Chapter 5

A young lady looks down at me, her expression dripping with contempt. By the sharp curve of her horns and the sheer power in her stance, I can tell she's dragonborn. Subtlety doesn't seem to be their strong suit. Her lip curls ever so slightly before she speaks, her voice carrying the sharpness of a blade.

"I don't know how you did that, but stay away from Callum."

She said his name.

Now, normally, I wouldn't care, but in this world, names aren't something you just throw around. Taking a man's name so publicly, in front of a crowd, is the equivalent of declaring an engagement. Interesting. Does Duke Callum know he's engaged? Or is this one-sided?

I tilt my head and offer her the most uninterested look I can muster. "Oh? And how exactly did I 'do that'?"

She narrows her eyes, clearly displeased with my lack of reaction. I can hear whispers around us, murmurs of amusement and curiosity as people watch the scene unfold. Before she can say anything further, my patron, the poor man, steps in. I almost feel bad for him—almost.

"Sigril," my patron addresses her politely, "she didn't do anything. It was the Duke himself who invited her onto the dance floor."

He says it loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. I wince internally as a fresh wave of attention turns toward me. Fantastic. Just what I needed—another reason to be scrutinized. Still, I keep my composure, smiling pleasantly as if this entire situation doesn't make me want to disappear into the floor.

Sigril looks ready to bite my head off, but then her patron steps forward and whispers something into her ear. Whatever he says makes her eyes widen, and she quickly swallows down whatever retort she had ready. Instead, she settles for glaring at me like she's willing me to drop dead before she storms off toward the private rooms.

Well, good riddance. I have no interest in feuding with some overgrown lizard over a man I barely know.

I release a breath, relieved that the drama is over. Or so I think.

A throat clears behind me, and I turn to find another man standing there, his hand extended. He's not as striking as Callum, but he's handsome in his own right, with sharp features and the kind of confidence that suggests he's used to getting what he wants.

"Would you honor me with a dance?"

I glance at him, then at my patron, before deciding there's no harm in accepting. If I start being selective, it might seem like I'm playing favorites. And in this game, perception is everything.

So I dance. And then another man asks, and I dance again. Then another.

It doesn't take long to notice the pattern.

None of these men were interested in me before Callum danced with me. Not a single one. But now, suddenly, I'm the most fascinating creature in the room? Please. It's transparent, and it irritates me, but I smile and entertain them anyway. Because I'm not a fool. This world doesn't reward honesty; it rewards strategy. And I need to secure a position that keeps me safe, that offers power without unnecessary political complications.

So far, only two men fit that criteria. If Callum even counts.

Not all interactions are pleasant, of course. Some men are blatantly disrespectful, asking intrusive questions about my past, about my 'previous companions' and my 'boundaries'—as if that's appropriate for a first meeting. But I endure it, because that's just how things are here.

By the time the night ends, I'm exhausted. I've never socialized this much in my entire life—not even in my past one.

As I settle into the carriage for the ride back to the hotel, my body feels heavy with fatigue. The others exchange quiet farewells before our maids help us get comfortable. I barely register anything beyond my own thoughts as I drift off to sleep.

And when I dream, I dream of blue eyes.

The next morning, we're allowed to roam the city.

I take one guard and a maid, as instructed, and set off to explore. To be honest, I know next to nothing about this place. But as we walk through the streets, I take it all in.

It's exactly what you'd expect from a fantasy setting—Victorian architecture, cobblestone roads, the sound of bagpipes in the distance. People bustle about, merchants shouting about their wares, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread and something spicy I can't quite place. It's chaotic, but in a way that feels alive.

But what truly catches my attention are the families.

I didn't see many children in Aenie's estate—most people there had already reached adulthood. But here? Here, there are kids everywhere. And not just human ones. A little girl with pigtails, a button nose, and fluffy wolf ears giggles as she chases her brothers, who appear to be from entirely different species. It's adorable, and it tugs at something in me.

It's a reminder that despite all the power struggles and societal restrictions, life continues.

We pass through the commercial district, where shops line the streets, each one more tempting than the last. But my goal isn't to shop for trinkets.

I want books.

I turn to my maid, Lilah. "Where's the library?"

She hesitates, but then points in the direction of a grand building with intricate carvings along its façade. Excited, I make my way there, eager to see what kind of knowledge this world has to offer.

Only to be stopped at the entrance.

The librarian—a stern-looking man with sharp features—doesn't even let me inside before saying, "Libraries are only accessible to Ascended and Veiled Clan males and females."

I blink. "You're joking."

He is not joking.

Anger coils in my stomach. This is exactly what I meant when I said this world is unfair. Knowledge, something that should be free and accessible, is locked away behind status and bloodlines. I stare at the closed doors for a moment longer, frustration simmering beneath my skin.

Fine. If I can't have books, I'll go find something else.

"Take me to a weapon shop," I tell Lilah.

It's the least I can do to cool my temper.

The armory is everything I could have hoped for. Rows upon rows of gleaming swords, daggers, and armor pieces that look straight out of an RPG. I resist the urge to reach out and touch everything. Instead, I carefully browse, admiring the craftsmanship, the weight of the blades, the sheer beauty of the weapons on display.

If only I had some kind of cheat skill like those overpowered protagonists in fantasy stories.

But I don't.

I have to survive with nothing but my wits, my strategy, and my ability to navigate this world's treacherous politics.

And I will. Because I have no other choice.