Chapter 23: Blood and Shadows

The Fight Ring

The crowd roared, a mix of raucous laughter and drunken shouts, as Alaric staggered back, wiping a hand across his bleeding brow. His opponent, a towering brute of a man with a face like a weathered brick, grinned down at him. The man's knuckles were stained red—his red.

Alaric sucked in a sharp breath, bracing himself against the rough, sweat-soaked ropes of the underground fighting ring. His vision blurred for a split second, a sharp stinging in his left eye from where he had taken a particularly nasty blow. Blood trickled down his cheek, but he barely registered it. His mind was elsewhere.

How the hell did I end up here?

He was the Fifth Prince of Aeloria, for crying out loud. True, he had little political influence compared to his elder brothers, but still—he was a prince. And princes did not typically find themselves in illegal street fights, especially ones they had absolutely no business being in.

His opponent—what was his name again?—Kraig? Gorran? Something suitably brutish—was already stepping forward again, cracking his thick knuckles. He had every advantage: height, weight, experience. Alaric, on the other hand, had... quick reflexes. And just enough arrogance to think he could win.

The only problem? Arrogance didn't win fights. Skill did.

And Alaric had plenty of skill—with a sword.

But this wasn't a duel.

This was bare-knuckle, merciless, street-bred brutality. A fight for coin, for status, for survival.

And Alaric was not winning.

The brute lunged. Alaric barely dodged, rolling to the side. The crowd jeered at his evasion, demanding blood.

"Fight like a man, pretty boy!" someone shouted.

Alaric clenched his jaw. He was going to kill Evelyne for this.

But before we get to that…

---

Earlier at the

The Thorn Estate – Evelyne's Study

The scent of ink and candle smoke filled the room. The grand mahogany desk, typically burdened with towering stacks of paperwork, was momentarily ignored. Evelyne Thorn sat back in her chair, eyes scanning the newspaper she had just set down.

Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

Missing children in the slums of Galaza.

It wasn't uncommon. The slums were a dangerous place, where people vanished without a trace every day. But this… this felt different. The pattern was too deliberate.

Alaric, lounging uninvited in one of her chairs, far too comfortable in her home, noticed the expression on her face and groaned.

"Oh no. I know that look," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "That's the 'I just found a new case' look."

"And how do you know my 'I just found a new case' look I've only just solved one case and you didn't even think I was gonna solve it."

"It's quite simple. I just compare your expressions to the one you had on the day you solved that case at the ball, there was a gleam in your eyes and I'm seeing it now." He said smirking, "You know I'm quite the observant type. nothing gets past me if I wasn't a prince I'd likely be a detective and a fine one at that, don't you think Evie?"

Evelyne ignored him.

Before she could respond, voices filtered in from outside—raised, desperate. A moment later, her butler, George, entered with a formal bow.

"There is a woman at the gate, Your Grace. She insists on speaking with you. It appears to be urgent."

Evelyne's fingers drummed against the wooden surface of her desk. She could already guess why the woman was here.

"Let her in."

Alaric groaned again. "This is how it starts," he mumbled.

---

The woman who stepped into the drawing room was thin, her clothes threadbare, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. She twisted her hands together as she bowed, first to Evelyne, then to Alaric.

"Your Grace. Your Highness."

"Sit," Evelyne instructed.

The woman obeyed, though her hands continued their nervous fidgeting.

"What is your name?" Evelyne asked.

"Ana," the woman whispered. "Ana Lorrin."

"And what can I do for you, Miss Lorrin?"

Ana swallowed hard. Her lips trembled as she spoke. "It's my daughter," she choked out. "She's gone. She's been missing for weeks. And the guards—the police—they won't help me. They say girls like her… they disappear all the time."

Evelyne's fingers clenched against the armrest of her chair. Girls like her.

She knew exactly what the city guards meant.

The poor. The forgotten. The ones whose disappearances were inconvenient to acknowledge.

Her gaze sharpened. "Tell me everything."

Ana wiped at her eyes, struggling to compose herself. "Her name is Elise. She's twelve years old. She helps me sell fruit at the market—she's always been good with customers, polite. She never caused trouble." Her breath hitched. "She was last seen near the south alleyways, close to the bridge. She was coming home from selling, but she never—she never came back."

Evelyne nodded, already running through possibilities in her mind.

"The places she frequented?"

"The market, mostly. And the old chapel—she liked to go there in the evenings."

"Anyone suspicious around her?"

Ana hesitated. "There was a man," she admitted. "A few of the other vendors mentioned him—said he was watching the children. Just standing there. But no one knows who he is."

Evelyne's lips pressed into a thin line.

"I will find her."

Ana sobbed, clutching at Evelyne's hands in gratitude before being led out.

Silence settled in the room.

Then—

"Pack your things," she ordered. "We leave at dawn."

Alaric blinked. "...We?"

Evelyne smirked.

"You're coming too."

---

Preparing for the Slums

That night, Evelyne wasted no time.

She summoned George, issuing precise orders.

"Get me commoner clothes. Practical. And for the prince as well."

George, accustomed to his lady's eccentricities, merely nodded. "And firearms, my lady?"

"Yes." Evelyne's gaze was sharp. "We don't know where this investigation will take us. Better to be prepared."

Alaric, who had been listening, frowned. "Wait—why am I dressing like a commoner?"

Evelyne smirked. "Unless you want to walk into the slums dressed like a prince? You'd be robbed in seconds."

Alaric grumbled but didn't argue further.

As George disappeared to fulfill his orders, Evelyne returned to her desk. She picked up the newspaper again, eyes narrowing.

Children were going missing in Galaza.

And now, she had a lead.

Her lips curled into a grin.

The hunt had begun.

---

And So…

That was how Alaric ended up facing death in an illegal fight ring.

Because, as it turned out, the only way to find information in the slums…

Was to earn it.

And in the slums of Galaza?

The fastest way to earn respect—was with blood.

---

To Be Continued…