The road to Velmour wound through rolling hills and past farms that stretched to the horizon, each one feeding the great beast of commerce that slumbered at the empire's heart. Vinchen rode at the head of his small company, his dark eyes fixed on the distant spires that grew larger with every passing hour.
Velmour was not beautiful in the way of the Holy Capital. It was beautiful in the way of purpose—every building, every street, every canal designed for the single-minded pursuit of trade. Warehouses lined the outer districts like soldiers standing guard. Merchant caravans clogged the roads leading to its gates. The air itself smelled of spices and silks and the endless movement of gold.
"The center of everything," Elara murmured, riding close to Vinchen's side. "They say you can buy anything here. Anything at all."
"Almost anything," Vinchen corrected softly. "The question is whether we can afford it."
Katherine rode behind them, her hood pulled low, her amber eyes scanning the walls with professional assessment. Lyra brought up the rear, her golden eyes fixed on the city's ancient architecture with an intensity that Vinchen noted but did not comment on.
They passed through the outer gates without incident—just another group of travelers seeking the city's bounty. But Vinchen knew they wouldn't remain unnoticed for long. A noble of his rank, traveling with three such striking companions... someone would take interest.
He was right.
They had barely found lodging at a respectable inn when the messenger arrived.
THE COUNT'S INVITATION
The messenger wore the livery of House Vance—deep blue trimmed with silver, the colors of Velmour's ruling family. He was young, well-spoken, and clearly accustomed to delivering important messages.
"Lord Vinchen Ashford," he said, bowing precisely. "Count Aldric Vance requests the honor of your presence at his palace. He understands you've only just arrived, but he hopes you'll allow him to extend the hospitality of Velmour during your stay."
Vinchen accepted the sealed letter, broke the wax, and read quickly. The Count's words were warm, diplomatic, carefully crafted to offer welcome without demanding obligation.
"Tell the Count I'm honored by his invitation," Vinchen replied. "My companions and I would be pleased to accept his hospitality."
The messenger bowed again and departed.
Elara raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."
"Velmour runs on information," Katherine said quietly. "The Count likely knew we were coming before we left the Holy Capital."
"Then he's either very interested or very worried." Vinchen tucked the letter away. "Either way, we'll learn more inside his walls than out here."
THE COUNT'S PALACE
Count Aldric Vance was not what Vinchen expected.
At fifty-three, he was a man who had clearly spent more time behind a desk than on a training ground. His body spoke of comfort, not combat—soft hands, a slight paunch, the careful movements of someone who had never needed to fight for his life. But his eyes... his eyes were sharp. Calculating. The eyes of a man who had built an empire of trade through sheer force of will.
He met them at the palace gates himself—an unusual honor that told Vinchen exactly how interested the Count was.
"Lord Vinchen!" The Count's voice boomed with practiced warmth. "Welcome, welcome! I've heard so much about you."
Vinchen dismounted and offered a formal bow. "You honor me, Count Vance. I hope my reputation precedes me in a positive light."
"Reputation?" The Count laughed, clasping Vinchen's shoulder like an old friend. "My boy, when a Duke's son appears at my doorstep with three such striking companions, reputation is merely the beginning." His eyes flickered to Elara, Katherine, and Lyra—assessing, appreciating, but never lingering too long. A diplomat's gaze. "Come inside. Rest. Eat. We'll talk business when you're ready."
The palace was a masterpiece of comfortable wealth. Not the cold, imposing grandeur of Ironhold, but something warmer—rich tapestries, soft carpets, furniture designed for hours of conversation rather than displays of power. Servants moved through its corridors with quiet efficiency, anticipating needs before they were spoken.
Vinchen was given a suite of rooms that could have housed a small army. Elara and Katherine took adjoining chambers. Lyra, as always, chose a room with a window overlooking the city's ancient quarter.
That evening, they dined with the Count in his private hall.
The meal was exquisite—courses of delicacies from across the empire, each paired with wines that would have cost a fortune anywhere else. The Count spoke of Velmour's history, its trade routes, its challenges. Vinchen listened, asked thoughtful questions, revealed nothing.
Finally, as the last plates were cleared, the Count leaned back and fixed Vinchen with those sharp, calculating eyes.
"Let's talk business, shall we?"
Vinchen nodded. "I assumed we would."
"I'll be direct." The Count folded his hands on the table. "You're a Duke's son. You have connections I can only dream of. I have a city that controls more trade than any other in the empire. Together, we could be... mutually beneficial."
"What did you have in mind?"
The Count leaned forward. "The Desert Duchy. Scorchwind. I've been trying to open a trade route with them for years, but the Matriarch—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "She has certain... impressions of my operations. Impressions that aren't entirely accurate."
Vinchen's expression remained neutral. "You want me to speak with her."
"I want you to try." The Count spread his hands. "That's all I ask. If she refuses, she refuses. But if you could open even a small channel—a trial agreement—it would benefit both our houses enormously."
"And what do I get in return?"
"Access." The Count's eyes gleamed. "Full access to Velmour's merchant networks. Preferential rates. Information from every trade route in the empire. Whatever you need to move, wherever you need to move it, my city will make it happen."
Vinchen considered. The offer was generous—more than generous. But he knew better than to accept without understanding all the angles.
"The Matriarch of Scorchwind," he said slowly. "I've heard she's... difficult."
The Count laughed. "Difficult is an understatement. She once threw my ambassador out a window. Fortunately, it was ground floor." He shook his head. "But she's fair. If you approach her honestly, without the stench of corruption, she'll listen. The problem is, every merchant who reaches her stinks of corruption because that's what merchants do."
"And you're different?"
"I'm a pragmatist." The Count's smile was rueful. "I do what I must to keep this city running. Sometimes that means... creative arrangements. But the trade with Scorchwind would be clean. Legitimate. Mutually profitable. I'd have no reason to taint it."
Vinchen was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"I'll speak with her when I reach Scorchwind. I make no promises of success."
The Count's face lit with genuine pleasure. "That's all I ask. Truly. Whatever happens, you'll always have a friend in Velmour."
They toasted to the arrangement, and the conversation turned to lighter matters. But Vinchen's mind was already working, calculating, planning.
One ally secured, he thought. Now for the others.
THE PROBLEM OF GOLD
The next morning, Vinchen sat in his suite, staring at a ledger that told an uncomfortable truth.
His funds were running low.
The journey had been longer than expected. The expenses had been higher. And they still had months of travel ahead—visits to three more duchies, countless smaller territories, gods knew what else.
"We need gold," he said quietly.
Elara, lounging on a nearby divan, sat up. "How much?"
"Enough to continue. Enough to operate without worrying about every copper." He closed the ledger. "I didn't expect to need resources this quickly."
Katherine, standing by the window, spoke without turning. "The Count would advance you funds. He's clearly eager to stay in your favor."
"I don't want to owe him that kind of debt." Vinchen shook his head. "Debts to merchants compound faster than interest. I need something of my own."
His dark eyes grew distant for a moment, calculating. Then he rose and moved to the writing desk in the corner of his suite.
"I have an idea."
For the next two days, Vinchen wrote.
He wrote through the mornings, when his mind was sharpest. He wrote through the afternoons, ignoring the bustle of the palace around him. He wrote late into the nights, by candlelight, while Elara slept curled at the foot of his bed and Katherine stood guard beyond the door.
The book was simple in concept but revolutionary in execution.
He called it "The Foundation of Nations: A Primer on Empire, Governance, and the Systems That Bind Us."
It contained everything a common person needed to understand how the empire worked—the structure of governance, the function of mana hearts, the rights and responsibilities of citizens, the basics of law and commerce and diplomacy. Information that nobles took for granted but that most people never had access to.
Vinchen wrote it in clear, accessible language. He organized it into chapters. He included diagrams and examples and practical advice. And he signed it with a name that no one would connect to him:
Valerius
On the morning of the fourth day, he summoned Elara.
"I need a merchant," he said. "Someone who deals in books. Reputable enough to be trusted, but hungry enough to take a chance on something new."
Elara's golden eyes sparkled with curiosity. "You wrote a book?"
"A book that's going to make us very rich." He tucked the manuscript under his arm. "Take me to someone who can make that happen."
THE BOOK MERCHANT
Garris of Velmour was exactly the kind of merchant Vinchen needed.
His shop sat on a respectable street—not the grand avenue of the city's wealthiest traders, but close enough to attract serious clientele. The windows were clean, the displays tasteful, and the man himself had the sharp eyes and quick smile of someone who had built his business through equal parts intelligence and charm.
He looked up as Vinchen entered, taking in the fine clothes, the calm confidence, the three women who waited outside. His smile widened.
"A nobleman who reads. Always a pleasure." He gestured to a chair. "Sit, sit. How can Garris serve you today?"
Vinchen placed the manuscript on the counter.
Garris's eyes dropped to it, then rose to Vinchen's face. "A book?"
"A book that's going to make us both very wealthy."
Garris picked it up, flipping through the first few pages. His expression shifted as he read—from polite interest to genuine curiosity to something approaching awe.
"This is..." He looked up, his eyes wide. "My Lord, do you understand what you've written?"
"A primer," Vinchen said calmly. "Basic information that should be available to everyone."
"Basic information that no one has ever compiled before." Garris waved the pages. "Every merchant, every minor noble, every commoner with ambition will want this. Every school will need this. Every—" He stopped, took a breath. "Forgive me. I'm getting ahead of myself."
"You want to publish it."
"I want to print it." Garris leaned forward. "I'll handle everything—the printing, the distribution, the sales. You'll receive sixty percent of all profits, and I'll take forty for my trouble. That's more than fair."
Vinchen considered for a moment. "Fifty-five forty-five, and you keep my identity secret. The author is Valerius. No one knows that's me."
Garris's eyes gleamed with understanding. "A pen name. Clever. Very clever." He extended his hand. "Done. I'll have the first batch printed within a week."
They shook hands, and Vinchen left the shop with the satisfying knowledge that his first venture into commerce was already bearing fruit.
THE SHADOW MARKET
That same afternoon, Elara approached Vinchen with a look he had learned to recognize—the expression of someone about to suggest something dangerous.
"There's another place we could go," she said quietly. "For funds. For connections. For... opportunities."
Vinchen raised an eyebrow. "The Shadow Market?"
"You've heard of it."
"I've heard enough to know it's dangerous."
"Dangerous, yes." Elara smiled. "Profitable, absolutely. And with your skills, my Lord... you could make a fortune in a week."
Katherine, standing nearby, frowned. "The Shadow Market has rules. And the people who run it... they're not like the Count. They don't play by civilized rules."
"No," Vinchen agreed. "They play by older rules. More honest ones, in some ways." He stood. "Take me there, Elara. Let's see what opportunities await."
Beneath Velmour's respectable streets, another city thrived.
The Shadow Market was not a single location but a network—tunnels and cellars and hidden courtyards where those who couldn't trade in the light did business in the dark. Here, a man could buy anything. Information. Weapons. Poisons. People. Secrets that could topple thrones.
And here, a man could sell anything. Skills. Services. Silence.
Elara led Vinchen through passages that seemed to shift and change with every step. Katherine followed, her hand never far from her sword. Lyra brought up the rear, her golden eyes missing nothing, her expression one of faint, ancient amusement.
They emerged into a cavern lit by glowing crystals—a natural space that had been expanded and refined over centuries. Stalls lined the walls, each offering goods that would have earned their owners execution in the city above. And at the center, raised on a platform of black marble, sat a woman who radiated power like a furnace radiates heat.
Her name was Marbella.
She was... magnificent.
Forty-five years old, with skin the color of warm honey and hair the shade of midnight cascading past her shoulders in waves that seemed to move with a life of their own. Her body was lush, generous, curved in ways that made even Elara's teasing figure seem almost modest. She wore a gown of deep crimson silk that left her shoulders bare and plunged dangerously low, revealing the generous swell of her breasts.
But it was her presence that truly commanded attention. Level 8. High Master. Power rolled off her in waves that made Katherine's hand tighten on her sword and even Lyra's eyes narrow slightly.
She looked at Vinchen as he approached, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her full lips.
"Elara," she purred, her voice like honey over gravel. "You've brought me something interesting."
"Marbella." Elara bowed respectfully—more respectfully than Vinchen had ever seen her bow to anyone. "May I present Lord Vinchen Ashford, Fourth Son of House Ashford."
Marbella's dark eyes swept over Vinchen—assessing, appreciating, calculating. They lingered on his shoulders, his chest, the calm confidence in his dark eyes.
"The scholar who became a warrior," she murmured. "I've heard of you. The spy queen speaks highly of you."
Vinchen inclined his head. "Lady Ophelia is too kind."
"Ophelia is never kind." Marbella laughed—a rich, warm sound that echoed through the cavern. "But she is honest. And she told me you were worth meeting." She rose from her throne-like chair and descended the steps, moving with a grace that belied her generous figure. Up close, she was even more striking—her scent a mixture of jasmine and something darker, something that spoke of power and pleasure in equal measure.
Vinchen looked at her. Let his gaze trace the curve of her hip, the swell of her breasts, the elegant line of her throat.
He didn't hide it. He didn't leer. He simply... appreciated.
Marbella noticed. Of course she noticed. She had spent forty-five years learning to read men's eyes. But instead of offense, she felt something else—amusement, perhaps. Or interest.
He looks at me like a man looks at a woman he wants, she thought. But there's no hunger in it. No desperation. Just... acknowledgment. As if he's cataloguing beauty the way he catalogues everything else.
She liked it.
"Come," she said, turning and leading them deeper into her domain. "We have much to discuss."
Her private chamber was opulent—silks and furs and candles that burned with sweet-smelling flames. She settled onto a divan and gestured for Vinchen to sit across from her. Elara, Katherine, and Lyra arranged themselves around the room, present but unobtrusive.
"You need funds," Marbella said without preamble. "I need allies. Ophelia suggested we might help each other."
Vinchen nodded. "What kind of ally do you need?"
"The Count has eyes on me." Her voice was casual, but her dark eyes were sharp. "He doesn't trust the Shadow Market—or rather, he doesn't trust that I won't eventually challenge his authority. He's been... watching. Pressuring. Making things difficult."
"And you want me to stop him."
"I want you to close him." She leaned forward, the movement emphasizing her generous curves. "You're staying in his palace. You have his ear. Tell him that interfering with my operations would displease you. That's all. Just that."
Vinchen considered. "And in return?"
"Partnership." Marbella smiled. "I control more gold than the Count will ever see. I can fund your journey, your training, your army when you need one. I can provide information that even Ophelia's network misses. And I can offer you..." She paused, her eyes flickering down his body and back up. "Pleasures that might interest a young man with such... expansive appetites."
Vinchen didn't react to the last part. "If Ophelia trusts you, I'll trust you. The Count's eyes will close."
Marbella's smile widened. "Just like that?"
"Just like that." He met her gaze steadily. "But I have one condition."
"Name it."
"I want to write a book for you."
She blinked. "A... book?"
"An erotic book." Vinchen's voice was utterly calm. "You control the Shadow Market's publishing, don't you? Underground texts that can't be printed above?"
"I do." She leaned back, studying him with new interest. "You want to write erotica?"
"I want to write something that will sell. That will make money. That will establish a name separate from my own." He shrugged slightly. "I have certain... skills with words. And I've observed enough to have material."
Marbella laughed—a genuine, delighted sound. "You are full of surprises, Vinchen Ashford." She rose and crossed to him, settling onto the arm of his chair, her hip pressing against his shoulder. "Write your book. I'll publish it. We'll split the profits seventy-thirty."
"Sixty-forty."
"Sixty-five thirty-five, and I'll give you a kiss to seal the deal."
Vinchen smiled. "Done."
She leaned down and captured his lips.
The kiss was not brief. It was not tentative. It was a full minute of deep, exploring passion—Marbella's hand tangled in his hair, her body pressed against his shoulder, her lips moving against his with practiced skill. Vinchen responded in kind, his hand finding her waist, pulling her closer.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing slightly harder, Marbella's dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Lord Vinchen."
She glanced at Elara, Katherine, and Lyra—all watching with expressions ranging from amused (Elara) to carefully blank (Katherine) to utterly detached (Lyra).
"Your women don't seem bothered," she observed.
"My women understand me." Vinchen rose, smoothing his tunic. "I'll have the book to you in five days."
"Take six. Make it good." She pressed a card into his hand. "My private entrance. Use it anytime."
Vinchen bowed—respectful, correct—and led his companions out of the Shadow Market.
Behind them, Marbella watched him go, a slow smile curving her lips.
Interesting, she thought. Very interesting.
LYRA'S INTEREST
That night, Vinchen found Lyra on the palace's highest balcony, staring at Velmour's ancient quarter.
The dragon in human form didn't turn as he approached, but he knew she sensed him. She always did.
"The architecture interests you," he said, leaning against the railing beside her.
"It's old." Her golden eyes reflected the moonlight. "Older than this city. Older than the empire. There are stones down there that have stood since before humans learned to write."
Vinchen followed her gaze. "Is there something specific you're looking for?"
A long pause. Then Lyra spoke, her voice softer than usual.
"A bone."
Vinchen's eyebrows rose. "A bone?"
"A dragon bone." She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "From the war. When my kind fell, pieces of us scattered across the continent. Most were collected. Some were lost." She looked back at the ancient quarter. "I sense something there. Faint. Old. It might be nothing. It might be..."
She didn't finish.
"If it's there," Vinchen said quietly, "we'll find it."
Lyra looked at him—really looked at him—and for just a moment, her ancient eyes held something that might have been gratitude.
"You're an unusual human, Vinchen Ashford."
"So I've been told."
They stood in silence, watching the moon trace its path across the ancient stones.
THE SECOND BOOK
The next five days passed in a rhythm Vinchen had come to know well.
Each morning, he visited Count Vance, sharing meals and conversation, carefully building the relationship that would serve them both. Each afternoon, he retreated to his suite and wrote.
The second book was different from the first.
It flowed from a different part of his mind—not the scholar, not the strategist, but something older. Something that had watched Elara's hands move on his body, had felt Ophelia's desperate kisses, had catalogued every curve of every woman who had crossed his path.
He wrote of passion and power. Of surrender and dominance. Of bodies intertwined and souls laid bare. He wrote with clinical precision and poetic abandon, weaving words that would make readers blush and burn and beg for more.
He signed it with another name: Lysander
On the evening of the fifth day, he delivered it to Marbella.
She read the first page in his presence, her dark eyes widening slightly. Then the second. Then the third.
"This," she breathed, looking up at him with new respect, "is going to sell very well."
"Print it," Vinchen said. "Use whatever name you like. Just keep mine out of it."
She rose, crossed to him, and pressed a kiss to his cheek—warm, appreciative, utterly professional.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Lord Vinchen."
"The pleasure is mine."
THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK ARRIVES
That same evening, Vinchen wrote seven letters.
Each contained a single copy of "The Foundation of Nations," along with a brief personal note:
To my family at Ironhold — Knowledge should not be hoarded. This is my gift to you. — Vinchen
To Queen Aelindra of the Elven Queendom — A small token of my gratitude for your hospitality. May it serve your people as they have served me. — Vinchen
To the Holy Mother Elizabeth Valoris — You taught me that light should be shared. Consider this my first attempt at doing so. — Vinchen
To Lady Ophelia — Information is power. Here is power, freely given. — Vinchen
To Elizabeth Solaris of House Solaris — A gift from a future rival. Read it, learn from it, and bring your best next year. — Vinchen
To Caelum Aurelius of House Aurelius — Knowledge before combat. May it serve you. — Vinchen
To Maelis Leviathan of House Leviathan — A small thing from a small man. Use it well. — Vinchen
He sealed each with plain wax—no house sigil, nothing to trace—and dispatched them through separate channels. By morning, they were on their way across the empire.
THE REACTIONS
Ironhold — Miranda and Selene
The letter arrived at Ironhold on a grey afternoon, carried by a merchant who had no idea what he transported. Miranda opened it in her private parlor, Selene reading over her shoulder.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Selene laughed—a low, delighted sound. "He wrote a book."
"He wrote the book." Miranda turned pages slowly, reading passages at random. "This is... Selene, do you understand what this is? This is everything. Everything we take for granted, everything our children learned at their mother's knee—he's given it to everyone."
"The commoners will devour it." Selene's silver eyes gleamed. "The minor nobles will study it. The merchants will use it to climb higher." She looked at Miranda. "He's changing the world, Sister. One book at a time."
"And he signed it Valerius." Miranda smiled—a warm, genuine thing. "He's hiding, but he's also claiming it. His name, transformed. His legacy, begun."
They read together until the candles burned low, and when they finally set the book aside, both women felt something they hadn't expected.
Pride. Genuine, overwhelming pride.
"Our boy," Miranda murmured. "Our little scholar."
"Our Patriarch," Selene corrected softly. "One day."
The Elven Queendom — Queen Aelindra
The book reached Queen Aelindra three days after it left Velmour. She received it in her private chambers, the silver-haired messenger bowing low before retreating.
She read it in a single sitting.
When she finished, she sat in silence for a long moment, the book open on her lap, her ancient eyes distant.
He understands, she thought. He understands that knowledge is the only true power. And he's giving it away.
She remembered his kiss. His promise. The fire in his dark eyes.
Come back soon, Vinchen Ashford, she thought, a smile touching her perfect lips. I'm still waiting.
The Holy Capital — Holy Mother Elizabeth Valoris
Elizabeth Valoris received the book during morning prayers. She set it aside, finished her devotions, and then read it with the same careful attention she gave to every text.
When she finished, she sat in silence for a long moment.
He's dangerous, she thought. Not because of his combat skills. Not because of his connections. Because he thinks differently. Because he sees the world as it could be, not as it is.
She thought of his eyes—dark, calm, utterly unafraid as they looked at her. She thought of his daring, his confidence, his absolute certainty.
I hope I live to see what he becomes.
She set the book on her private shelf, next to the sacred texts she treasured most.
Duskwall — Lady Ophelia
Ophelia received the book in her underground chamber, brought by a trusted courier. She read it with the same sharp attention she gave to everything, her violet eyes moving quickly across the pages.
When she finished, she laughed.
"Clever boy," she murmured. "Very clever."
She thought of their kiss. His promise. The way he had looked at her like she was worth protecting.
You'll go far, Vinchen Ashford, she thought. And I'll be there when you do.
She tucked the book into her private archive, next to the most valuable secrets she possessed.
Scorchwind — Elizabeth Solaris
The book arrived at the Solaris estate on a day of blistering heat. Elizabeth found it among her correspondence, curiosity piqued by the lack of return address.
She read it in the shade of her private courtyard, a servant fanning her against the desert sun.
When she finished, she smiled.
Future rival indeed, she thought. He's not just strong. He's smart. And smart is more dangerous.
She thought of their meeting in the City of Warriors. His calm confidence. The way he had watched her fight, cataloguing every movement.
Next year, Vinchen Ashford. I'll be ready.
Icespire — Caelum Aurelius
Caelum received the book in his tower study, surrounded by the magical texts he spent his days mastering. He read it with the attention of a scholar, noting every detail, every insight.
When he finished, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.
He's not just a warrior, he thought. He's a mind. A dangerous, brilliant mind.
He thought of the way Vinchen had countered his magic with borrowed techniques. The way he had watched, learned, adapted.
Next year will be interesting.
Rainmere — Maelis Leviathan
Maelis received the book during training. She read it between bouts, sweat still drying on her skin, her storm-grey eyes moving slowly across the pages.
When she finished, she set it down carefully.
He gave us this, she thought. His rivals. His future enemies. He gave us knowledge for free.
She thought of their meeting. His calm assessment of her fighting style. The way he had used her own techniques against another opponent.
He's not like other nobles. He's... more.
She tucked the book into her pack and returned to training, her strikes harder than before.
THE LETTER TO THE MATRIARCHS
That night, Katherine sat in her small chamber, quill in hand, composing the report that would fly to Ironhold by morning.
She wrote everything.
The meeting with Count Vance and his offer. Vinchen's agreement to speak with the Matriarch of Scorchwind. The discovery that their funds were running low. Vinchen's decision to write a book—the educational primer he had completed in just two days. His meeting with the merchant Garris and the deal struck. Elara's introduction to the Shadow Market. The meeting with Marbella—Katherine's cheeks burned slightly as she described the kiss, but she forced herself to include every detail. Marbella's request for a second book, an erotic one, which Vinchen had just completed after five days of writing. Lyra's interest in the ancient quarter and the possibility of a dragon bone.
She wrote for three hours, filling page after page with precise, clinical observations.
When she finished, she sealed the letter with wax and sent it via shadow-crow—one of the few remaining from their original stock.
Then she sat back and wondered what the Matriarchs would think.
Ironhold — Three Days Later
Miranda read the letter aloud while Selene listened, her silver eyes gleaming.
"He's made an ally of Count Vance," Miranda read. "He's written a book—an educational primer on governance—in just two days. He's sold it to a merchant named Garris. He's met with a woman named Marbella who controls part of the Shadow Market. She's offered him partnership in exchange for closing the Count's eyes on her operations." She paused, scanning ahead. "He kissed her. To seal the deal. Katherine describes it as 'approximately one minute of passionate engagement.'"
Selene laughed. "Our scholar is becoming quite the renaissance man."
"There's more." Miranda's eyes widened slightly. "Marbella asked him to write an erotic book for her. He agreed. He spent five days writing it and delivered it today."
Selene's eyebrows rose. "An erotic book?"
"Katherine doesn't have details on the content. Just that it exists." Miranda set the letter down. "He's building a network, Sister. A Count. A Shadow Market queen. A spy. An Elven monarch. A Church priestess. And now, two books—one for the masses, one for the shadows."
"One that will make him famous," Selene added. "And one that will make him rich."
They sat in comfortable silence, each lost in thought.
Then Selene spoke. "Do you think he'll succeed?"
Miranda looked at her. "I think he's already succeeded. The rest is just... details."
They toasted to Vinchen Ashford, Fourth Son, rising star, and the most dangerous man they had ever helped create.
End of Chapter 15