The crisp morning air carried the scent of damp earth and the faintest trace of smoke from the garrison’s early cookfires. The courtyard of Montrevelle’s garrison was alive with movement—soldiers standing at attention, stable hands readying horses, and knights securing their gear for the long journey ahead.

  Duke Adrien de Forneaux stood tall in the center of it all, his expression composed as always, though a sharp eye could catch the weariness behind his firm gaze. His cloak, adorned with the sigil of House Forneaux, rippled slightly in the morning breeze as he turned to face his son.

  Caelan, still bandaged from his wounds but standing with as much dignity as he could manage, met his father’s gaze. Despite his injuries, he refused to appear weak in front of his father’s men.

  "You are to remain here and recover," Adrien said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Montrevelle is stable, and the garrison commander is more than capable of ensuring your safety."

  Caelan inclined his head slightly. "I understand."

  The Duke studied him for a long moment, then exhaled. "Good. But that does not mean you are to do anything reckless." His gaze sharpened. "I know how you are, Caelan. You were lucky this time—do not take that luck for granted."

  Caelan smirked faintly. "I prefer to call it skill, but noted."

  Adrien sighed but let the comment pass. "I will send word through a rider if there are any developments from the capital regarding the summons. If the King’s orders require your presence, I will ensure you are escorted properly."

  Caelan gave a nod of understanding.

  With that, the Duke turned to face the assembled soldiers and the garrison commander, Montclair. His voice carried over the courtyard, firm and commanding.

  "The situation in the Verdainne Forest remains unresolved. Until further notice, remain vigilant. Reinforcements will be sent once we confirm the full extent of the threat. In the meantime, I expect discipline and preparedness from every one of you." His gaze swept over the gathered men. "You have served well, but this is not the time for complacency."

  A collective "Yes, my Lord!" echoed through the courtyard as the soldiers stood at attention.

  Satisfied, Adrien gave Montclair a curt nod before turning back to his son one last time. "Take care of yourself, Caelan. And listen to Lucien—he has more sense than you sometimes."

  Caelan smirked. "That’s debatable, but I’ll try."

  Adrien sighed once more, then stepped into his waiting carriage. With a final glance at his son, he signaled for the driver to move. The carriage rolled forward, flanked by knights on horseback, and soon disappeared through the town gates.

  As the sound of hooves and wheels faded into the distance, Caelan remained in place for a moment, watching until his father was out of sight.

  Lucien, standing beside him, crossed his arms. "So, does this mean you’re actually going to take it easy?"

  Caelan exhaled, turning back toward the garrison. "Not a chance."

  Lucien groaned. "Why do I even bother?"

  With a faint grin, Caelan started toward the barracks, already thinking about what came next.

  Caelan had barely returned to his quarters when a thought struck him—he knew very little about Montrevelle’s actual defensive capability. He had been focused on his own recovery, but with his father gone, he now had a responsibility to ensure that this town, his temporary refuge, was not left vulnerable.

  Straightening his posture despite the dull ache in his side, he turned to Lucien, who was seated across from him, sharpening his sword.

  "Lucien, send word to Commander Montclair. I want the garrison assembled for a quick inspection," Caelan said.

  Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Already trying to play lord, are we?"

  Caelan smirked. "I want to know what I’m working with. My father was right—Verdainne Forest is still a threat, and we don’t know if those creatures will venture closer to the town. I’d rather not sit around and wait to find out."

  Lucien sighed but stood. "Fine. I’ll inform Montclair. But don’t overdo it. You’re still recovering."

  Caelan waved him off, and within the hour, the town's garrison was gathered in the training yard—a modest open space within the garrison grounds, surrounded by barracks and supply storage buildings. The soldiers, numbering around a hundred, stood in organized lines as Montclair stood at the front, waiting for Caelan’s arrival.

  As Caelan stepped forward, he took stock of them. Their equipment was a mix of pikes, matchlock muskets, and swords. The formation was disciplined enough, though he noticed a few with loose posture—likely due to the lack of recent engagements.

  Montclair saluted. "My Lord, as requested, the garrison has assembled for inspection."

  Caelan nodded. "At ease, Commander. This isn’t a parade. I need to understand the logistics of your force. What are your current supply levels? How many men can be mobilized if necessary?"

  Montclair glanced at a nearby scribe, who handed him a record. "Montrevelle’s garrison maintains a standing force of 120 men—forty pike infantry, forty matchlock musketeers, and the rest are mixed cavalry and auxiliary troops. In an emergency, we can raise another fifty from local militia, though they are less trained."

  Caelan crossed his arms, absorbing the information. "And supplies?"

  "Our powder and shot stockpile is moderate but would not last beyond a prolonged skirmish. Rations are stable, but we rely on local farmers for food supply. If trade routes are disrupted, it could become an issue," Montclair admitted.

  That was concerning. If another attack occurred, resupplying would not be immediate.

  "And what of the Baron of Montrevelle? Has he contributed any troops?" Caelan asked.

  Montclair hesitated. "Baron Hugo de Montrevelle has a small household force of twenty knights and a personal levy of sixty footmen. He has kept them in reserve, stating that he wishes to protect his own estate first."

  Caelan frowned. That was a typical noble response, but it was short-sighted. If Montrevelle fell, the Baron’s estate wouldn’t be far behind.

  "I’ll speak with him myself later," Caelan decided. "For now, I want a readiness report by tomorrow. I need to know how fast your men can mobilize and how well-armed they are."

  Montclair nodded. "Understood, my Lord."

  Caelan took one last look at the assembled troops. The Tercio formation relied on strong coordination between pike, shot, and cavalry. If these men were drilled properly, they could hold against a larger force—or, in this case, defend against another beast attack.

  Satisfied for now, he turned to Montclair. "Dismiss the men. I’ll be expecting that report."

  As the soldiers dispersed, Caelan turned to Lucien.

  "We have work to do," he muttered.

  Lucien smirked. "Of course we do."

  As Caelan and Lucien made their way back inside the barracks, the young noble’s mind drifted to the night of the attack. The adrenaline, the pain, the sheer brutality of that beast—it was still fresh in his memory. But as he pieced together the events, he suddenly remembered something.

  Or rather, someone.

  "Lucien," he said, slowing his pace. "The knight from two nights ago—the one who got thrown when the beast charged at him. What happened to him?"

  Lucien looked at him for a moment before realization dawned on his face. "Ah, you mean Ser Bertrand?"

  Caelan nodded. "Yes. That was a nasty hit. I haven’t seen him since. Is he alright?"

  Lucien sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "He got lucky. A few cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder, but he’ll live. The garrison’s physician patched him up, though they said he needs at least another week of rest before he can move properly again."

  Caelan frowned. "That could’ve been worse."

  "It should have been worse," Lucien corrected. "If he had landed differently, he could have broken his neck. That beast sent him flying like a ragdoll."

  The memory replayed in Caelan’s mind—the beast’s raw power, the way it swatted the knight aside like an insect. He clenched his fists. He had barely won that fight, and only because of luck and desperation. If another attack happened, if more beasts like that appeared…

  "We should visit him later," Caelan finally said. "He probably feels terrible for what happened."

  Lucien smirked. "You’re too soft, you know that? He’s a knight—he knew the risks."

  Caelan shrugged. "Even so, it’s not wrong to check in on our own. He fought alongside us, didn’t he?"

  Lucien sighed, but there was a trace of amusement in his expression. "Fine, fine. We’ll see him after we deal with the Baron."

  Caelan nodded, satisfied with that. For now, he needed to focus on the town’s defenses. But once that was done, he’d make sure to check in on Ser Bertrand.

  After all, every knight in his father’s service was valuable. And after everything they’d been through, he owed the man at least that much.

  Forneaux Duchy: Montrevelle Barony

  2 days prior at the Baron’s Estate

  Baron Hugo de Montrevelle had been reviewing tax records in his study when the hurried knock at his chamber door interrupted him. A moment later, one of his attendants entered, slightly out of breath.

  "My Lord, the Duke of Forneaux has arrived at the garrison," the man reported, bowing quickly. "He brings a company of knights and a group of villagers under his protection."

  Hugo's quill halted mid-stroke. The Duke? Here?

  He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the polished wood. This was unexpected. The Duke of Forneaux rarely ventured to the outskirts of his territory unless necessity demanded it. And if he had brought villagers with him, then something was amiss.

  Closing the tax ledger, Hugo rose from his chair. "Prepare my horse," he ordered. "I will meet the Duke personally."

  The attendants scrambled to obey, and within minutes, the Baron was riding toward the garrison, flanked by a handful of his household guards.

  As he neared the entrance, he could already see the Duke’s presence had caused quite a stir. Soldiers stood at attention, the garrison commander, Montclair, was overseeing the reception, and weary villagers clustered together, some leaning against wagons and others clutching what little belongings they had managed to bring.

  Duke Adrien de Forneaux stood at the center of it all, giving orders with his usual calm authority. Even without his formal attire, his presence alone demanded respect.

  Baron Hugo dismounted and approached, offering a deep bow. "Your Grace, welcome to Montrevelle."

  The Duke turned to him, giving a small nod of acknowledgment. "Baron Hugo, it’s good to see you. I apologize for arriving unannounced, but circumstances left me little choice."

  Hugo straightened, eyes flickering toward the villagers. "It must have been dire indeed for you to divert your course to my town. What happened?"

  The Duke’s expression darkened. "A village near the Verdainne Forest was attacked by monstrous beasts. These are the survivors. I need Montrevelle’s garrison to provide shelter and security for them until proper arrangements can be made."

  Hugo frowned. Beasts? Attacking a village? It wasn’t unheard of for wolves or the occasional bear to threaten outlying settlements, but for it to drive the Duke himself here…

  "I see," he said carefully. "Then you believe this to be a greater threat?"

  The Duke met his gaze with a firm nod. "I have already sent riders to the capital to inform the court. Until we understand the full extent of this danger, I want Montrevelle prepared for any possibility."

  Hugo considered this. If the Duke’s fears were valid, then Montrevelle’s position on the frontier made it vulnerable.

  "You have my full cooperation, Your Grace," he said at last. "Whatever assistance you require, Montrevelle will provide."

  Duke Adrien nodded approvingly. "Good. Then let’s discuss the next steps. We have much to prepare."

  With that, the two men turned and made their way into the garrison, ready to plan for whatever dangers lay ahead.

  Montrevelle Garrison Command Chamber:

  Baron Hugo sat stiffly in his chair, his fingers tightening around the armrests as Duke Adrien de Forneaux recounted the events of the past three days. The meeting had been moved to the garrison's command chamber, away from the ears of common soldiers and refugees. A single candle flickered in the center of the sturdy wooden table, casting elongated shadows on the stone walls.

  Adrien’s tone was steady, but the weight of his words bore down on the Baron like an iron gauntlet pressing against his chest.

  "You must understand, Baron Hugo," the Duke continued, his eyes unwavering, "the beasts were not merely wandering predators. They were calculated. Their attack on Beaucourt was coordinated, almost as if they were testing us—testing how we would respond."

  Hugo swallowed hard. "Testing?"

  Adrien nodded. "The initial attack was brutal, yes, but it stopped abruptly. Had they wished, they could have wiped out every last villager before we could react. Instead, they withdrew. This tells me they were gauging our strength, seeing how we would move in response."

  The Baron’s lips pressed into a thin line as a chill ran down his spine. He had always considered the Verdainne Forest a dangerous place, but for creatures to show this level of intelligence…

  "Your Grace, if what you say is true," Hugo began, carefully choosing his words, "then Montrevelle is in greater danger than we anticipated. If these creatures do come this far, we may not have the manpower to hold them off."

  The Duke exhaled sharply. "That is precisely why I am requesting Montrevelle’s full cooperation. We need to reinforce defenses and prepare for any possible incursions while I return to Valmont and seek further support from the crown."

  Hugo inclined his head, feigning deep contemplation. "Of course, Your Grace. Montrevelle will do all it can to support your efforts."

  Outwardly, he appeared resolute, committed to the cause. But inwardly, his mind raced.

  This is far worse than I thought.

  The beasts had slaughtered villagers without hesitation. What would stop them from storming Montrevelle next? If the Duke expected him to commit his entire garrison to this effort, he would be leaving his own estate and family dangerously exposed.

  No, he thought grimly, I cannot risk everything for this.

  His allegiance to the Duke was unwavering in words, but in action… that was another matter entirely. If push came to shove, he would ensure his household remained safe before throwing everything into a losing battle against monsters no one understood.

  For now, he would play his part, promising aid and compliance. But once the Duke was gone, he would ensure his own house came first.

  Baron Hugo kept his expression neutral, his voice calm and reassuring. “Your Grace, you have my word. Montrevelle will be well-protected. I will personally ensure that the garrison is prepared for any incursion, and we will be ready to support your forces however necessary.”

  Duke Adrien studied him for a moment, his sharp blue eyes searching for any hint of doubt or deception. Hugo held his gaze steady, offering a respectful nod to solidify his commitment.

  The Duke finally exhaled and gave a curt nod. “Good. I leave Montrevelle in your hands, Baron Hugo. Make sure the town is fortified and the people remain safe.”

  “I will not fail you, Your Grace,” Hugo said firmly.

  With that, the meeting concluded, and Hugo bowed before stepping out of the garrison’s command room. He strode through the stone corridors with measured steps, but as soon as he reached the courtyard, he wasted no time mounting his horse. With a flick of the reins, he rode swiftly through the town’s streets, making his way toward his estate.

  The Baron’s estate was a grand, fortified manor that sat atop a small hill overlooking Montrevelle. While not as large or imposing as the ducal palace in Valmont, it was well-guarded and designed to withstand attacks—whether from raiders or, in this case, unforeseen dangers.

  As soon as he arrived, the estate guard commander, Captain Lothaire, was already waiting by the entrance. The veteran soldier gave a respectful salute. “My Lord, you returned earlier than expected.”

  Hugo dismounted, handing his reins to a waiting stable boy before addressing Lothaire. “There is trouble brewing, Captain. The Duke believes the beasts will strike again, and if that happens, I want our forces prepared.”

  Lothaire’s expression darkened. “The Duke has requested our men for defense?”

  Hugo shook his head. “The garrison will handle the town’s protection. Our duty is to safeguard this estate and my family. I want our personal troops on high alert. Double the watch at the gates and patrol the perimeter frequently. No one comes in without my explicit approval.”

  The guard captain nodded. “Understood, my Lord.”

  Hugo stepped closer, lowering his voice. “One more thing. If any soldiers from the garrison come here asking for reinforcements, turn them away. I don’t care what excuse they give you—we are not to deplete our own numbers for the town’s sake.”

  Lothaire hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. “As you command.”

  Satisfied, Hugo turned toward his manor, but a faint smirk ghosted his lips. His plan was simple—let the garrison bear the brunt of the attack while he remained safe behind his estate’s walls. If the beasts overwhelmed the town, he could play the role of a survivor, gaining sympathy rather than blame.

  However, what Hugo failed to realize was that Duke Adrien had left behind someone very important in Montrevelle.

  His son, Caelan de Forneaux, was still in the town.

  And that miscalculation would cost the Baron dearly.

  The midday sun hung lazily in the sky as Caelan adjusted the bandages wrapped around the right side of his face. Though his wounds had mostly healed thanks to émeline’s magic, the disguise made use of the lingering injury, adding credibility to his act as a wounded soldier. The temporary dye in his hair had darkened his usual platinum locks to a dull brown, and with the addition of a simple hooded cloak, he hardly resembled the young lord of Forneaux.

  Lucien, dressed in a modest tunic and trousers, carried himself like an attentive caretaker, occasionally offering a hand to support Caelan’s movements. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered as they passed through the garrison’s outer gates and into Montrevelle’s bustling streets. “You should still be resting.”

  Caelan scoffed. “Resting is all I’ve been doing. I needed an excuse to move around before I lost my mind.” He adjusted his footing, making his gait appear slightly unsteady. “Besides, if I don’t get a feel for the town now, I’ll be stuck relying on reports instead of my own eyes.”

  Lucien sighed but didn’t argue further. He had known Caelan long enough to recognize when his mind was set. “At the very least, don’t push yourself too much. If we get into trouble, I’ll be the one carrying you back, and I’d rather not have that experience.”

  Caelan chuckled before turning his attention to their surroundings.

  Montrevelle, despite being a small to mid-sized town, was lively. Merchants called out their wares from wooden stalls, children weaved between passersby, and blacksmiths hammered away at new weapons and armor. The streets were well-maintained for a town of this size, a sign that the local nobility—Baron Hugo—kept a firm grip on its economy.

  However, there was also an underlying tension. Conversations were laced with uncertainty, and the occasional soldier could be seen patrolling with a wary look in their eyes. The recent attack on Beaucourt had shaken the people, and with news spreading, it was clear that many feared Montrevelle could be next.

  As they strolled through the marketplace, Caelan caught snippets of conversation from various townsfolk.

  “They say the beasts came from the Verdainne Forest, but why now?”

  “Did you hear? The Duke himself was here just yesterday. He wouldn’t have come unless something big was happening.”

  “My cousin lives near the outer farms. He’s thinking of packing up and heading to Valmont before things get worse.”

  Caelan absorbed the information, his mind working through the implications. If the town’s people were already considering leaving, then morale was weaker than expected. That didn’t bode well if the garrison needed to rally them in the event of an emergency.

  Lucien leaned closer. “Hearing anything useful?”

  “Enough to confirm what I already suspected,” Caelan murmured. “The people are uneasy, and they don’t trust the Baron to protect them.”

  Lucien raised an eyebrow. “And what about the Baron himself?”

  Caelan smirked. “That’s what I want to find out.”

  As they continued through the marketplace, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about Montrevelle. He just needed to dig a little deeper.

  Caelan and Lucien made their way through the bustling streets of Montrevelle, weaving between carts and townsfolk going about their daily routines. The further they walked, the more Caelan noticed the subtle shifts in the town’s atmosphere. The outer market had been lively, but as they moved deeper into the town, the energy became more subdued. People spoke in hushed tones, and groups of workers huddled together, glancing over their shoulders as if wary of unseen eyes.

  Lucien nudged Caelan’s arm. “See that?” He gestured toward a group of men standing near a tailor’s shop. They spoke in low voices, their expressions grim. “Something’s got them spooked.”

  “I’d be surprised if it didn’t,” Caelan murmured. “If the Baron isn’t reassuring the people, then rumors are doing the talking for him.”

  A few minutes later, they reached their destination—a modest but well-worn tavern named The Copper Hearth. The sign creaked above the entrance, the paint slightly faded, but the smell of roasted meat and ale wafting from inside made it inviting enough.

  Caelan pushed open the door, and the warm glow of lanterns greeted them. The tavern was moderately full, with workers and off-duty soldiers occupying the tables. The sound of quiet conversations mixed with the occasional laugh, but there was a noticeable tension in the air.

  Lucien guided Caelan toward a corner table, helping him sit with a bit of exaggerated care. “You’re playing the role of an injured soldier, remember?” he muttered.

  Caelan smirked. “Fine, fine.” He leaned back slightly, making a show of favoring his side.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  A barmaid approached, setting down two wooden mugs of ale without being asked. “Evening, travelers. What’ll it be?”

  “Something light to eat,” Lucien replied, placing a few coins on the table. “And perhaps a bit of conversation if you’re not too busy.”

  The barmaid, a woman in her early thirties with a sharp eye, gave them a knowing look. “Depends on the conversation, lad. You’re not the only ones looking for answers these days.”

  Caelan tapped a finger against his mug. “Then let’s keep it simple. We’re new to town, and from what I hear, it’s not the safest place to be right now.”

  The barmaid sighed, glancing around before leaning in slightly. “You’re not wrong. Ever since the news about Beaucourt reached us, people have been on edge. Some say the Baron’s got everything under control, but between you and me? He’s been far too quiet.”

  Lucien exchanged a glance with Caelan before asking, “What do you mean?”

  “The Baron’s troops have been keeping to the estate more than usual,” she said. “And he’s turned away some of the garrison soldiers who went to ask for orders. No one knows why, but people are talking.”

  Caelan’s fingers tightened around his mug. That confirmed his suspicions—the Baron wasn’t as committed to the town’s defense as he claimed to be.

  The barmaid straightened, giving them a pointed look. “If you’re smart, you won’t get involved in things above your station.”

  Caelan gave her a small smile. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

  As she left to fetch their food, Lucien leaned in, lowering his voice. “Well, that’s one way to confirm treachery. The Baron’s holding back, but we don’t know to what extent.”

  Caelan nodded. “Then we’ll just have to find out more.”

  They sat back, listening to the murmurs of the tavern, hoping to catch more useful whispers in the air.

  The barmaid returned a few minutes later, setting down two plates of roasted pheasant with bread and a small bowl of thick stew. She placed a fresh pitcher of ale on the table as well, giving them a subtle glance before moving on to serve another table.

  Caelan picked up his spoon, stirring the stew absentmindedly before taking a bite. It was well-seasoned, though he hardly paid attention to the taste. His focus was on the group of men sitting a few tables away—three off-duty soldiers dressed in the colors of the Baron’s estate guard. Their voices were hushed, but in the quiet lull of the tavern, certain words carried through.

  “I’m telling you, something’s off,” one of the men muttered, setting his mug down with a dull thud. He was older than the others, with streaks of gray in his beard and a hardened look in his eyes. “Why would the Baron keep us locked up in the estate instead of helping the garrison?”

  A younger soldier, barely in his twenties, leaned in. “Maybe he thinks the beasts will attack the estate instead?”

  The older man scoffed. “Then why aren’t we reinforcing the town walls? Why aren’t we doing anything?”

  The third soldier, a lanky man with a scar running across his chin, sighed. “Because the Baron’s scared. He’s looking out for himself and his family first, that’s why.”

  Caelan took a slow sip of ale, his gaze flicking to Lucien, who gave a slight nod. They had expected as much, but hearing it confirmed by the Baron’s own men solidified their suspicions.

  The younger soldier hesitated before speaking again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think he’d actually abandon the town if it came to it?”

  A heavy silence fell over the table before the older soldier muttered, “I don’t know.” He rubbed his face, looking exhausted. “But if he does… we’re all screwed.”

  Caelan cut a piece of pheasant, chewing slowly as he processed what he had just heard. The Baron’s forces were uneasy, meaning there was a chance they wouldn’t fight wholeheartedly if the town was threatened. If the Baron tried to abandon his people, would his men follow, or would some stay behind?

  Lucien finished his bread, speaking just loud enough for Caelan to hear, “If they’re already doubting their lord, we might be able to use that.”

  Caelan nodded subtly. “Let’s listen a little longer.”

  They continued eating in silence, their ears open for any more valuable information.

  The older soldier took another sip of his ale before setting the mug down with a sigh. “I heard the Baron met with the Duke when he arrived. Promised to help however he could.”

  The young soldier scoffed. “Help? We haven’t done anything. We’re stuck in that damn estate while the garrison runs around trying to keep the town in order. If anything happens, they’ll be the first to fall.”

  The scarred man leaned in, lowering his voice further. “Word is, the garrison commander tried to requisition some of our supplies, but the Baron denied the request.”

  “That can’t be true,” the younger one said, but there was doubt in his tone. “If the Duke asked for help, why would the Baron refuse?”

  The older soldier sighed, rubbing his temple. “Because the Baron’s looking out for himself. If the beasts attack, he’s ready to lock down the estate and leave the rest of us to fend for ourselves.”

  Lucien shot a glance at Caelan, his eyes sharp with understanding. So the Baron really was planning to abandon the town if things got bad.

  The young soldier gritted his teeth. “That’s madness. If the town falls, what’s stopping the beasts from coming for the estate next?”

  The scarred man shook his head. “Nothing. But that’s assuming the Baron’s planning to stay in Montrevelle.”

  The table went silent.

  “…You think he’d run?” the young soldier asked.

  The older man gave him a grim look. “If it meant saving his own skin? I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  Lucien slowly exhaled, gripping his mug. “This is worse than we thought,” he murmured to Caelan. “If the Baron abandons the town, morale will collapse. The garrison might not be enough to keep order, let alone fight off another attack.”

  Caelan’s mind raced. His father had left him here to oversee the town, but if the Baron himself was planning to flee, it changed everything. He would have to act before the situation spiraled out of control.

  For now, though, he remained seated, pretending to focus on his meal as he listened for any more useful information.

  As the tension from their previous discussion faded, the soldiers turned to lighter topics, eager to distract themselves from the grim reality.

  "Anyway," the older soldier said, taking another sip of his drink, "did you hear about old man Gautier’s daughter? Word is, she ran off with some traveling merchant last week. Left without a word!"

  The younger soldier chuckled. "I’m not surprised. The old man was always too strict with her. Kept saying no suitor in Montrevelle was good enough."

  "Guess she found her own way out," the older man smirked. "Bet the old man’s fuming."

  Lucien stole a glance at Caelan, who only raised an eyebrow at the shift in conversation. He kept eating, but he was still listening. Any bit of local gossip could prove useful, even if it wasn’t directly related to their current situation.

  "Speaking of women, did you see that foreign dancer at the market square yesterday?" another soldier chimed in. "Some say she’s from across the sea. She’s got the nobles and merchants tossing coins at her feet like fools."

  "Ah, that one?" The older soldier laughed. "Yeah, I saw her. Moves like a damn enchantress. If I wasn’t broke, I’d have tossed a few coins myself."

  The younger soldier leaned in. "I heard she’s not just a dancer. Some say she’s a spy."

  "A spy?" The others scoffed.

  "That’s what the merchants are whispering. She asks too many questions about trade routes and shipments. No one’s sure who she works for."

  Lucien subtly glanced at Caelan again. That’s more interesting than I expected.

  "Bah, you’re thinking too much," the older soldier dismissed. "She’s probably just some girl trying to survive in a foreign land."

  They laughed, moving on to another topic about some drunkard getting caught stealing from a bakery, but Lucien and Caelan had heard enough.

  "Should we look into that dancer?" Lucien murmured under his breath.

  Caelan pretended to sip his drink. "Maybe. If she is a spy, we need to know who she’s working for."

  For now, though, they kept their heads down, blending in as the tavern buzzed with conversation around them.

  As Caelan and Lucien stepped out of the tavern, the cool evening air greeted them. The streets of Montrevelle were still lively, with merchants packing up their stalls and townsfolk finishing their last errands before nightfall.

  “We should head back before we draw too much attention,” Lucien muttered, adjusting the strap of his satchel.

  Caelan nodded but glanced toward the market street. “Let’s take the long way. Might as well see if anything catches our eye.”

  Lucien sighed but didn’t argue. As they strolled through the marketplace, the remaining vendors called out last-minute deals, eager to rid themselves of perishable goods. A fruit vendor waved a juicy pear in their direction, while a cloth merchant unfolded an embroidered scarf, trying to entice them.

  Caelan’s eyes flickered over the wares with mild interest, though he wasn’t looking for anything in particular. It was more about observing the town, getting a feel for the people.

  At one stall, an old man was selling trinkets—small carvings, charms, and even a few aged books. Caelan slowed his pace, eyes settling on the books stacked neatly in a wooden crate. Most were mundane—stories, religious texts—but one caught his attention: Principles of Elementary Magic.

  He reached for it, flipping through the pages. The script was faded, and some parts were missing, but it contained basic spellcasting theories.

  “You interested in that one, lad?” the old merchant asked.

  Caelan considered it. He already had a magic book, but more knowledge wouldn’t hurt. “How much?”

  “For you? Five silver.”

  Lucien scoffed. “That’s robbery. Three silver.”

  The merchant smirked. “Four.”

  Caelan handed over the coins before Lucien could argue further. He tucked the book into his satchel and continued walking.

  "You're really going all in on this magic thing, huh?" Lucien mused.

  Caelan shrugged. "Might as well. Never know when it’ll come in handy."

  Lucien shook his head but said nothing. They made their way back toward the barracks, the streets growing quieter as the sun dipped below the horizon.

  As they walked back toward the barracks, Caelan and Lucien noticed a crowd gathering near the intersection of two streets. Lantern light flickered against the faces of onlookers, their murmurs blending into a low hum of curiosity and concern.

  Lucien frowned. “What’s going on?”

  Caelan, equally intrigued, gestured for them to move closer. The crowd parted slightly, allowing them a glimpse of the scene.

  A man, likely a merchant based on his fine yet slightly disheveled clothing, was on his knees in the dirt. His face was pale, his forehead beaded with sweat. In front of him stood a group of armed men—not garrison soldiers, but the Baron's estate guards, their uniforms distinct in design. One of them held a small ledger, flipping through its pages with a smug expression.

  “You understand the consequences of failing to pay, don’t you?” one of the guards said, his tone almost casual. “Late payments mean interest. And interest piles up fast.”

  The merchant’s voice wavered. “I—I just need a few more days! Business has been slow, and—”

  The guard cut him off with a harsh laugh. “That’s not my problem.” He turned the ledger around, tapping a specific line. “You signed an agreement. You owe, and the Baron expects his dues.”

  Caelan narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t just tax collection—this was intimidation. The way the guards carried themselves, the sneering confidence… It reminded him too much of corrupt enforcers from his past life.

  Lucien, standing beside him, exhaled sharply. “This doesn’t sit right with me.”

  Caelan agreed but kept his expression neutral. “Let’s watch a bit longer. See how this plays out.”

  The merchant, realizing he wasn’t going to get any sympathy, reached into his coin pouch with trembling hands. He produced a handful of coins, not nearly enough to cover whatever sum he owed.

  The lead guard scoffed. “This? Barely a fraction.” He looked at his men and nodded.

  Two guards stepped forward. One grabbed the merchant by the collar, hauling him up roughly, while the other rifled through the merchant’s belongings, searching for anything of value.

  The crowd muttered uneasily, but no one dared to interfere. Fear hung thick in the air.

  Caelan clenched his jaw. He had seen enough.

  Caelan was just about to step forward when a sharp, confident voice cut through the tension.

  "Now, now, gentlemen, I believe there’s a proper way to conduct such affairs, isn’t there?"

  The crowd shifted as a woman strode into the center of the commotion. She was striking—not just in appearance, but in presence. Her auburn hair was tied back, and her attire, though modest, carried an air of sophistication. What stood out most, however, was her accent. It was distinct, different from the local dialect spoken in Montrevelle.

  Lucien leaned toward Caelan and whispered, “That must be the foreign woman those soldiers were gossiping about.”

  Caelan didn’t respond, keeping his eyes on the unfolding scene.

  The woman stopped a few paces from the guards and crossed her arms. "I have to ask, do you have a written decree from the Baron authorizing you to collect debts in such an… aggressive manner?"

  The lead guard, clearly caught off guard, hesitated before scoffing. "This is none of your business, woman."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, but it is. You see, strong-arming citizens in broad daylight without a proper decree could reflect quite poorly on the Baron’s reputation. If this is official business, then surely you wouldn’t mind showing us the Baron’s seal, would you?"

  A murmur ran through the crowd. The guards glanced at each other, their earlier confidence wavering.

  The woman took a step closer, her expression calm but pointed. "Because if you don’t have his seal, then it would seem you’re acting on your own authority. And that would mean you’re no different from common thugs using the Baron’s name for your own gain."

  The lead guard’s face darkened. His fingers twitched near the hilt of his sword, but he knew he had already lost the advantage. The weight of the onlookers’ stares, the murmurs of doubt, and the foreign woman’s unwavering gaze put him in a difficult position.

  After a tense pause, he clicked his tongue and turned away. "Tch. The merchant still owes. He won’t get away with it forever."

  With that, he motioned for his men to leave. They released the merchant, shoved a few of his belongings back into his arms, and disappeared down the street.

  The woman watched them go before exhaling softly. Then, she turned to the merchant. "Are you alright?"

  The merchant, still shaking, nodded quickly. "Y-Yes. Thank you, mademoiselle. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stepped in."

  The woman simply gave a small smile before turning to leave.

  Caelan exchanged glances with Lucien. This woman wasn’t just some idle foreigner passing through town—she was someone worth keeping an eye on.

  Caelan and Lucien didn’t hesitate. If this woman was important enough to be whispered about in taverns and bold enough to challenge the Baron's men in broad daylight, then she was worth speaking to now rather than trying to track her down later. There was no telling how long she planned to stay in Montrevelle.

  As she walked away from the scene, weaving through the streets with a confident stride, the two men followed at a reasonable distance. They waited for a quieter section of the road before making their approach.

  Lucien took the lead, calling out to her. “Excuse me, mademoiselle.”

  The woman paused and turned to face them, her sharp gaze scanning them quickly before settling on Lucien. “Yes? What is it?”

  Up close, her features were even more striking—intelligent eyes, a poised demeanor, and the kind of controlled confidence that suggested she was no stranger to confrontation.

  Caelan decided to be direct. “That was an impressive display back there,” he said. “Not many people would have the nerve to challenge armed men like that.”

  The woman studied them both for a moment before replying, “It wasn’t nerve. It was logic. If you back a beast into a corner, it will lash out. But if you expose its weakness, it will retreat.”

  Lucien smirked. “And you exposed their lack of authority.”

  She gave a small nod. “Exactly.”

  Caelan tilted his head slightly. “You speak as though you have experience dealing with men like that.”

  For the first time, the woman hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before offering a small, knowing smile. “One doesn’t travel far without learning a few things.”

  That only piqued Caelan’s interest further. “And how far have you traveled?”

  She chuckled lightly. “Far enough.” Then, she folded her arms. “But I doubt you stopped me just to exchange pleasantries. Who are you two, and what do you want?”

  Caelan and Lucien exchanged a glance before Lucien spoke. “Just two men looking for a good conversation.”

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “That’s vague.”

  Caelan took a step closer. “And you seem like someone who prefers keeping things vague.”

  Her lips curled slightly in amusement. “Perhaps.” She glanced around, noting the thinning crowd. “Very well. If it’s conversation you’re after, I know a quieter place. But if you intend to waste my time, I’ll be on my way.”

  Lucien placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “We wouldn’t dream of it.”

  The woman sighed, then gestured for them to follow. “Come then. Let’s see if you two are as interesting as you think you are.”

  The woman led them through a series of side streets, away from the more crowded areas of the market. Eventually, she stopped in front of a small establishment—an inconspicuous teahouse nestled between two larger buildings. The scent of steeped herbs and spiced tea wafted through the entrance as she stepped inside, gesturing for them to follow.

  Caelan and Lucien exchanged a quick glance before entering. The interior was quiet, with only a few patrons scattered about, engaged in hushed conversations. The woman picked a table in the far corner, away from prying ears, and took a seat.

  As the three of them settled in, she wasted no time. “Now that we have a moment of privacy, let’s start with introductions.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table. “Since I don’t know either of you, I’ll assume you’re not from Montrevelle. So, who are you?”

  Lucien took the lead, offering a casual smile. “Name’s Louis. This here is my friend, Pierre. We’re traveling mercenaries looking for work.” He glanced at Caelan, who gave a small nod of confirmation. “He got injured in our last job, so we’re staying put until he recovers.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes slightly, as if assessing their story. “Mercenaries, huh?”

  Caelan, under his alias as ‘Pierre,’ shrugged. “Pays the bills. We take what work we can get.”

  She tapped her fingers against the wooden table, considering their words. “You don’t look like ordinary sellswords.”

  Lucien chuckled. “And you don’t look like an ordinary traveler.”

  The woman smirked. “Fair enough.” She leaned back slightly. “You can call me Selene.”

  Caelan noted the way she said it—it didn’t sound entirely false, but it also didn’t feel like her real name. Much like how they had given fake identities, she had likely done the same.

  “Nice to meet you, Selene,” he said. “Seems like you’ve been in Montrevelle long enough to understand its politics.”

  Selene tilted her head slightly. “You could say that. And you two? Just passing through, or are you hoping to stick around?”

  Lucien responded smoothly, “Depends on the opportunities available.” He then glanced at her curiously. “And you? From what we saw earlier, you don’t seem like the type to stay in one place for long.”

  Selene exhaled lightly. “I prefer not to be tied down.” She studied them both for a moment before shifting the conversation. “So, tell me, Louis and Pierre, what exactly do mercenaries like you want with a stranger like me?”

  Caelan exchanged another glance with Lucien before answering carefully. “We overheard some interesting rumors in the tavern earlier. About a foreign woman making waves in town.” He met her gaze. “Curiosity got the better of us.”

  Selene raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression. “I see.” She took a sip of the tea that had just been placed on the table. “And now that you’ve met me, what do you think?”

  Lucien grinned. “That you’re even more interesting than the rumors made you out to be.”

  Selene chuckled. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Louis.”

  Caelan smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

  The air between them remained light, but beneath the surface, all three knew they were carefully gauging one another. For now, the game of words continued.

  Caelan leaned forward slightly, keeping his expression casual but interested. “You handled that situation back there pretty smoothly,” he remarked. “Not many people would have the nerve to challenge the Baron's men like that.”

  Selene took another slow sip of her tea before answering. “They weren’t exactly the sharpest tools in the shed,” she said with a smirk. “Besides, someone had to remind them that power isn’t just about brute force.”

  Lucien chuckled. “True, but not everyone would risk drawing attention to themselves like that. Makes me wonder—what exactly is your stake in this town?”

  Selene’s gaze flickered between them, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face. “I could ask you the same thing,” she countered. “You two don’t seem like mercenaries just looking for work. You’re too... observant.”

  Caelan smirked. “Occupational hazard.” He decided to steer the conversation in a more intriguing direction. “Since we’re trading observations, let’s make this more interesting. You seem well-informed about Montrevelle’s inner workings. We’ve been here for a short time, and already we’ve picked up some interesting bits of information.”

  Selene raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

  Lucien tapped a finger on the table, playing along. “For one, the Baron’s men aren’t exactly thrilled about the current situation. Some of them have loose tongues after a few drinks.”

  Selene’s interest was piqued. “And what exactly did these ‘loose tongues’ reveal?”

  Caelan leaned back, feigning nonchalance. “Depends. Information is valuable. Perhaps we could exchange insights?”

  Selene’s lips curled into a smirk. “A trade, then?”

  Lucien nodded. “Seems fair. We each get something worthwhile.”

  Selene considered them for a moment, then finally relented. “Alright, let’s play. I’ll go first.” She set her cup down. “The Baron’s men may grumble, but he’s still the one calling the shots. However, he’s playing a dangerous game. If he’s not careful, he might find himself backed into a corner.”

  Caelan and Lucien exchanged a look. It wasn’t a direct confirmation of what they suspected, but it was close enough.

  “Interesting,” Caelan mused. “Now, our turn.” He lowered his voice slightly. “From what we gathered, the Baron’s soldiers aren’t just worried about the beast threat. They seem to think something else is going on—something their superiors aren’t telling them.”

  Selene nodded, her expression serious. “That wouldn’t surprise me. The Baron isn’t the most... transparent leader.”

  Lucien pressed a little further. “And where do you fit into all of this? You clearly have your own reasons for being here.”

  Selene tilted her head, studying them. Then she exhaled, as if making a decision. “Let’s just say I have my own interests to look after. Montrevelle is... a place of opportunity. For those who know where to look.”

  Caelan smirked. “Sounds like you’re playing your own game.”

  Selene’s smirk matched his. “Aren’t we all?”

  The three sat in silence for a moment, each sizing the other up. Finally, Selene took another sip of her tea. “You two are more entertaining than most travelers I meet.”

  Lucien grinned. “We try.”

  Caelan, however, was still thinking. He had the feeling Selene knew more than she was letting on. But for now, they had made a valuable connection. Perhaps in time, she would reveal more.

  Caelan tapped his fingers lightly against the wooden table, his eyes studying Selene’s expression. He had the feeling she was testing them just as much as they were probing her. That made things interesting.

  “You said Montrevelle is a place of opportunity,” he mused. “That implies you’ve been here long enough to get a feel for how things work. But you don’t strike me as a merchant, nor a mercenary.”

  Selene smirked over the rim of her cup. “And what do I strike you as, then?”

  Lucien leaned in, grinning. “Someone who enjoys being underestimated.”

  Selene’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh, I do. Makes things far more entertaining.” She set her cup down. “But let’s not pretend you two are simple travelers, either. You ask too many precise questions. And you listen more than you talk. That tells me you’re here for more than just sightseeing.”

  Caelan chuckled. “Fair enough. Let’s say we both have our reasons for being interested in this town. Maybe our goals don’t conflict.”

  Selene leaned back, crossing her arms. “That depends. What exactly is it you want?”

  Lucien exchanged a quick glance with Caelan. They had to tread carefully. Revealing too much could backfire, but giving too little wouldn’t get them anywhere.

  “Information,” Caelan said simply. “A clearer picture of what’s happening in Montrevelle.”

  Selene studied him for a moment before nodding. “That’s fair. But let me give you some advice—you’re not the only ones looking for answers. There are plenty of eyes and ears in this town, and not all of them belong to people you’d want to meet.”

  Caelan’s gaze sharpened. “You mean the Baron’s men?”

  Selene let out a soft laugh. “Them? They’re just pawns in a bigger game. No, I’m talking about people who operate in the shadows. People who don’t wear uniforms but still have power.”

  Lucien raised an eyebrow. “And you’d know about them... how?”

  Selene grinned. “Because I make it my business to know.”

  Caelan exhaled slowly, weighing his next words. This woman was intriguing, no doubt about it. And she might just be the kind of ally they needed.

  “You seem to be well-connected,” he said. “Maybe we should find a way to help each other.”

  Selene tilted her head, considering. “Perhaps. But trust isn’t something I give away freely.”

  Lucien smirked. “Good. Neither do we.”

  A brief silence settled between them before Selene finally chuckled. “You two are more interesting than I expected.”

  Caelan leaned forward. “Then let’s make things even more interesting. Tell me—who else in this town should we be watching?”

  Selene’s smile didn’t fade, but there was something calculating behind her gaze now. “Oh, I could tell you,” she murmured. “But where’s the fun in that?”

  Caelan grinned. “Then let’s make this a game, shall we?”

  Selene laughed softly, lifting her cup once more. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

  Selene swirled the liquid in her cup, her gaze drifting across the dimly lit room as if she were searching for something—or someone. Then, with a knowing smile, she turned back to Caelan and Lucien.

  “A game, you say?” she mused. “Alright, I’ll play along. But every game has rules.”

  Lucien smirked, resting an arm on the back of his chair. “And what are yours?”

  Selene tapped a finger against the table. “For every piece of information I give, I get something in return. A trade.”

  Caelan nodded. “Fair enough. As long as the trades are reasonable.”

  Selene chuckled. “Of course. I’m no cheat.” She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Now, since you asked so nicely—let’s talk about the Baron.”

  Lucien and Caelan listened intently as she continued.

  “Hugo de Montrevelle likes to act the part of a dutiful lord, but he’s more interested in his own survival than the well-being of this town. If you think he’s going to send his men to fight for Montrevelle, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  Caelan narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying he plans to abandon the town?”

  “Not quite,” Selene said with a smirk. “More like... he plans to save his own skin first. If the beasts come, he’ll make sure his family and his estate are secure before even considering the town’s defense.”

  Lucien scoffed. “So the garrison is just a shield for him?”

  Selene shrugged. “You could say that. Most of the soldiers in the town garrison answer to the Duke, not to him. And the Baron knows he can’t control them the way he does his personal troops.”

  Caelan exhaled sharply, absorbing this new information. He already suspected the Baron wasn’t fully committed, but hearing it confirmed made things clearer.

  “And what about these... other people you mentioned?” he asked. “The ones who don’t wear uniforms but still have power?”

  Selene smiled knowingly. “Ah, now that’s a more interesting question. But I believe it’s your turn to offer something, don’t you think?”

  Lucien chuckled. “You really do enjoy this game, don’t you?”

  Selene winked. “Of course. Now, what do you have for me?”

  Caelan thought for a moment. He didn’t want to give too much away, but he needed to keep Selene engaged. Finally, he decided on something that wouldn’t compromise their position too much.

  “There are rumors that the beasts are moving differently than before,” he said. “Their attacks aren’t random. It’s almost as if they’re being driven—or guided.”

  Selene’s playful demeanor shifted slightly, her expression growing more serious. “That’s... interesting.”

  “You didn’t know?” Lucien asked.

  “I’d heard whispers,” Selene admitted. “But nothing concrete. If what you’re saying is true, then Montrevelle is in more danger than people realize.”

  Caelan nodded. “Exactly. And if the Baron is only looking out for himself, then the town could be left defenseless when the time comes.”

  Selene was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Well, I suppose I did promise to share more in return. Very well. There’s someone in this town you should meet—if you’re looking for real answers.”

  Caelan and Lucien exchanged glances. “Who?”

  Selene leaned in, lowering her voice. “A man named Armand. He runs a trading post near the eastern gate. Officially, he deals in spices and textiles. Unofficially… he deals in information.”

  Lucien raised an eyebrow. “And how do we know we can trust him?”

  Selene smirked. “You don’t. But if you’re careful, he might just tell you something useful.”

  Caelan sat back, considering their next move. This was turning out to be a far more productive evening than he had expected.

  Selene finished her drink and stood. “Well, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. But I have other business to attend to.”

  Caelan gave her a nod. “Likewise. We’ll be in touch.”

  Selene smiled. “I look forward to it.”

  With that, she turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Caelan and Lucien alone at the table, deep in thought.

  Lucien watched Selene disappear into the crowd before turning back to Caelan, his expression contemplative. "Well, that was... enlightening."

  Caelan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his fingers tapping against his sleeve. "She was definitely knowledgeable. The question is, how much of what she said can we trust?"

  Lucien shrugged. "She didn't seem like she was trying to deceive us. If anything, she was testing us just as much as we were testing her."

  Caelan exhaled slowly. "Yeah, and she played it well. She gave us just enough to keep us interested but held back enough to keep control of the conversation." He paused for a moment before adding, "That means she knows more than what she let on."

  Lucien nodded. "And then there’s this Armand. Do we go meet him?"

  Caelan tapped his fingers on the table, organizing his thoughts. "There are pros and cons to meeting him immediately. On one hand, striking while the iron is hot might allow us to catch him off guard before he hears too much about us. On the other hand, we just arrived in this town two days ago. If we start poking around too much, we’ll draw attention."

  Lucien tilted his head. "You think the Baron has ears in the town?"

  Caelan gave him a knowing look. "He’s already playing both sides. I wouldn’t put it past him to keep an eye on anyone who might disrupt his plans. If we move too aggressively, he might get suspicious and start pulling his people out of the picture. We need to act carefully."

  Lucien sighed. "So we wait?"

  Caelan nodded. "For now, yes. Rushing in without knowing what kind of man Armand is would be reckless. We should let things settle for a bit and gather more information passively before approaching him."

  Lucien smirked. "Look at you, thinking ahead. You really have changed, haven’t you?"

  Caelan rolled his eyes. "I’ve always thought ahead—you just never noticed."

  Lucien chuckled. "Fair enough. So what’s the plan for tomorrow, then? More wandering around town?"

  Caelan shrugged. "We’ll see. Let’s take things one step at a time. For now, let’s get back to the barracks. I’d rather not be out too late and invite unnecessary trouble."

  Lucien stretched as he stood up. "Agreed. But something tells me we haven’t seen the last of that woman."

  Caelan smirked as he got up, adjusting his disguise. "I’d be surprised if we had."

  With that, the two of them left the tavern, making their way back through the dimly lit streets, their minds already planning their next move.

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  Selene walked through the winding streets of Montrevelle, her hood drawn just enough to shadow her face without drawing suspicion. The encounter with those two men lingered in her thoughts. They were cautious, sharp, and carried themselves with the kind of awareness that only came with experience.

  She slipped into a quiet alleyway, weaving through the narrow path until she reached a small courtyard tucked between two buildings. A single lantern flickered outside a modest inn. She entered without hesitation, making her way up the stairs to a private room she had rented for the past few days.

  Once inside, she pulled back her hood and exhaled. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath her cloak. Those two men, whoever they really were, weren’t ordinary travelers. That much was obvious. Their words were measured, their questions deliberate, and they concealed more than they revealed.

  She crossed the room, untying the thin scarf around her neck, revealing a faint but intricate tattoo just below her collarbone—an emblem of her past, one she had spent years trying to leave behind. The crest of the fallen House Valcourt.

  Born into nobility, Selene had once known luxury, privilege, and security. But all of that had been ripped away when her family was branded as traitors and executed under the orders of the Crown. She had escaped with nothing but her wits and the skills her father had insisted she learn—swordplay, diplomacy, and the art of survival.

  She had spent years living under different names, moving between cities, taking on whatever work she could—smuggling, espionage, even mercenary work when necessary. But information was her true trade. It was what had kept her ahead of her enemies and allowed her to navigate a world that wanted her erased.

  And now, fate had placed two intriguing figures in her path.

  Pierre and Louis—if those were even their real names.

  She smiled faintly to herself as she poured a glass of wine from a small decanter on the table. Their accents, their mannerisms… they were hiding something. But she was good at uncovering secrets.

  Taking a sip, she leaned back against the chair and closed her eyes.

  If they were truly as interesting as they seemed, she was certain this wouldn’t be the last time they crossed paths.

  End of the Chapter

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