying unspoken. The crowd shifted, murmurs starting anew, "He's not backing down," "Yeah, Look at her face."
Selene spoke up, her voice cutting in to answer Lys's question. "Yes, she might have done it by mistake. But that doesn't change the fact that she did it. Of course, she has to pay for it."
Lys looked between the dresses again. Mitsu's a shredded mess, Selene's barely touched.
A sudden laugh escaped him, sharp and unexpected, slicing through the tension like a thunderclap. The crowd jolted, gasps rippling out, faces turning in shock. Even Selene blinked, her composure cracking with surprise.
"You say she has to pay for your dress, but then what about her dress?" Lys said, his laugh fading into a calm edge, pointing at Mitsu's ruined clothes. "Didn't you also make hers dirty beyond measure by dragging her through this filthy road?"
Selene went silent, her eyes narrowing, lips pressing into a thin line. The servant fidgeted, glancing at her mistress, but said nothing. The crowd's whispers grew, "He's right," "Look at the girl's skirt," "About time someone spoke up."
"If she had paid for my dress the first time I asked," Selene finally said, her voice tight, chin lifting in defiance, "then, would I have to do it?"
Lys nodded slowly, conceding the point with a tilt of his head. "Yeah, that's a fair point too." The tension eased a fraction, the crowd leaning in, breaths held. "Then tell me, what's your dress's price?"
Selene hesitated, her gaze flickering, perhaps catching the shift in his tone, the way the crowd hung on every word. But she answered, voice steady. "50 silver coins."
Lys laughed again, the sound low and mocking, echoing off the stalls. "Huh, all this fuss just for 50 silvers? What a joke the priest's daughter turned out to be."
The words landed like a slap. Selene's face drained of color, her eyes widening in disbelief. The servant gasped, hand flying to her mouth. The crowd erupted in murmurs, "He knows who she is?" "Called her a joke, to her face!" "I thought he didn't know her at all."
Faces turned from shock to awe, whispers spreading like wildfire, some women nodding subtly, others covering their mouths in shock. They all had thought he was clueless, stumbling into trouble; now it dawned on them that this was deliberate, facing down power with eyes wide open, everything he did was knowing who Selene was all along. 'Mad or brave?' the thought hung unspoken between them, terror and even admiration mingling in the air.
Ignoring the rising voices, the shifting feet, Selene's blazing stare, Lys reached into his pocket, fingers closing around a coin. He held it up, letting all see what it was, then he tossed it casually to the servant behind her, a single gold piece, glinting as it arced through the air. She caught it on instinct, her eyes bulging just as she saw it. "Huh, a... a gold coin?!"
"Keep the change," Lys said calmly, his voice cutting through the chaos like a steady anchor.
Selene stared at him, her face a storm of emotions, rage, confusion, something almost like fear. The crowd leaned in, the tension coiling tighter, whispers buzzing.
Without a word, she turned on her heel, skirt swishing, and started walking away, her voice sharp over her shoulder. "Let's go home, Helga. I feel sick just staying here anymore."
But before she could vanish into the throng, Lys glanced at Mitsu's frame, her dress in tatters, scratches weeping red on her elbows and knees, the fabric clinging wet and ruined. He felt a weird pain in his chest, seeing the girl suffer so unjustly.
He spoke up once again, his voice raised just enough to carry, calm but commanding. "But, aren't you forgetting something, Miss Selene?"
Selene froze, her back stiffening, then turned slowly, nervousness flickering in her eyes like she knew what might be coming. The crowd also hushed, breaths held, faces inching closer.
"Aren't you forgetting to give me something you owe me?" Lys said again, his smile faint but unyielding.
Selene's voice shook, barely audible over the murmurs. "What? What do you want now?"
Lys's smile widened, the words dropping like a stone into still water. "Of course, what else could it be, other than the only thing I paid for, Your Dress!"
The square fell silent, the shock rippling out in waves, just as he said the word dress.
Selene's face blanched, eyes widening to their full length. The servant dropped the gold coin, in shock while trying to put it inside her bodice, its clink echoing unnaturally loud. The crowd gasped collectively, faces frozen in disbelief, women covering mouths, elderly ladies clutching shawls tighter, young girls staring with wide eyes.
Whispers exploded, "Did he just...?" "Her dress?" "In front of everyone?" The air crackled, the absurdity hanging like thunder, beating even the boldest speechless, the crowd had ever heard in their entire life.