The thing about scaling walls is… you eventually have to come down.
I just didn't expect to come down by knightly hands.
"Oi! Intruder!"
Two armored men spotted me clinging to the stone like some half-frozen lizard and hauled me down. My boots barely touched the ground before a blade pressed to my throat.
"State your name and purpose!" one barked.
Now, I've wriggled out of gallows before. I know the rhythm: a pinch of panic, a dash of charm, just enough desperation to make them hesitate. But this time? The panic wasn't an act — not with cold steel ready to part my head from my shoulders.
"Wait, wait, WAIT! Don't gut me yet!" I raised my hands high. "I'm not a thief. Well—technically I am, but not today! Today I'm a man of dignity, a Master Builder of the Empire! I only came to—"
"Silence, swindler!"
Ouch. When your reputation precedes you, it rarely does so politely.
And then I saw her.
Still on the balcony, watching. Unmoved, untouched, like winter sculpted into flesh. Her golden hair caught the light like fire, but her face… gods, her face was colder than midwinter. Beautiful beyond reason, yes, but the kind of beauty that warns you not to touch lest you lose a hand.
If I didn't act now, I'd be tossed out—or carved up. So I did what I do best: gamble.
"Duchess Ebonveil!" I shouted up, my voice cracking in what I hoped sounded pathetic, not ridiculous. "Please—grant me a chance to speak! Just one! If my words fail, I'll let these fine men chop me into very handsome pieces!"
The knights tensed, blades pressing harder.
But then… she looked at me.
Her eyes—blue as the deepest winter—locked with mine. A gaze colder than ice, sharp enough to still my breath. Then, with the barest tilt of her chin, she nodded.
The knights faltered. One of them muttered, "…Escort him."
Escort. Sweet stars, I'd won.
They led me through Ebonveil Keep.
Not like Caelora's marble palaces—no, this was older, prouder. Stone walls that carried centuries in their bones. Arched halls where footsteps echoed like memories. The air itself was hushed, reverent, as if it dared not disturb its mistress. Even I—who could talk through a hanging—lowered my voice. Almost.
Finally, they shoved me into a drawing room.
And there she was.
Seated at a low table, sipping tea as though born of porcelain herself. Black silk draped her figure, swallowing the firelight, making her golden hair blaze all the brighter. Her back was straight, her shoulders proud, her stillness absolute. No curiosity. No annoyance. No warmth. Only that same silence—an icestorm contained in human form.
I cleared my throat, smoothed my tunic, and dipped into my most extravagant bow.
"Your Grace, thank you for sparing this poor fool's neck. Allow me to introduce myself: Cassian Deylinn, Master Builder of the Empire."
No flicker of acknowledgment. She set her teacup down with the softest clink—yet it echoed like a gavel.
So I pressed on.
"I've come to offer an opportunity. A proposition. Ebonveil—jewel of the North, once unmatched in splendor. But now? Neglected. Forgotten. With my designs, my hands, my brilliance, we could restore it to its glory. Towers gleaming, bridges strong, roads unbroken. Trade routes revived, wealth flowing. Imagine—your duchy, brighter than legend! All it needs…" I leaned forward with a grin, "…is me."
I expected awe. Admiration. At the very least, an arched brow.
Instead, she regarded me the way one might regard a smudge on glass.
"You came to swindle me." Her voice—low, calm, precise—cut sharper than the knights' blades.
My grin faltered. "Swindle? No, no. Think of it as… strategic partnership. Mutually beneficial."
"You want coin. You want fame. You want my name to gild your work." Her gaze was glacial. "Do not mistake me for one of your tavern fools. Leave."
That single word froze me more thoroughly than the snows outside.
I tried again. Pleading, charming, weaving every spell my tongue knew. I spoke of rebuilding not just for her, but for the people—the farmers, the merchants, the poor who would thrive under renewed trade. I told myself I was lying for persuasion, but some part of me knew it was truth.
She never wavered. Never cracked. Her silence smothered every word I threw like fire against snow.
At last, the knights seized me, dragging me away like refuse.
I was cursing my luck when a soft voice reached me.
"Wait."
I turned. A maid, small and trembling, hurried forward. She pressed something into my hand: a pouch of coins. And a folded letter.
With shaking fingers, I opened it.
"It is enough to feed them for a week."
The handwriting was elegant. Cold in its precision. Yet the words burned.
My chest tightened. For all her frost, somewhere deep in that ice was a heart. Guarded, wary, too careful to show itself—but there.
I clenched the pouch, looking back at the towering keep.
"Seraphina Evaelith Ebonveil," I whispered, and for once my voice carried no jest. "I'll repay you. Somehow. I swear it."
For the first time in years, I wasn't chasing gold.
I was chasing her.