The slave market did not open quietly.
It had exploded.
The moment the first fireworks of the Winter Ball faded into the night sky, the east wing of the Crown Prince's palace descended into pure pandemonium.
Gerffron's rescue had been a single spark.
The distraction he created — the alarms, the pulled guards, the broken tunnel grate, the sudden disappearance of the "phantom prince" — had lit the fuse. The guards who should have been watching the holding cells were redirected to hunt the escaped consort. The servants who normally patrolled the lower levels were called upstairs to maintain the illusion of order during the ball. The auction hall, meant to be the most secure part of the palace, was suddenly understaffed and overconfident.
And the slaves had noticed.
Dozens of them — men, women, and a few terrified youths who had been bought and booked by the highest nobles in the empire — realized the impossible had happened. The rare blood 'prince' was gone. The chains were loose. The doors were unguarded.
The first escape began in the holding pens behind the stage.
A tall woman from the southern provinces, still wearing the sheer silver gauze she had been paraded in earlier, had noticed the outer gate left ajar by a distracted guard. She had whispered to the man beside her. He had passed the word. Within minutes, twenty slaves had slipped through the gap and vanished into the service corridors.
Then the panic had spread like wildfire.
Alarms that had been ringing for Gerffron were now ignored as more and more slaves broke free. Some used broken chains as weapons. Others simply ran. The guards who had returned from the manhunt found chaos — empty cells, broken locks, blood on the floor where desperate hands had torn at iron.
By the time the ball had officially ended and the nobles began drifting toward the private auction hall for their "purchases," more than two-thirds of the slaves had escaped into the night.
The screams had started at midnight.
Lord Vesperin, the man who had paid twenty thousand crowns for Styrmir, stormed into the auction antechamber with his face purple with rage.
"Where is my property?!" he had bellowed. "The rare blood 'prince'! I paid in full! I want him now!"
The auctioneer, a nervous man in black silk, had stammered. "My lord… there has been… an incident."
"Incident?" Vesperin roared. "I want my slave!"
Other nobles had poured in behind him — a baroness who had bought the silver-haired girl, a count who had claimed three young men for his private collection, a duchess who had paid a fortune for a pair of twins.
All of them found empty pens.
All of them found chaos.
The news had spread like poison through the palace corridors.
"The slaves are gone!"
"Most of them escaped during the fireworks!"
"The consort freed the prince and the rest followed!"
Teivel Scougall had stood in the center of the storm, face white with fury.
He had planned this night for months. The slave market was meant to be his masterpiece — a private fortune to fund his coup, a display of power that would bind the nobility to him through debt and desire. Instead, it had become a catastrophe.
Nobles had surrounded him in the throne antechamber, voices rising in outrage.
"My lord, I paid twelve thousand crowns!"
"I demand my money back!"
"This is fraud!"
Teivel had raised his hands, but the room was too loud. His loyal followers tried to calm the crowd, but the damage was done. These were not minor nobles. These were powerful men and women who had come expecting to own living trophies.
And now their trophies were running free through the snow-covered forests.
In the middle of the shouting, Gorgina Wadee arrived.
She had walked into the antechamber like a blade of ice — cape swirling, face a mask of cold control. Every eye turned to her.
Teivel's voice cut through the noise. "Duke Wadee. Your consort is responsible for this disaster. He freed the phantom prince and triggered the rest of the escapes. Explain yourself."
Gorgina stopped in the center of the room. Her golden-amber eyes were flat, emotionless.
"My former consort," she corrected, voice ringing clear and cold. "Gerffron Wadee is no longer my husband. He is a traitor who acted alone. I did not know any of his plans. I denounce him completely."
A stunned silence fell.
Then the shouting resumed, louder than before.
"You expect us to believe that?" Lord Vesperin snarled. "Your husband knew the exact location of the cells! Only you and the Crown Prince's inner circle knew!"
Gorgina had turned her head slowly and fixed the man with a stare that could freeze blood.
"I am not responsible for the actions of a traitor I disowned the moment I learned of his crime. If you wish to demand refunds, demand them from the man who failed to secure his own market. Not from me."
Teivel's face twisted in barely contained rage.
He stepped forward until he stood directly in front of her.
"Your loyalty is in question, Duke Wadee," he said softly, voice dangerous. "The location of the slaves was known only to a handful of people. Your husband knew it. You knew it. And now the market is in ruins. Guests are demanding their money back — thousands upon thousands of crowns. My reputation is bleeding. And you stand here claiming ignorance?"
Gorgina met his eyes without flinching.
"My loyalty has never wavered, Your Highness. I have served you faithfully. If my former husband used my household to commit treason, that is his crime — not mine. Punish him. Not me."
The room erupted again.
Nobles shouted demands for refunds. Some demanded Gerffron's head. Others demanded compensation from the Crown Prince himself.
Teivel had raised his hand for silence, but the damage was done.
The slave market — his grand vision — had collapsed in a single night.
Hundreds of thousands of crowns in expected revenue had vanished into the snow with the escaped slaves.
And the man responsible was currently chained in the dungeons beneath the east wing.
Teivel had turned to Gorgina one last time.
"You will remain under observation," he said coldly. "If I find even a single thread connecting you to this disaster, I will strip you of your duchy and your life. Stay put until and unless I contact you. Do you understand?"
Gorgina bowed — shallow, perfect, emotionless.
"As you command, Your Highness."
She turned and walked out of the antechamber with her head high.
The moment she was alone in the corridor, her hands clenched into fists so tight her nails drew blood.
Gerffron.
The name burned in her mind like acid.
He had destroyed everything.
And she had loved him.
In the dungeons far below, Gerffron hung in his chains, listening to the distant shouts echoing through the stone.
He could hear the chaos.
He could hear the guests screaming for their money.
He could hear the empire beginning to crack.
And for the first time since the rescue, he allowed himself a small, bloody smile.
The chaos he had unleashed was only beginning.
The guests would demand refunds.
Teivel would bleed money and power.
Gorgina would be forced to choose sides.
And somewhere across the border, Styrmir was free.
Gerffron closed his eyes and let the pain in his body fade into the background.
He had paid the price.
Now the empire would pay its own.