The ballroom of the Kladis mansion had been transformed into an altar to human vanity.
Hundreds of white wax candles burned in polished silver candelabras, their light multiplied by the full-length mirrors covering the walls. The air was saturated with expensive perfumes, the sickly sweet scent of spiced wine, and the metallic, almost imperceptible smell of concentrated greed.
Kael Drayvar stood near a fake marble column, a glass of grape juice in his hand that he pretended to drink. His custom-made dark grey suit gave him an air of precocious seriousness that kept the adults at a distance.
'A theatre,' Kael thought, observing the crowd. 'A very expensive theatre where all the actors believe they are the protagonist.'
Arven's elite was there. Merchants with bulging stomachs wrapped in imported silks. Wives with jewels worth more than the lives of their servants. City guard officers in dress uniform, laughing too loud at the rich men's jokes.
And in the centre of it all, like a spider in its golden web, was Nikolas Kladis.
The patriarch moved among the guests with frantic energy, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, ensuring everyone saw how powerful and magnanimous he was. His laugh, fake and metallic, echoed, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling.
But Kael noticed the sweat on his brow. He noticed how his eyes constantly darted toward the main table, where a man sat in silence.
Lord Boros Torren.
The head of House Torren did not mingle. He sat on a red velvet throne reserved for the guest of honour, sipping his wine in small, precise sips. He did not smile. He spoke to no one but his son and heir, who stood beside him like a well-trained guard dog.
Torren's presence was a black cloud over the golden party. Everyone knew he was there. Everyone lowered their voices when they passed near his table.
'The puppeteer has come to watch his play,' Kael thought. 'Too bad the script has changed.'
Aldric was a few meters away, leaning against the wall near the service entrance. He wore his polished armour and his sword at his waist, playing the role of the loyal escort of House Drayvar. But Kael saw how his fingers drummed rhythmically on the leather of his belt.
One, two, three. Pause. One, two, three.
The signal.
Gareth and his men were in position. The stolen city guard uniforms had worked. They were on the perimeter, "reinforcing" security due to the rumour of possible unrest. An irony Kael savoured: Nikolas's security was now his own noose.
The music stopped. A trumpeter blew a clear, sharp note.
The master of ceremonies struck his baton against the floor.
"Ladies and gentlemen! The moment everyone has been waiting for! The union of prosperity and beauty! Welcome the newlyweds!"
The double doors at the back swung open.
Daemon Kladis entered first. He wore a gold brocade suit that cost more than a fisherman's house. He walked with his chest puffed out, greeting the crowd as if he were an emperor returning from war. His nose, broken days earlier by Aldric, was hidden beneath a thick layer of makeup, but the swelling deformed his perfect profile.
And on his arm, Elara Voss.
Kael held his breath for a second.
She was spectacular. The white dress glowed under the candlelight. Her hair was adorned with pearls. But it was her face that captured the attention.
She did not cry. She did not tremble.
She smiled.
It was the smile they had practised. Shy. Submissive. Adorable. The smile of a woman who has accepted her fate with grace. She walked beside Daemon, letting him guide her, looking down with feigned modesty every time someone cheered her.
'Perfect,' Kael thought. 'Absolutely lethal.'
Donal and Martha walked behind them, heads bowed, playing their roles as defeated parents, grateful for the Kladis's "generosity."
Nia closed the procession. The girl wore her cream-coloured dress and clutched the small velvet bag to her side as if it were a teddy bear. Her large eyes swept the room, searching for Kael.
Kael nodded imperceptibly. Nia caught the gesture and pressed her lips together, hardening her expression.
The procession reached the main dais. Daemon helped Elara up, taking the opportunity to put a possessive hand on her waist, a little too low, a little too hard.
Elara did not flinch. She kept the smile frozen.
Nikolas stepped onto the dais, raising a solid gold goblet.
"Friends! Partners! Competitors!" His voice boomed, amplified by the hall's acoustics. "Today we are not just celebrating a wedding. We are celebrating the future. The union of House Kladis and the Voss family is not just a marriage; it is the fusion of tradition and ambition."
He looked toward Lord Torren's table, seeking approval. Boros raised his cup a millimeter. Nikolas smiled, relieved.
"For a long time," Nikolas continued, "it has been said that Arven is a divided city. But I say no! I say that under strong leadership, under a unified vision, we can reach heights that not even Vaeloria could ignore!"
Polite applause. Some enthusiastic cheers from the debtors who hoped for clemency.
"My son, Daemon, takes this woman under his protection today. He saves an honourable family from ruin and ensures that the southern trade routes remain strong and prosperous."
He turned to Elara.
"Elara, dear. Welcome to the family."
Elara made a deep curtsey.
"Thank you, Mister Kladis," she said with a clear, sweet voice. "Your generosity... is unforgettable."
Kael smiled. The double meaning was delicious.
Nikolas turned to the crowd, drunk on his own success.
"Let's toast! To House Kladis! To power! And to the gold that flows like this wine!"
"To House Kladis!" the crowd roared, raising their cups.
Daemon leaned in to kiss Elara. She closed her eyes, preparing for the repulsive contact.
And then, the main doors of the hall burst open.
It was not a ceremonial opening. It was a crash. The heavy wooden leaves struck the walls with such violence that the plaster cracked.
The sound of the toast instantly died. The music stopped with a jarring screech.
In the doorway, silhouetted against the night's darkness, was a figure.
Thorne.
He wore no rags. Nia and Aldric had done a good job. He wore a simple dark linen suit, clean, dignified. He looked like an honest worker, a man of the people. His hair was slicked back, his beard trimmed.
But his eyes... his eyes burned with a fire that no clothing could disguise.
Behind him, two of the mansion's guards lay on the floor, moaning. Gareth had done his part: the path was clear.
Thorne walked into the hall. His work boots resonated heavily on the polished marble. Clack. Clack. Clack.
No one moved. The surprise was complete. A commoner, interrupting the gala of the year, walking as if he owned the place.
"Nikolas Kladis!" Thorne shouted. His voice was not that of a drunk. It was the voice of a judge. Deep. Resonant. Loaded with pain.
Nikolas lowered his cup, his face flushing with fury.
"Who dares? Guards! Get this trash out of here!"
Four house guards, mercenaries in elegant livery, ran toward Thorne.
"No!" Thorne shouted, raising a hand. He had no visible weapons. Only his presence. "I haven't come to fight! I've come to testify!"
The guards hesitated for a second. It was a party. There were nobles. Open violence was in bad taste.
Thorne took advantage of the doubt. He pointed an accusing finger toward the dais. Toward Daemon.
"There he is!" he roared, and his voice broke with a raw emotion that made the ladies present shudder. "The monster in golden silk! The child killer! The rapist of innocents!"
A murmur of shock swept through the hall like a wave. "Killer." "Rapist." Ugly words. Words not spoken aloud in high society, though everyone knew they happened.
Daemon paled under his makeup. He stepped back, letting go of Elara as if she burned.
"Who is this madman?" Daemon shouted, his voice high with panic. "Dad, have him killed!"
"My name is Thorne!" the man shouted, advancing down the central aisle that the crowd had instinctively opened. "And you know who I am, Daemon! You remember my sister! She was sixteen years old! She worked on the docks! She was honest! She was good!"
Thorne stopped in the centre of the hall, turning to look at the guests. His eyes were full of tears, but he was not crying.
"He took her!" he accused, pointing at Daemon again. "He dragged her into his carriage! His guards held her down! And when he was done with her... when he broke her... they threw her into the river like trash!"
The silence was absolute. Sepulchral.
"Lies!" Nikolas shouted, hitting the lectern. "He's a drunk! A lunatic! Get him out! Now!"
"They're not lies!" Thorne tore open his shirt, showing an old scar on his chest. "I tried to stop him! I went to the guard! And your men did this to me! They bought my silence with beatings and threats!"
He looked at the crowd, pleading with his gaze.
"Is this the man you want controlling your city? A butcher? A predator who hunts your daughters?"
The emotional impact was devastating. Kael saw it in the guests' faces. Disgust. Doubt. Even Kladis's most cynical partners looked uncomfortable. It was one thing to know Daemon was a debauchee; it was quite another to have the victim screaming her pain in the middle of the champagne.
Nikolas saw he was losing control. The fear of Torren's reaction spurred him.
"Enough!" he roared. "Guards! Kill him! Right now! He's an assassin who's come to attack my son!"
The guards drew their swords. This time they would not hesitate. They were going to kill Thorne right there, in front of everyone.
Thorne stood still, accepting his fate. He had spoken his truth.
Kael looked at Nia.
The girl was trembling on the dais, her hand inside her velvet bag.
Kael nodded.
'Now, little one. Break everything.'
Nia stepped forward. She placed herself in front of Daemon, blocking the guards' view of Thorne.
She was small. Fragile. A girl in a cream dress amidst armed men.
"STOP!" Nia shouted.
Her childish voice cut through the air, surprisingly powerful.
The guards stopped again. Killing a madman was one thing. Attacking a noble child on the dais was another.
"He speaks the truth!" Nia cried, pulling a bundle of papers from her bag. She held them up high, as if they were a sword.
"Shut up, you stupid child!" Daemon hissed, trying to grab her.
Elara stepped in, pushing Daemon with a force no one knew she had.
"Let my sister speak!" the bride shouted, shattering her mask of submission into a thousand pieces.
Nia turned to the crowd, toward Lord Torren.
"Thorne speaks the truth about Daemon! But there's more! Much more!"
She unfolded one of the documents. Her hands trembled, but her voice did not.
"My father didn't lose his money! It was stolen! Here is the proof!" She shook the paper. "Fake contracts! Illegal interest! Nikolas Kladis paid mercenaries to burn our warehouses!"
"That's absurd!" Nikolas shouted, stepping down from the dais, red with rage. "Give me those papers, you thieving brat!"
"And he did it by order!" Nia shouted, dodging Nikolas's hand.
She dropped the bomb.
"He did it because he owes money to House Torren! Millions! Nikolas Kladis is bankrupt! And Lord Torren ordered him to destroy my family to steal our routes!"
Torren's name resonated like a cannon blast.
All heads turned toward the main table.
Lord Boros Torren did not move. His cup stopped halfway to his lips. His face was a stone mask, but his eyes... his eyes were wells of black ice.
Nikolas froze. The colour drained from his face, leaving him ashen grey.
"Lie!" Nikolas shrieked, but his voice was high-pitched, terrified. "It's a forgery! That child is lying!"
"Here is the signature!" Nia shouted, throwing the papers into the air. The leaves flew over the first rows of guests. "Read it! Letter of debt signed by Nikolas Kladis in favour of Boros Torren! Instructions for the hostile takeover of House Voss! It's all here!"
A fat merchant picked up one of the sheets. He read it. His eyes widened excessively.
"It's... it's the Kladis seal," he muttered. "And... by the gods... the debt is real."
The murmur turned into a roar. The crowd began to push to see the papers. Thorne's accusation of murder mixed with Nia's accusation of financial fraud and conspiracy.
It was perfect chaos.
Nikolas Kladis looked around. He saw the faces of his partners turned into judges. He saw Thorne, the ghost of his sins, standing and unharmed. He saw Nia, the child he had underestimated, destroying his empire with a handful of paper.
And then he looked at Lord Torren.
Torren placed his cup on the table softly. He rose slowly. He smoothed his tunic.
And he turned his back on Nikolas.
It was a simple gesture. A gesture of total rejection. A gesture of social and political death.
Nikolas let out a howl of pure despair.
"NO! It's all lies! It's them! That child!" He pointed at Kael, who was still by the column, invisible in the tumult. "He planned it! It's a trap!"
But no one was looking at Kael. Everyone was looking at the man who was collapsing.
"Kill them!" Nikolas shouted, losing his mind, pulling a dagger from his belt. "Kill the girl! Kill the beggar! Kill them all!"
The Kladis guards, confused and pressured by their master, drew their weapons.
"To hell with it!" the captain of the Kladis guard shouted. "Clear the hall!"
And then, all hell broke loose.
The guards charged into the crowd to reach Thorne and Nia. Women screamed. Tables were overturned.
Kael gave the signal.
Aldric drew his sword. He was no longer a clumsy mercenary.
He moved like a steel flash, intercepting the first guard who tried to climb the dais to reach Nia.
A clean cut. The guard fell.
"Protect the girl!" Aldric roared with his commanding voice, resonating over the panic.
At the same time, the side doors burst open.
Men in city guard uniforms ran in.
But they were not guards. They were Gareth's men.
"Stop in the name of the law!" one of the disguised mercenaries shouted, brandishing a halberd. "This gathering is a crime scene!"
And they began to strike. Not the guests, but the Kladis guards.
It was a pitched battle in a ballroom. Silk against steel. Screams against music.
Kael remained motionless in his corner, watching his masterpiece come to life.
Elara had grabbed Nia and was hiding behind the wedding altar table. Donal was fighting a guard using a chair.
Thorne was laughing in the midst of the chaos, dodging blows and returning them with bare fists, a demon of vengeance unleashed.
And Nikolas Kladis... Nikolas was in the centre of the dais, dagger in hand, looking around with the eyes of a cornered rat, watching his world burn to the ground.
Kael took a sip of his grape juice.
'Almost perfect,' he thought.
But the perfect was still missing.
Kael set the cup down on a table that was still standing. He adjusted his shirt cuffs.
It was time for phase two.
He slipped along the edge of the hall, dodging fleeing guests and combatants. His goal was not the exit.
His objective was the shadow behind Torren's throne.
Torren, the son, was trying to get his father out of the chaos, protected by his own elite guards.
Kael approached. He knew Aldric was covering him from a distance, fighting his way toward him.
He had to deliver the final message. The message that would turn the fall of Kladis into Kael's gain.
He stopped in front of Torren's group, blocking their path momentarily. A small child amidst armed giants.
Lord Boros Torren looked down. His cold eyes met Kael's grey ones.
Kael made a perfect, courtly, impeccable bow.
"Lord Torren," Kael said, his voice calm amidst the storm. "I believe we have business to discuss. About a future without incompetent intermediaries."
Boros narrowed his eyes. He recognized the emblem on Kael's collar. The lightning bolt and the spear.
"A Drayvar," Boros murmured. "You did this?"
"I cleared the board," Kael replied. "Kladis was a dead weight. You need partners, not parasites."
Boros looked at the chaos around him. He looked at Nikolas shouting obscenities. Then he looked at the child.
A very subtle, almost invisible smile crossed the Lord's face.
"Let's talk," Boros said.
And as the wedding turned into a war, Kael Drayvar and Boros Torren walked toward a side exit, protected by the chaos Kael had created, to close the deal that would change Arven's destiny forever.