Chapter 10: Slave Boy
—MATTHIAS SINCLAIR—
I had known Lady Aria Valen by reputation long before I ever spoke to her directly.
And it was not a flattering one.
Aria was a spoiled duke’s daughter. Proud to the point of arrogance. Sharp-tongued in ways that rarely served any purpose other than humiliation. She’s the kind of noble who never needed to think about consequences because consequences were always handled by soone else.
I had seen it once myself.
Not long ago.
Enough to confirm the reports.
She had spoken down to a maid in a public setting, dismissive in tone, unbothered by the discomfort she caused. There had been no hesitation in her behavior then. No awareness of the space she occupied or the people around her.
That version of her was what I had expected today.
Which was why what I saw now did not sit easily in my mind.
She crouched in front of a boy near the edge of the market, entirely unconcerned with appearances. The crowd moved around them, but she did not seem to care that she was a noble sitting in the dirt-level space of common life.
The boy looked thin. A child who expected nothing and received even less.
But then she placed coins into his hands.
He stared at them as if unsure whether they were real.
I watched, waiting for the shift I expected. Confusion. Suspicion. The boy’s fear of being mocked or used.
Instead, she spoke again.
"Go buy sothing you have been wanting to eat."
Her tone was... ordinary.
As if she was speaking to soone she considered equal enough not to overthink.
The boy still did not move.
Then she smiled at him.
That was what made pause.
Because it did not resemble the Aria I had seen before.
The Aria I knew did not smile like that.
It would be impossible for soone to change so drastically in such a short ti.
"Do not look at them like that," she added. "They are ant to be spent, not worshipped."
A faint, uncertain sound escaped the boy. Almost a laugh, but restrained, like he was afraid it might be taken away from him if he allowed it.
Then she stood as if nothing unusual had happened.
"Now, go," she said lightly. "I will wait for you by the benches over there. I would like to share the food you bought."
The boy hesitated only briefly before he ran off, gripping the coins tightly.
I followed him with my eyes until he disappeared into the crowd.
Only then did I step closer.
"You have just been robbed of your coins," I said.
My tone ca out more critical than intended.
It should have been simple fact. Instead, it carried disbelief.
There were many ways I expected her to respond.
Defensiveness. Annoyance. Dismissal.
Instead, she blinked once then smiled.
"He will co back," she said.
As if it required no explanation.
That should have been absurd.
And yet she said it without doubt.
Without the need to convince .
"You are unusually trusting," I said after a mont.
"I am not," she replied imdiately. "I am just observant."
That made pause.
Because Aria Valen had never been described as observant.
Self-centered. Proud. Quick to assu superiority.
Never observant.
She looked in the direction the boy had gone.
"He did not ask for money," she added. "He hesitated when I gave it. That ans he is not used to receiving it."
I followed her gaze again.
"And you believe that guarantees his return?"
"It increases the probability," she said simply. "And I prefer not to assu the worst when I do not have to."
I did not answer imdiately.
The logic was sound.
But it was not what I had co to expect from her.
We reached the benches soon after. She sat without hesitation, as though she belonged there just as much as anywhere else.
The market moved around us, unchanged.
I remained standing for a mont longer, still watching the direction the boy had gone.
"You act differently from what I was told."
She tilted her head slightly.
"That depends," she said. "What were you told?"
I did not answer imdiately.
Because the answer was simple and inconvenient.
I had been told she was a bully.
Spoiled. Cruel when it suited her. Indifferent to those beneath her.
But the woman who had just handed coins to a street boy and spoken to him like he was simply another person did not fit that description cleanly.
So instead, I chose to trust my instincts.
"Since you are settled, I shall take my leave," I said, watching her closely. "Do take care."
A simple and reasonable exit.
If this was an act, she would react.
If not...
"Hm. Be well," she replied.
That was all.
No attempt to stop . No effort to prolong the conversation. Not even a second glance.
My brows twitched slightly, but I said nothing. I turned and walked away at a asured pace, blending into the crowd before stepping aside into a quieter corner where I could still observe without being seen.
If this was pretense, it would not last long.
So I waited.
Minutes passed.
The market continued its usual rhythm. People moved. Voices rose and fell but nothing changed.
She was still there, patiently waiting.
And suddenly, the boy returned.
I narrowed my gaze slightly.
"Hah," I muttered under my breath.
So he had not run off after all.
I watched as he approached her, holding sothing carefully in both hands. A pastry, from the look of it.
And she accepted it without hesitation, her expression softening.
Then she did sothing I did not expect.
She reached out and patted his head.
As if it were the most ordinary gesture in the world.
"Sit," she mouthed.
The boy hesitated at first, glancing around as if unsure whether he was permitted to do so.
Then, slowly, he sat.
They began speaking.
Not as a noble and a street child.
But simply... talking.
I could not hear them from where I stood.
And that, unexpectedly, began to bother .
I frowned, shifting slightly before stepping closer, careful not to draw attention. Close enough to hear. Far enough to remain unnoticed.
Her voice reached first.
"May I ask where your family is?" she asked politely.
The boy fell silent.
For a mont, I thought he might not answer.
But then... "They’re gone," he said quietly. "I was sold off to be a slave... but I escaped."
The words settled heavily in the air and I was frozen on the spot.
Slavery?!
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