Two weeks ago – Luminelle
It was night inside a grand but dimly lit study in the old Rousseau manor. The walls were lined with maps of oceans and dusty shelves filled with strange objects from around the world. There was a faint smell of tobacco, leather, and rain drifting in from the open window.
André sat very still in a wooden chair, his back straight, his expression unreadable. In front of him, a man in his early forties was rummaging through drawers like he owned the place. His clothes were worn from travel, his boots caked with dried mud, his hair messy from weeks without proper grooming. This was one of the Rousseau family's hired explorers. The Rousseaus were not just nobility; they were known for funding expeditions to hunt down rare treasures.
The man finally pulled out a small wooden chest, grinning like a child who'd found a sweet. He shoved it toward André.
"Go on, open it," the man said, his voice loud, coarse, and a little impatient.
André unlatched the chest and lifted the lid. Inside was a ring — a thick gold band shaped into a coiled dragon, its tiny emerald eyes glinting in the candlelight.
André frowned. "What is this?"
The explorer scratched his beard. "Treasure we dug up from some godforsaken island. Locals called it cursed or some crap. Supposed to have powers, or so they said. I don't know, maybe it makes your cock grow longer, maybe it makes you rich, who knows. All I know is it's worth over ten thousand gold coins. Easy."
André's voice was cool, almost bored. "Is that so?"
"Yeah," the man nodded, grinning, "His grace will be over the moon to have another shiny trinket for the vault." Then he muttered under his breath, "That's if he's sane enough to notice."
André didn't respond to the insult. He simply closed the lid, reached into his coat, and handed over a small pouch of gold coins. "Your pay." He stood to leave.
But the man stepped in his way, his breath reeking of rum. He leaned close, tapping André on the shoulder as if they were old drinking buddies. "You're a loyal bastard, I'll give you that. Been working for him a long time, huh?"
André's dark eyes stayed fixed on him. "Yes."
The man smirked. "Then you should know… the duke is not right in the head. And he's sitting on a mountain of treasure worth millions. Now, since you're the one running everything for him, why don't we work together? You and me. We skim a little, sell a little. We'll be swimming in gold before the year's out."
André slowly closed the box again. His voice stayed light, almost amused. "Really."
"Yes, boy," the man said, slapping his back like a drinking mate. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it. This life? We could drink in the best taverns, fuck the best women, never answer to anyone again."
André sighed and tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm. I'm not sure. Sounds dangerous. I don't know."
The man grabbed his sleeve. "What's there to know? Come on, let's talk it over with a drink. There's a bar close by. They've got the best whiskey you'll ever taste."
André gave a short chuckle, pretending interest, but inside he was quietly entertained by the man's stupidity. Imagine telling me to rob myself, he thought. And the fool even thinks he's clever.
---
The bar
The place was noisy, smoky, and smelled of sweat, beer, and roasted meat. They took a table in the corner. The explorer had already thrown back two glasses before André had even finished his first.
"Think about it, boy," the man said, already swaying slightly. "We could live like kings. No more licking boots for some half-mad rich boy. You've seen him. Stares at his treasures like they're his bloody children. Doesn't even know what half of them do."
André stirred the drink in his glass, watching the liquid catch the lamplight. "You talk too much when you drink."
"Ha!" The man slapped the table. "That's when the truth comes out, my friend. You ever fought pirates? I have. You ever eaten raw snake to stay alive? I have. And I'm telling you, the real treasure in life isn't loyalty, it's gold. And women."
André was only half-listening — until someone caught his eye.
A woman had just walked in. She had long, black hair like polished raven feathers and skin pale against the dim, warm glow of the tavern lamps. Her dress was modest enough for public, but something about the way she carried herself made every man glance her way.
Vivienne Moreau.
The explorer followed André's gaze and snorted. "Beautiful, isn't she?"
André's eyes shifted to him. "What?"
"That one," the man said, tilting his head toward her. "A fox, that one. Looks like she's all silk and sweetness, but she's pure sin. There are stories about her. Men end up losing all their gold and their trousers, if you catch my meaning." He snorted into his drink. "Better keep your cock and your coins far away."
André wasn't looking at her beauty. His attention was on her eyes — sharp, calculating. She was scanning the room the way a hawk scans a field, looking for a mouse to snatch.
The man kept talking, but André barely heard him. Vivienne's gaze landed on a nobleman dressed in fine silk and gold buttons. She smiled sweetly at him, a smile that could melt ice, but her eyes… her eyes were weighing his worth in coin.
Then, without warning, she vanished up the stairs. André's brow furrowed.
When he turned back, he saw the barmaid deliver a drink to the wealthy nobleman. The man took one look, grinned, and gulped it down. Then he too rose and headed upstairs.
André shook his head slightly, amused, and took another sip of his drink. The explorer beside him had moved on to telling tales of fighting off three pirates with nothing but a broken bottle.
It wasn't long before Vivienne reappeared. But now a huge man had her by the arm, pressing a sword to her throat. A woman in her fifties stepped forward, calling out sharply, "Vivienne Moreau!"
Even with a blade at her neck, Vivienne looked calm, almost smug.
Then, just like that, the sword was lowered and Vivienne brushed it off as if it had been a family quarrel. A blatant lie.
André watched them leave the room, probably heading for the store. But his curiosity was hooked. What about the nobleman?
He rose, walked upstairs, and found him lying unconscious on the balcony floor. His ring, pocket watch, and cufflinks were gone.
André let out a soft laugh. "Impressive."
---
A week later – Ravelle
The air was crisp as André walked through the corridors of the chateau. He had just finished signing papers for the purchase of a ship and was making his way to the library.
Halfway there, he spotted a maid moving in the wrong direction. Her steps were slow, careful, and her eyes darted around like a thief's.
André followed silently. She headed for the abandoned wing of the chateau, the one nobody used. Just as she opened a door, he caught her wrist.
The face that turned toward him made him blink. Vivienne Moreau.
For a moment, André was thrown. But then Madame Lefevre appeared, smiling politely. "Ah, your grace. This is the new maid."
Vivienne's entire manner shifted in an instant — posture straight, expression mild. But André knew. It was her.
She was here to rob him.
He spent the rest of the day in the library, leaning back in his chair, staring at nothing. How dare she? he thought. Fearless woman.
Finally, he called for his butler, Bernard, a man in his fifties with sharp eyes. "I need you to do something for me."
The next morning, Bernard returned with his report. "Your grace," he said, "I've looked into her. I think we should have her arrested."
"Why?" André asked.
"Because she's dangerous," Bernard replied firmly. "She's known to rob people by any means. Even seduction. According to what I heard she has changed her name multiple times. Two years ago, she robbed a baron. Stole his family heirloom. If she's here, she's after one of your treasures."
André chuckled softly. "You think I should have her arrested?"
"Yes."
He leaned forward. "Well, that's boring. And besides, without evidence, she'll be released by tomorrow."
Bernard frowned. "Then what do you intend to do?"
A slow, dangerous smile spread across André's face. "I'll have fun with her."
Bernard blinked. "Fun?"
"Do you know what a full-fed cat does when it sees a mouse?"
"No."
"It doesn't kill it. It plays with it. Torments it. Watches it squirm until it dies of fear."
Bernard hesitated. "I… don't understand."
André chuckled again, his voice low and calm. "That's exactly what I'm going to do to her. I'll make her lose at her own game. She'll unravel. She'll ruin herself."