Chapter 3: Nobles, Daggers, and Wine

Langford Keep had barely begun to breathe when the first viper slithered to its gates.

Three days after the council, a royal emissary from House Verane arrived—Lady Celina Verane's steward, bearing silk, perfume, and trouble. He rode no less than eight carts deep, trailed by armored guards, dancers, and scribes. It wasn't just a message. It was a spectacle.

Tejas stood atop the balcony, arms crossed, watching as the flamboyant party rolled through the village. Villagers stared wide-eyed. For a land still bruised from poverty and slaver raids, this display was surreal.

Beside him, Caelis muttered, "This is bait."

"She's showing power," Tejas replied. "Without raising a sword."

"Yet."

They met the emissary in the great hall—newly scrubbed clean and lit with sun-crystal lanterns. Tejas sat at the head of the long table, clad in charcoal robes with a crimson-and-gold sash across his chest—a symbol he'd recently commissioned, representing unity and resistance. At his right sat Caelis, ever watchful.

The emissary bowed deeply. "My noble Lady Celina Verane sends her greetings to Lord Rayen Langford, who seems to have… risen from fire as something new."

"She's poetic," Tejas said, smiling. "I appreciate that."

"She is also cautious. You've unsettled many, my lord. Trade flows are disrupted. Slave caravans are stranded. Grain prices have shifted. These things worry my lady."

Tejas leaned forward. "They should."

The emissary blinked, momentarily thrown.

"I'm not trying to make people comfortable," Tejas continued. "I'm trying to make them awake. If the markets suffer for a season, so be it. It's better than generations suffering for gold."

The emissary recovered quickly, lips curling. "Still, Lady Verane offers a path of… diplomacy. She invites you to a gathering in three days' time. At Castle Veywood, her ancestral vineyard stronghold."

Tejas met Caelis's glance. The knight gave the faintest nod. A trap? Maybe. A test? Certainly.

"I'll attend," Tejas said. "And tell her to prepare her finest wine. I have a thirst for dangerous conversations."

Three days later, Tejas and Caelis rode through velvet vineyards under a burning dusk sky.

Castle Veywood was breathtaking—walls of living ivy, battlements wrapped in silk banners, musicians playing on upper balconies. But it was the people that mattered. Lords and ladies, advisors, merchants, and spies disguised as jesters all moved in controlled elegance, murmuring rumors and sipping vintage wine.

Rayen Langford had become a mystery. And mysteries attracted predators.

Tejas wore simpler clothing tonight—fitted and elegant but not boastful. A diplomat's armor. At his side, Caelis wore only a short ceremonial blade, hidden in the fold of his tunic. Weapons were "discouraged," but everyone had one.

Lady Celina Verane made her entrance an hour after Tejas.

She descended the marble stairs like a flame—a tall woman in her forties, statuesque, wrapped in violet silk and black lace. Her hair was silver-white, her eyes sharp and lined with experience. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"You wear reform like perfume," she said as she approached. "Loud enough to turn heads. Dangerous enough to choke a room."

Tejas bowed slightly. "And you wear power like velvet. Thick, beautiful… and very difficult to remove."

A spark flickered in her eyes.

"Well played," she said. "Walk with me."

They strolled into the vineyard garden, away from the crowd, flanked only by two silent guards on either side.

"You've disrupted a balance, Rayen," she said softly. "The nobles liked you better when you drank, dueled, and taxed your peasants half to death."

"I don't need their approval," Tejas replied. "I need their attention."

Celina tilted her head. "You have it. Now what?"

"Change," he said. "Real change. Trade built on equality. Defense built on loyalty, not fear. Education. Law. Rights."

"Dangerous words," she said.

"Truths," he corrected.

They stopped at a stone table laid with fruit and wine. She poured them each a glass, her hands deliberate and elegant.

"You want to dismantle a system that made men like me and you rich," she said, sipping.

"I didn't build this world," he said. "But I can rebuild it."

Celina studied him. Then, quietly, "Where are you really from?"

Tejas froze.

She leaned in, her voice silk. "You think I don't notice? The change in your posture. The way you write your letters. The way you speak to guards like they matter. You are not Rayen Langford. Not the one we buried in wine and violence."

Tejas held her gaze. "Then what am I?"

"A foreigner. Maybe a prophet. Maybe a ghost. But one thing is clear—you're dangerous."

Tejas sipped his wine. "And yet you invited me."

Celina smirked. "Because if you're real… I want to see what happens next."

She turned and walked away into the garden shadows, leaving Tejas alone.

And for the first time since arriving in this world…Tejas Kamble wondered if someone else knew he didn't belong here.

Tejas remained seated in the moonlit vineyard for several minutes after Lady Celina departed, his mind spinning not from the wine, but from the implications of her words.

She knew.

Or at least, she suspected.

He had trained for high-stakes diplomacy in volatile regions, but nothing had prepared him for a noblewoman in a wine-colored gown to peer through him like a blade of glass and ask, "Where are you really from?"

And she wasn't just a threat. She was interested.

"You look tense," Caelis said, emerging from the hedges behind him like a loyal shadow. He poured himself a cup of wine from the decanter Celina had left behind.

"She knows," Tejas said. "Or at least, she senses I'm not the Rayen she remembers."

Caelis didn't react. "She always was sharper than most of the court buffoons. She's testing you. And if she can't use you, she'll cut you down."

Tejas gave a dry smile. "Comforting."

They left the gardens soon after and re-entered the grand hall. The gathering had morphed into a theatrical affair: dancers twirled, nobles laughed too loudly, and musicians played complex tunes meant to impress more than entertain.

But as Tejas scanned the room, he noticed something else.

Whispers followed him. Not mockery, not yet. Not fear either. It was something harder to define—calculated curiosity. He was a disruption, and disruptions were either eliminated or absorbed.

A young noble approached him—no older than twenty—with golden hair and perfect posture.

"Lord Langford," the boy said with a courtly smile. "You're quite the tale these days. May I ask... how do you plan to fund your crusade against the slavers?"

Tejas answered without hesitation. "By replacing tribute with cooperation. Villages will trade what they produce. Taxation will be flexible. Roads will be protected, not by bandits or private muscle, but by trained local forces. That saves money and earns loyalty."

The young man blinked, visibly thrown.

"And if that fails?" he asked.

Tejas sipped his wine. "Then I negotiate harder."

As he turned away, he caught Caelis's grin. "That's going to be your legacy, you know."

"What is?"

"Negotiating harder."

Later that night, as the feast gave way to drunken music and scandalous dancing, Tejas was led to guest chambers within Castle Veywood.

They were grand—too grand. Silk sheets, velvet drapes, a decanter of wine older than the duchy itself.

A trap disguised as luxury.

Caelis did a sweep of the room before Tejas entered, then double-checked the lock.

"No guards posted outside," he said. "Strange."

"Because she wants it to feel like a choice," Tejas replied, walking to the window. The vineyards stretched far into the dark hills, lit by torchlight and moon. Somewhere out there were people still in chains. Still running. Still broken.

Tejas removed his robe and sat at the edge of the bed, lost in thought.

"What if I'm wrong, Caelis?" he asked quietly. "What if I try to bring justice here… and it breaks the people more than it saves them?"

Caelis leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Then you fall. But you fall forward."

Tejas nodded slowly. "When I joined the Indian Foreign Service, I thought I'd be solving the world's problems with handshakes and policy. I never imagined I'd be building a kingdom from inside the body of a dead noble."

"You're not dead," Caelis said.

Tejas raised an eyebrow.

"You're reborn," the knight added. "And unlike most nobles, you remember pain. That makes all the difference."

A knock came at the door.

Both men tensed.

"Who is it?" Caelis barked.

No reply.

He drew his sword.

Tejas stepped back, gripping the dagger beneath his cloak. It was ceremonial, but it would stab just the same.

The door creaked open.

A young servant girl entered—no more than fourteen, shaking. She held a scroll sealed in wax.

She handed it silently to Tejas, bowed, and scurried away.

He broke the seal. The note was written in flowing cursive.

"If you're truly the man you pretend to be, meet me in the east wing greenhouse. Alone. — C."

Tejas stared at it. Then handed it to Caelis.

"Thoughts?" he asked.

Caelis grimaced. "Classic bait. Could be a trap. Or a test. Or both."

"Still," Tejas said, standing. "We didn't come here to play safe."

He looked down at the ceremonial dagger.

Caelis reached behind his cloak and handed him a real blade. "Take this instead."

Tejas nodded. "If I'm not back in an hour…"

"I'll come find your body," Caelis said dryly.

The greenhouse was a surreal place of color and scent.

Dozens of glass lanterns floated mid-air, glowing with soft green-blue light. Vines hung from the ceiling. Flowers bloomed unnaturally—even roses with black petals and gold veins.

Lady Celina stood near a bubbling fountain, holding a glass of crimson wine. She did not look surprised to see him.

"I wanted to see if you'd come alone," she said.

"I did."

She motioned him forward. "This used to be my father's sanctuary. He said plants were more honest than people."

Tejas walked slowly, eyes scanning for blades, guards, or sorcery. Nothing.

"I wanted to ask you something without the ears of sycophants," she said. "Tell me truly: are you trying to reform this world because it's your destiny… or because you're punishing yourself for something?"

Tejas met her gaze. "Does it matter?"

Celina took a sip of wine. "Only if I'm deciding whether to help you… or destroy you."

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Tejas said, "I'm not here to be a messiah. I'm here because I couldn't stand idly by in my own world. I won't do it here either."

She studied him for a long time, then nodded once.

"You'll receive an official invitation to the Spring Conclave," she said. "It's where lords gather, whisper behind fans, and stab each other with words."

"I've been to UN General Assemblies," Tejas said. "This should be familiar."

Celina chuckled, but her voice was serious again. "If you mean to stand against the slavers and the old nobility, you'll need allies. Real ones. You'll need to learn who's waiting for you to fall."

She turned and began to walk away.

"Lady Celina," Tejas called.

She looked over her shoulder.

"Why are you helping me?"

A pause.

Then, softly, "Because if you're real… I don't want to be the last one still pretending."

And with that, she disappeared into the green.

The following morning, the sun was pale, cloaked behind a veil of cloud that cast a strange stillness over the castle. Tejas stood in the main courtyard of Castle Veywood, surrounded by silence. The festival-like mood of the previous night had dissipated, leaving only a noble chill in the air.

Lady Celina Verane's message echoed in his mind:

"You'll need allies. Real ones."

The Spring Conclave. A gathering of lords, landholders, guildmasters, and warlords who together held more sway than even the High King's proclamations. It was, in many ways, this world's closest thing to a diplomatic summit. And now, Tejas would be walking into it with a target on his back and a cause that threatened to upend centuries of power.

Caelis approached with a parchment scroll. "The official invitation arrived. Wax seal. Embossed with the sigil of the Royal Council."

Tejas took the scroll. The weight of it was more than just paper—it was a declaration of political war.

"Location?" he asked.

"Velmora. Capital of the Heartlands. Two weeks from now."

Tejas nodded, unrolling the scroll. The wording was formal, steeped in noble etiquette, yet even within the polished language, there was an undertone of hostility.

"Lord Rayen Langford is invited to present his vision of reform, should he survive the weight of tradition."

That wasn't an invitation.

It was a warning.

That afternoon, before departing from Castle Veywood, Tejas stood once more with Lady Celina in the main garden. A pair of her personal guards stood by the marble archway, silent and hooded.

"Do you trust them?" Tejas asked quietly.

Celina smirked. "No. That's why they're still useful."

He handed her a sealed letter. "This outlines a trade structure for the border villages. Carthwall has grain. The Eastvine towns have stone and ore. Connect them, and we have more than a movement—we have an economy."

Celina took it, eyebrows raised. "You're moving fast."

"I don't have the luxury of slow," Tejas replied. "And neither do the people chained to the dirt."

She regarded him for a long moment. "Rayen—if you walk into Velmora unprepared, they'll eat you alive. No warlord wants to be lectured by a noble who believes peasants deserve dignity."

"Then I won't lecture," Tejas said. "I'll negotiate."

"And if they draw swords?"

"Then I'll remind them I carry more than words."

She chuckled. "What are you really trying to build?"

He answered without hesitation.

"A world where people don't survive in fear. A world that lasts beyond me."

Celina gave a rare, quiet nod. "Then let's make sure you live long enough to see it."

The ride back to Langford was quieter than the journey out. The wind carried the scent of distant firewood and wild grass. Tejas rode ahead of the convoy this time, his mind spinning with strategy.

Caelis pulled up beside him, the clop of his steed falling into rhythm.

"So," the knight asked, "you're really going to this conclave?"

"I have to," Tejas said. "If we stay silent, they define us. If we show up weak, they crush us. But if we arrive with control, stability, and allies…"

"We make them second guess."

"Exactly."

Caelis rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "We should increase the guard. That many lords in one place means that many blades in the dark."

"I don't need a legion," Tejas said. "Just the right ones."

He looked ahead, eyes set on the distant hills.

"We choose who walks beside us now, Caelis. Not who's strongest—but who has the most to gain from a world that doesn't kneel to chains."

As they neared Langford, a horn sounded from the southern watchtower.

Trouble.

The gates opened quickly. Captain Elyra, Langford's newly appointed militia leader, met them at the drawbridge.

"My lord," she said, saluting, "we received a message from the East Glade village. Three families taken. A slaver party passed through at dawn. They had no banners, but the villagers saw the same black serpent tattoos as before."

Tejas's jaw tightened. "The Black Chain again?"

Elyra nodded grimly.

Tejas turned to Caelis. "Prep a scouting party. I want eyes on them by nightfall."

Caelis didn't argue. "And when we find them?"

"We do what they never expect," Tejas said. "We rescue them."

That night, a full moon rose over Langford as Tejas stood over a war map in the strategy room, lines drawn with ink and urgency.

There would be no more silence. The slavers had tested him. Now, he would respond—not with vengeance, but with law. He would not just rescue the captives.

He would make it impossible to take them again.

Not with armies. Not yet.

But with diplomacy, disruption, and daring.

And if necessary—steel.

The scouting party rode under the cloak of night.

Tejas had chosen ten riders—half militia, half local hunters who knew the lay of the eastern valleys better than any map. At their front was Caelis, grim-faced and focused, leading the mission personally. Tejas remained behind—not because he wished to—but because his strength lay elsewhere, and he knew it.

Instead, he worked through the night inside Langford Keep, drafting the first formal charter of law the region had ever known.

"Slavery is forbidden.""No soul shall be bought, sold, or inherited.""A noble has duty, not dominion."

He penned every word with the weight of a thousand unseen eyes watching. Generations would either tear these pages apart or build their lives around them.

When dawn came, he was still writing.

By midmorning, Caelis returned—with blood on his blade and fire in his voice.

"We found them."

Tejas stood instantly. "And the villagers?"

"Alive," Caelis said. "Shaken, but whole. We attacked at moonrise. Took out their lookout, drew them into the river pass. They expected brute force. They didn't expect strategy."

Tejas exhaled, relief flooding him.

Caelis continued. "We left two alive. Slavers. Chained. They're in the dungeon now."

Tejas nodded. "I want to speak to them. Personally."

Caelis's eyebrows lifted. "You want to parley with men who traded children for silver?"

"I want to understand them. Their routes. Their buyers. Their leaders. This isn't about vengeance—it's about dismantling the system."

The dungeon was damp and cruel—an unfortunate relic of the old Langford line. It had seen too many innocents in its day.

But today, the right men sat behind bars.

The two slavers looked up as Tejas entered. One sneered. The other, younger and rattled, simply lowered his gaze.

Tejas stepped close, his voice steady. "You're not going to be tortured."

The older man spat. "A soft noble? No wonder you burn records and free beggars. You'll fall in a week."

"I'm not here to fall," Tejas said. "I'm here to change the rules."

He nodded to Caelis, who stepped forward, keys in hand.

"I'm offering one of you a deal," Tejas continued. "Tell me who commands your routes. Who funds you. Who protects you. And you will walk out of here with your life—and your tongue intact."

The older man laughed again. "We answer to no crown. You think this ends with us?"

The younger one finally spoke, voice breaking. "There's a ledger. In Red Hollow. Hidden under the old tannery floorboards. Names. Routes. Everything."

The older man's face twisted in rage. "Traitor!"

Caelis moved faster than either man could blink. He slammed the cell door shut and struck the bars with the hilt of his sword.

Tejas stepped back. "That will do."

The next day, a fast rider was dispatched to Red Hollow.

The next week, the ledger arrived.

It was worse than Tejas imagined.

Dozens of noble houses. Merchants. Dockmasters. Even clergy. All secretly backing the Black Chain. Funding. Transporting. Offering "legal coverage."

This wasn't just a criminal problem. This was systemic rot, buried under wine and titles.

He sat in his chamber, reading by candlelight, his jaw clenched.

"We can't expose them all," Caelis said. "Not without proof in their courts."

"No," Tejas replied. "But we can expose one. Publicly. Visibly."

Caelis raised an eyebrow. "Make an example?"

"Exactly."

He tapped the page. "This one. Baron Darun Krell. Mid-tier noble. Large estate. Ships. Three confirmed transactions."

"You want to bring him down?"

"I want to drag him into the light."

Two days later, Baron Krell stood in Langford's town square, chained and furious, while hundreds of villagers watched.

"I am a lord of the realm!" Krell shouted. "You have no authority—!"

"I have the truth," Tejas said, holding the ledger high. "Signed, sealed, and notarized in your own hand."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Krell's face turned red with fury. "You will hang for this, Langford!"

"No," Tejas said. "But you might."

He turned to the villagers. "This is not revenge. This is justice. And it is only the beginning."

With a signal, Krell was taken away. Not to be killed. But to be tried, openly, before a people's tribunal—the first in Langford history.

That night, as torches lit the roads and bells rang from the chapel towers, Tejas stood again at the observatory window.

He wasn't just a diplomat anymore.

He was a symbol.

And symbols came with enemies.

Already, word had spread to the surrounding kingdoms. Whispers in the capital called him The False Rayen, The Chained Flame, The King Without a Crown.

And across a distant ocean, in the deepest sanctums of the Black Chain's stronghold, a man dressed in pure white—his face covered in a silver mask—placed a blood-marked coin on a table.

"Kill him," the masked man said.

"He threatens the balance."

But Tejas Kamble was no longer a man hiding behind foreign policy or layered speeches.

He was building something real.

A revolution born not of war—

—but of diplomacy sharpened into steel.