vows and venom

The kingdom had begun to prepare for a death no one dared speak aloud.Five states stood under one crown, bound more by fear than loyalty, and at the center of it all sat King Alexander Aurelius shaking, the known virus in his body has no cure and taking the stability of the throne with him. The court whispered of succession, alliances and marriage.For the prince, it meant one thing. A wedding he did not want. Raphael Aurelius walked alone, his bodyguard Marcus trailing four steps behind.Raphael had shed the suffocating layers of the court for a simple charcoal tunic and a weather-worn leather jerkin. He wore a dark, hooded traveler’s cloak made of heavy wool, designed to swallow his silhouette in the shadows of the lower districts. His only luxury was a pair of sturdy, knee high riding boots built for mud and stone, not for ballrooms. He looked less like a prince and more like a man who knew how to disappear, the only hint of his status being the sharp, clean steel of the dagger hidden beneath his coat. In the lower districts, the air didn't smell of perfume and lies; it smelled of damp stone and woodsmoke. Here, the shadows weren't for hiding secrets, but for surviving the night. He preferred it.At least here, people didn’t pretend. The noise reached him before the scene did. Shouting, Wood scraping against stone. A woman pleading. Raphael slowed as he turned the corner. A small house stood open, its door hanging loose as two men dragged what little furniture remained out into the street. A middle-aged woman clutched at one of them, her voice breaking as she begged. A younger girl stood behind her, silent but shaken. “Please ,we just need more time,” the woman said. “We will pay” “You’ve had time,” the man snapped, shoving her hand away. “The contract was clear.” Contract. Raphael’s gaze shifted. And then he saw her. She wasn’t part of the chaos. Not at first glance. She stood a few steps away, breathing slightly harder as if she had just arrived, her eyes scanning the scene with a sharpness that didn’t match the situation.Not panicked. but Calculating. “Elena,” the older woman said when she noticed her. Relief flooded her voice. “They’re taking the house” “Why?” Elena asked, already moving forward.“The debt” “Show me the contract.” One of the men laughed. “You think you can read that?” She didn’t answer. She just held out her hand. There was a brief, uncertain pause,before the paper was handed over, more out of mockery than compliance. A few people nearby chuckled. They stopped when she didn’t hesitate. Elena’s eyes moved quickly across the page. Line by line. No struggle , confusion , Just quiet focus. Raphael watched the shift happen. From noise to silence. From chaos to control.When she finished, she looked up. “This is wrong.” The man scoffed. “It’s signed. That’s all that matters.” “No,” she said calmly. “It’s manipulated.” Now that got attention. She stepped closer, holding the paper firmly. “The debt listed here doesn’t match the value of the property. And clause seven” she tapped the page lightly, “only allows seizure after three formal notices.” The man’s expression tightened. “You’ve delivered one.” A murmur spread through the small crowd.Elena didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.“You’re not reclaiming a debt,” she continued. “You’re stealing a house.”Silence fell heavier this time. For a moment, it looked like she might actually win.Then the man snatched the paper back. “And what are you going to do about it?” That was the problem. Truth didn’t mean power. Raphael stepped forward. “Clause seven,” he said, his voice even, cutting cleanly through the tension. “You’re relying on it without understanding it.”All eyes shifted to him. He took the contract from the man’s hand without asking. His gaze skimmed the page once, confirming what he already knew. “The default condition requires three written notices, each witnessed and recorded,” he said. “You have one. Poorly documented.” The man stiffened. “And you are?” “No one you want to argue with tonight.” It wasn’t said loudly. It didn’t need to be. Raphael lowered the paper slightly, his expression unreadable. “You can continue,” he added, almost casually, “and explain this in front of a magistrate… or you can leave before this becomes something you regret.” The threat wasn’t in his tone. It was in his certainty. The man hesitated. Looked around. Calculated. Then clicked his tongue in irritation and stepped back. “This isn’t over,” he muttered before signaling the others to leave. The tension broke with them. The older woman exhaled shakily, nearly collapsing with relief. The younger girl rushed to her side. Elena didn’t move. Her eyes were on Raphael. Not grateful. Not relieved. just Watching. Studying him. Like she was trying to understand what he was.Raphael handed the contract back to her. “You read quickly,” he said. “You speak like you’ve read more." She was useful, certainly, but her caution made her dangerous. She wouldn't be easy to control which was exactly what he needed.The corner of his mouth almost moved. “Most people here wouldn’t have noticed the flaw,” he said. “Most people here don’t get the chance to learn.” There was something sharp under her words. Not anger, but maturity. Raphael glanced briefly at the house, then back at her. “What would you do,” he asked, “if you had access to better contracts?” Elena’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Depends,” she said. “On what they’re trying to hide.” He studied her for a moment longer measuring, weighing. she is sharp,Useful, Careful and not easy to control." he said it to himself. Good ,“I need someone who can read more than what’s written,” he said. She didn’t respond immediately. So he added, quieter: “Someone who understands when something is wrong and knows how to use it.” Now she was interested. He could see it. “Why me?” she asked.