Chapter 3

I stood quietly at the edge of the hall, pretending to study the embroidered patterns in the carpet, all while listening with sharpened ears. I had no place at the negotiating table, not officially. But I was still the Duke's son—and if Halvek thought I was just some quiet noble brat, he was gravely mistaken.

"Fifteen percent compounded monthly," I repeated aloud, faking a childish tone of curiosity. "What does compounded mean, Master Halvek?"

The merchant turned toward me, surprised. His smile cracked wide—patronizing, oily.

"Oh, it simply means the interest grows on top of itself, young lord," he said. "Big boy words, yes?"

I tilted my head. "So… if we borrowed four hundred gold, and fifteen percent gets added every month, wouldn't that be like… um… fifty gold every time?"

Halvek chuckled. "Ah, not quite. It's… more complicated. But not something for children, I assure you."

"Then could you show me how it works?" I asked sweetly. "Mama says I'm good with numbers. Maybe I can learn!"

There was a pause.

My father gave me a sidelong glance—half amused, half uncertain. The steward frowned.

Halvek squirmed.

"I… suppose, but the math is tedious," he muttered. "It's all in my ledger."

I smiled brightly. "Can I see it?"

"I don't carry such private records into noble halls, young master," he replied quickly. "Now then, my lord," he turned back to my father, "if you would kindly sign a contract extension—"

"I don't recall agreeing to compounding interest," my father said suddenly, voice quieter. "We agreed on fifteen percent—flat."

"Impossible," Halvek said, faking shock. "I never make loans without written terms. I assure you—my copy is clear."

Of course your copy is clear, I thought. Because you probably rewrote it.

And then, the final nail.

"I knew the harvest was weak," Halvek added with mock sympathy. "My… sources tell me the southern fields yielded only half their usual barley. Tragic."

That stopped me cold.

My father stiffened, but said nothing.

How did he know that?Those harvest numbers were barely a week old—and hadn't left the estate yet.

There was only one conclusion.

Someone inside House Aldercrest was leaking information.

That night, after Halvek left with a smug bow and a new deadline carved into parchment, I returned to my room and opened my personal ledger. I scribbled furiously:

▪ Debt originally 250 gold (est.)▪ Claimed interest: 15% monthly, compounding▪ Actual growth (7 months): ~475 gold▪ Math doesn't add up▪ Knew exact harvest failure → insider?

Then I paused.

If I could get my hands on that merchant's ledger—even briefly—I could expose him.His numbers. His manipulation. Maybe even the name of his informant.

I had no way of proving it yet, but Halvek wasn't just a loan shark—he was trying to entrap us. Debts that ballooned past reason, timed to estate misfortunes, followed by offers to take our land in trade?

This wasn't a negotiation. It was a siege.

The village square was quiet in the early dawn, painted in grey mist and dew-soaked silence.

Halvek's caravan sat like a sleeping beast—fat, red, and pompous—draped in garish cloth and polished wood, guarded by two men who looked as lazy as their employer was corrupt.

I had slipped away from the manor before sunrise, dressed in a simple linen tunic and cloak, my small frame blending with the hedges and hay carts. The guards were seated on crates, sipping from flasks and half-napping.

I circled behind them. One was snoring softly.

Good.

The rear flap of the caravan wasn't locked—just tied with a leather cord. I pulled it loose and ducked inside.

The interior smelled like tobacco, dried fruit, and old ink. There were chests, rolls of silk, crates of spices—and finally, on a small traveling desk beside a padded seat, Halvek's ledger.

Bound in cracked leather. Gold-lined pages. Open.

I stepped forward, heart pounding.

The entries were handwritten, messy but deliberate. I flipped past rows of trade records—spices, lumber, livestock—until I reached a familiar line:

House Aldercrest – Loan, 250g. 15% cm. Current due: 478gNotes: New extension signed. Client still unaware of clause. Risk of default high.Informant update: "South fields failed. Suggest pressure. Source: S."

I froze.

There it was.

He admitted the original loan was 250 gold sovereigns—and that the "compounding" was a trick. Worse, he referred to my father as a client unaware of the clause.

But the last line—

Source: S.

That letter could change everything.

I flipped to earlier pages, looking for names or codes.

Then I saw it.

S = Selma (Kitchen)

Selma. A maid in the Aldercrest kitchens. She had served me stew just three nights ago.

My vision went red. He'd bought her. Halvek had been paying her—or blackmailing her—to keep tabs on our household. She must've passed him information about the failing harvests, maybe even our stores, the guards, the guests. Everything.

I clenched my fists.

This wasn't just usury. This was sabotage. Espionage.

If I told my father, Halvek would deny it. If I told the steward, who knows who else might be in on it? But if I had proof—real proof…

I looked at the page again.

And I tore it out.

Carefully, quietly, I ripped the page from the binding and rolled it into my tunic. I replaced the ledger where I found it and wiped the sweat from my palms onto the seat.

Then I turned to leave—

"Oi?"

My blood ran cold.

One of the guards was standing at the flap, blinking blearily.

"What're you doin' in there, boy?"

I blinked, heart hammering.

"Master Halvek said I could look at the pretty fabrics," I said, putting on my best wide-eyed voice. "He said maybe I could have a ribbon if I asked nicely."

The man scratched his head. "You're that Duke's brat, ain't you?"

I nodded.

He frowned, clearly unsure whether waking Halvek was worth the trouble.

"Well, go on then. Get out. Before you trip on somethin' you can't afford."

I bowed politely and backed away.

I didn't stop running until I was back in the manor, page clutched tightly beneath my cloak.

In the quiet of my room, I smoothed it out across my writing desk and lit a single candle.

There it was. In black and white.

Proof.

A forged interest clause.A betrayal by one of our own.And the name of the man behind it all.

Halvek thought he'd bled House Aldercrest dry.

But this time, the victim bled back.