Alaric sat in the gardens of his manor, beneath the shade of an old oak tree.
The afternoon was perfect, cool breeze carrying the scent of late-blooming roses, sunlight filtering through leaves in scattered gold patterns, the distant sound of fountain water providing gentle background music.
He lifted his teacup and sipped.
The jasmine blood across his tongue, sweet and calming.
Perfect.
His free hand reached for the portfolio resting on the small table beside him. He opened it with careful fingers and withdrew a docunt.
The Vernacite mine contract.
His eyes scanned the official seals, the signatures, the legal language that transferred ownership from Dorian Margrave back to the original holder.
Back to him.
Where it had always belonged.
He smirked, crimson eyes gleaming with quiet triumph.
Seven days.
That’s all it had taken to reclaim what Valtair thought he’d won.
He folded the contract and slipped it into his coat pocket.
Then his hand moved to another docunt in the portfolio.
Property contracts. Holdings that had been used as collateral against Valtair’s debts, eighty-eight thousand gold total. Fifty thousand to Lord Rothgar. Thirty-eight thousand to rchant Vess.
"Let’s get what’s ours," he murmured quietly.
He placed the deeds on the table, spreading them out like cards in a winning hand, and allowed himself another small smile.
Then he stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat, and turned toward the manor.
There was still work to do.
********
Valtair Estate....
Count Valtair sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by letter after letter.
Rejection after rejection.
"Regret to inform you that we cannot extend additional credit at this ti..."
"Current financial instability makes partnership impossible..."
"Wish you well in your future..."
Polite words. Diplomatic language.
All saying the sa thing- "You’re drowning, and we’re not getting pulled under with you."
He’d spent the morning calling in favors from n who suddenly didn’t rember owing him anything. Reaching out to allies who’d mysteriously beco unavailable.
So had been angry, accusing him of recklessness, of dragging their nas into his ss.
Others had been scared, recognizing the death spiral he was in and wanting nothing to do with it.
None had offered help.
His hands trembled as he set down the latest letter. His face was pale, drawn, dark circles under his eyes speaking of sleepless nights and mounting panic.
Renard had left that morning, so business with suppliers that couldn’t wait, though they both knew it was probably futile. Vivienne was sowhere in the estate, managing household affairs.
Valtair sat alone, staring at nothing, trying to figure out how everything had gone so catastrophically wrong in just two weeks.
Knock! Knock!
He looked up, dread pooling in his stomach.
A servant appeared in the doorway.
"My lord... there are n here. From the magistrate’s office. They have... they have a seizure order."
The words hit like physical blows.
"What?" His voice ca out strangled. "Seizure for what?"
"The eastern estates, my lord. The—" She swallowed hard. "They say you’ve defaulted on loans and they’re here to claim the collateral."
No!
No no no no!
Valtair lurched to his feet. He pushed past the servant, moving through the hallways with stumbling, desperate steps.
He burst into the entrance hall just as the main doors opened.
Six n entered, four guards in magistrate livery, two officials carrying leather docunt cases.
Behind them, workers began filing in. Surveyors. Clerks. n with clipboards and asuring tools.
The lead official stepped forward and offered a bow.
"Count Valtair. I’m Magistrate Clerk Howell. I have orders to execute seizure of properties listed as collateral against outstanding debts." He pulled a docunt from his case.
"This is a mistake—" Valtair’s voice cracked. "I have thirty days to—"
"You had thirty days, my lord." Howell’s tone was patient but firm. "The grace period expired long ago. As per the loan agreents with Lord Rothgar and Lord Vess, failure to et scheduled paynts triggers forfeiture."
"But I can pay! I just need—"
"The full amount, my lord. Eighty-eight thousand gold. Do you have that sum available?"
Valtair’s mouth opened. Closed. But no sound ca out.
Howell nodded as if he’d expected exactly that response.
"Then I’m afraid we must proceed. The properties will be transferred to the creditors’ representatives."
The workers began moving past him, spreading through the entrance hall, pulling out docunts, making notes.
Valtair stood frozen in the center of the entrance hall, watching his life be cataloged and claid by strangers.
But unknown to him, so placed few boxes at the different places of his estate.
-----
anwhile...
Alaric sat at an outdoor table, positioned perfectly to watch the chaos unfold two streets over.
From here, he could see the Valtair estate’s western wing. Could see the magistrate’s carriages parked outside. Could see workers moving in and out, carrying clipboards and docunt cases.
He sipped his tea—a different blend this ti—and allowed himself a small, amused smile.
The tavern was quiet at this hour. No one paying attention to the well-dressed nobleman enjoying an afternoon beverage.
Teryn stood beside his table. He wore shady rchant’s clothes. His sandy brown hair was hidden beneath a flat cap. Nothing about him suggested connection to the nobleman sipping tea.
Alaric set down his cup with a soft clink and turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge Teryn without looking directly at him.
"Ready?"
"Yes, my lord." Teryn responded. "Everything’s prepared. Just waiting for your signal."
Alaric’s smile widened slightly, he picked up his teacup again, took another slow sip, savoring both the tea and the view.
Then he set it down and gave Teryn the smallest nod.
Teryn’s posture shifted. He touched the brim of his cap in acknowledgnt, then turned and lted into the traffic moving along the street. Gone in seconds. Just another unremarkable figure in the afternoon crowd.
Alaric remained seated, watching him disappear, then returned his attention to the Valtair estate.
The wheels were turning.
The dominoes were falling.
And Count Valtair was about to discover that losing property wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him.
Alaric lifted his teacup one more ti.
Sip!
And waited for the next piece to drop.
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