While Daverion walked along the paths leading toward the palace, another pair of eyes settled on him from the comfort of a nearby carriage.
It was impossible not to notice him.
The carriage was covered in golden ornaments, worked with an excess that bordered on ostentation. Every curve of metal reflected the light as if it wished to announce the wealth of its owner to the world. Inside, wide cushions, fine fabrics, and a table filled with plates turned the space into something closer to a private salon than a means of transport.
There, reclining with evident pleasure, was a fat and opulent man. His body spoke of abundance, his expression of absolute comfort. As he ate without hurry, savoring each bite, his gaze wandered idly until it stopped.
Daverion.
The merchant frowned slightly. Not out of displeasure, but curiosity.
There was something about that young man that did not fit.
It was not his clothes.
It was not his expression.
It was not even the way he walked.
It was the absence of intention.
Daverion walked as if he expected nothing from the world, and as if the world, nonetheless, arranged itself around him.
The merchant stopped chewing.
His attention sharpened when he noticed another detail. The designated leader walked behind Daverion, attentive, watchful, with a posture that did not match his rank. He did not walk ahead. He did not walk beside him. He walked behind.
That was not normal.
The merchant raised a hand.
'Stop the carriage.'
The movement was immediate. The servants obeyed without question.
Something inside him had been triggered, an instinct refined by years of trade, negotiations, and rare opportunities. That young man was not ordinary. And when someone like that appeared, you did not let them pass by.
He had learned a simple rule throughout his life.
When the world leans toward someone, you lean first.
The merchant straightened slightly and spoke aloud, projecting his voice with ease.
'Friend, why don't you come and accompany me for a moment?'
The invitation hung in the air, direct and without detours.
Daverion stopped.
He turned his face just enough to observe the carriage and its occupant. His eyes rested on him with apparent disinterest. For an instant, it was clear he was about to refuse. His posture showed no curiosity, no expectation.
But before he could speak, the merchant smiled broadly and added, almost cheerfully,
'I have desserts, meals, coffee. All kinds of food.'
That was enough.
Daverion's eyes lingered a second longer.
He did not evaluate the wealth.
He did not ask who the man was.
He showed no interest in gold or luxury.
He simply nodded.
'All right.'
He accepted.
The merchant blinked, then smiled with genuine enthusiasm.
Around them, people did not understand what was happening.
First the designated leader.
Now the greatest merchant of the dynasty.
Why did everyone seem eager to approach that young man?
The looks multiplied, filled with confusion, suspicion, and a curiosity no one dared to voice aloud.
In another carriage, different in every sense, someone else observed the scene.
It was red, intense, designed not to display wealth but to provoke desire. Its lines were smooth, elegant, suggestive. Inside, a woman dressed in the same color reclined with effortless grace.
She was beautiful.
Delicate.
And dangerously attractive.
Her presence generated a sensation difficult to ignore, a mixture of curiosity and lust that caught anyone who dared look too long. Her eyes followed Daverion with genuine interest, watching him stop and then climb into the merchant's carriage upon hearing the mention of food.
The woman let out a soft laugh.
'Perhaps I should do the same,' she murmured.
With a lazy gesture, she gave an order.
'Prepare tea.'
Back in the golden carriage, the merchant did not hide his good mood.
'A pleasure. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dorian.'
Daverion looked at him calmly.
'A pleasure. My name is Daverion.'
Dorian's eyes gleamed.
'A great name,' he replied sincerely.
Daverion entered the carriage without ceremony. The designated leader followed immediately, maintaining his respectful and attentive posture.
Dorian inclined his head slightly.
'A pleasure, designated leader. Please, make yourselves comfortable.'
'Thank you, Dorian,' the leader replied as he took his seat.
As he settled in, a thought formed clearly in his mind.
What skill… No wonder he is the greatest merchant of the dynasty.
He had not hesitated.
He had not waited.
He had not wasted time.
Of all those who had witnessed the scene, only Dorian had understood what stood before him.
And only he had possessed the courage, or the intuition, to seize the opportunity.
The carriage set off once more.
As it advanced with a gentle sway, Dorian observed Daverion with measured attention, like someone evaluating a jewel without touching it yet. The invitation had been accepted without questions, without curiosity about his name or the luxury around him, and that, more than any gesture, confirmed he had not been wrong.
'What would you like to eat?'
Daverion barely thought about it.
'A piece of cake with blackberry juice.'
The designated leader took a second longer to respond, as if weighing something invisible.
'A coffee with milk will be fine for me.'
Dorian inclined his head slightly and turned toward the servant waiting by the padded wall of the carriage.
'Go. And do not delay.'
'Yes, sir.'
The servant withdrew with a professional smile, his steps silent on the polished floor.
'Everything I have here is the best,' Dorian said as he adjusted himself in his seat. 'Especially the food. It was prepared by one of the finest chefs in the capital. It cost a fortune, but it is worth it.'
He was not boasting. He was observing. His eyes lingered first on the designated leader, then returned to Daverion, waiting for a reaction that justified every coin spent.
'Something told me I would find a good guest today, someone who knows how to appreciate simple pleasures,' he added. 'Eating well, for example.'
Daverion looked at him. His rounded figure, his satisfied face, the way he spoke of food as if it were an art struck him as strangely pleasant.
Why not enjoy things if one can?
The thought arose effortlessly.
Live in the present. Enjoy without worrying about tomorrow.
Dorian reclined a bit more, as if that idea had given him permission.
'In fact, I think the same. Especially when it comes to food.'
'Your taste for it really shows,' Daverion commented, his gaze traveling over his silhouette without malice.
The leader let out a brief laugh before he could stop himself. Daverion smiled as well. Only the designated leader did not fully relax. Somewhere in his body, he still felt the resonance of that explosion that had shaken the city. It was difficult to reconcile the calm young man before him with the force that had unleashed such destruction.
The carriage swayed again as the servant returned.
'Here is your blackberry juice and cake. And here, the coffee with milk.'
He served with precise movements, spilling not a single drop.
'Thank you.'
Daverion took the glass, tasted the juice, then turned his gaze toward the window. The sun was beginning to descend, dyeing the clouds in orange and gold. A cool wind stirred the leaves of the trees as the carriage passed.
He bit into the cake.
'It's really good.'
He settled more comfortably into his seat and let the scene pass before his eyes.
'Not bad.'
Dorian said nothing. He simply watched him, satisfied that he had chosen well.
'It seems we are about to arrive at the palace,' Daverion said after a moment.
Dorian looked ahead, where the silhouette of the palace began to impose itself.
'Unfortunately.'
Then, as if making a long calculated decision, he added,
'If you need a place to stay or any materials, you can contact me.'
From his spatial ring, he extracted a card and extended it.
'Show it at any of my shops. You will receive the best treatment.'
Daverion took it. He did not need it, but he accepted it.
'Thank you. Leave me here.'
His eyes shifted toward a red carriage advancing not far from them.
'It seems someone wants to approach me.'
Daverion bid Dorian farewell and descended from the carriage. As he did, his eyes immediately fell on an attractive and delicate woman dressed in red, standing by the side of the road, observing some roses.
He approached her with an unhurried step.
As Daverion advanced, the woman continued to look at the flowers, but her body adjusted carefully, almost unconsciously, inclining just enough for her curves to be visible. It was a calculated, practiced gesture, as if she knew exactly how to position herself to be noticed.
Daverion looked at her and felt nothing.
Neither desire.
Nor rejection.
He only noticed how a faint sense of boredom that had accompanied him for a while began to dissipate. Not because of attraction, but because he found the attempt entertaining. The way she sought to draw his attention was, at the very least, curious.
The designated leader, on the other hand, did look at her and thought she was beautiful. The thought lasted only an instant before being suppressed. He did not allow it to continue. The memory of Daverion, of his power and what he had witnessed, was enough to cut off any distraction.
From the nearby red carriage, two young women watched the scene with open curiosity.
'How handsome…'
Daverion heard them and turned his head toward the carriage. As soon as their gazes met, both young women hid behind the curtain at once, stifling nervous laughter.
The woman in red, upon hearing them, startled. A blush climbed up her neck and she raised both hands to her face, covering it in evident embarrassment.
'Why are you covering your face?' Daverion asked.
He stopped beside her and looked at the roses, as if that had been his intention all along.
She lowered her hands slowly and looked at him.
'I was cold… I was warming my face with my hands,' she said confidently.
The excuse was poor.
Too poor.
Daverion thought that made her even more amusing.
That was precisely why he had approached her. From the beginning, she had been entertaining.
'Aren't you going to come closer,' she added, trying to regain the initiative, 'or give me a garment to warm myself?'
Daverion did not respond.
He did not pay attention to the provocation.
'You look different without glasses,' he said suddenly.
Before she could react, surprised that he had recognized her, Daverion took another step forward and raised his hand. His fingers touched her cheek.
Heat spread immediately across her face.
Daverion moved even closer, and as the distance between them vanished, the warmth intensified, enveloping her, leaving her breathless, until their faces were dangerously close.
For an instant, she believed something more was going to happen.
She did not know how to react. She could not move. Her mind went blank.
Daverion looked into her eyes, so close he could feel her breath, and as he caressed her face he said,
'I suppose this is more than enough for you not to feel cold. Look, you're even red from the heat.'
She did not know what to say. Embarrassment flooded her completely. From the moment she had met him, from the moment she had seen him, Daverion had interested her. She wanted to know him more.
Her fingers clenched tightly, digging into the fabric of her dress.
Then Daverion tilted his head and leaned toward her ear, until his voice became nothing more than a whisper against her skin.
'The fourth sovereign is better than the fifth.'
He pulled away with a soft laugh.
He left her there, her face still warm and his words echoing in her mind, knowing that what he had just said would undoubtedly bother her.
Daverion walked away without looking back."