We were walking past a baker kneading dough on a wooden board when a sudden noise burst ahead — clashing steel and a woman's piercing scream.
Three soldiers in dark blue coats were wrestling a sinewy man down onto the cobblestones. Spoons bearing the engraved crest of House Wellinor spilled from his burlap sack like candies.
"Stole them from the Count's banquet!" barked the sergeant, slamming a knee into the thief's spine. The man thrashed, cursing through bloodied lips as they tied his wrists.
Margarita tensed beside me, her lace gloves clutching my palm.
"How dreadful…"
I watched dispassionately. Theft was nothing unusual around here, and being surprised by it only meant you were still a fledgling, not yet pushed from the nest.
Julian, standing nearby, whistled through his teeth, the tip of his cigar resting on his lips — lips plump and glossy in the sun, like peach skin.
"Someone's losing their hands today."
Margarita sighed again, but this time, almost bored.
Gravel crunched behind us under someone's boots.
"A shameful sight for respectable company," came a deep baritone.
Captain Oberon von Havisham stood just inches from Wyston, hands gloved and clasped behind his back. The sunlight struck the brass buttons of his uniform, and the scent of gun oil and starched linen cut through the market stench. Up close, the scar above his lip puckered like a seam pulling together weathered skin.
Margarita dipped into a curtsey.
"Captain. How fortunate to see you again."
I inclined my head.
"Good day, Captain."
Oberon's gaze lingered on Margarita's bowed head before shifting to me.
"The department received your clerk's inquiry regarding House Order's property. There was an oversight during the transactional transfers. Additionally, half the archives were destroyed in the fire, so everything had to be rewritten by hand."
The thief growled something, spitting blood at the soldiers. Oberon didn't so much as blink.
"I hope you'll expedite the process?" I asked.
"Naturally," his smile didn't touch his lifeless blue eyes. "Although perhaps you'd prefer to review and sign the documents in person? My office awaits you the day after tomorrow, at noon."
Margarita twirled the handle of her ivory parasol.
"How diligent of you, Captain! Brother, you must reward such devotion to duty."
My jaw clenched. Every suitor started with paperwork.
"Unfortunately, my schedule—"
"Count Wellinor is holding a hunt tomorrow," Oberon cut in. "I planned to multitask — issue restoration permits, refile the documents, and accompany his party. Your knowledge of the region would be invaluable."
A breeze lifted his dark hair, scattering it across the back of his head.
Suddenly, my head buzzed, and a system window blinked open to the side.
[NOTICE: OBERON VON HAVISHAM'S FAVORABILITY
Current: Neutral (0/100)
Projected Shift: -20 if declined.
Risk of Death – 49%.]
That was new. A favorability meter?
I swallowed a groan. Of course. Of course, damn it.
Margarita elbowed me in the ribs, batting her lashes with aggressive impatience.
"You love horseback riding! Remember your gelding, Biscuit?"
Oh, sister. That was a low blow.
"Of course," I ground out between my teeth. "I'd be honored. But will the Count welcome an uninvited guest?"
The captain shrugged slightly, his expression unchanged.
"He's spoken well of you."
Liar. I'd never interacted with Count Wellinor, let alone enough for him to recommend me to his inner circle.
Oberon gave a short nod.
"Then until tomorrow."
A cold gust swept past, and I tightened the laces beneath Margarita's chin, holding her hat in place. She squinted gently, snorting softly. The captain's sharp, unpleasant eyes tracked the movement of my hand for another heartbeat before he turned away.
A clatter rang out — a scraping sound and someone's heavy, wet breathing.
The thief broke free and lunged at Margarita, wielding the jagged point of a bent spoon.
It all happened in a split second. My eyes widened, and my arm shot out to grab her shoulder instinctively.
Oberon moved faster than I thought possible — he yanked Margarita behind him with one arm and pulled a flintlock revolver from his coat with the other.
The shot cracked the air.
The thief dropped instantly as the bullet tore through his skull. Women screamed; vendors panicked. Margarita trembled against my chest, her face buried in my cravat. I stared at the darkening puddle on the road with relief, though a muscle in my cheek twitched at the smell of blood.
A thin stream of smoke curled from the barrel. Oberon's gaze was glacial.
"My apologies for the disturbance, Lady Alder."
He turned, giving the girl's quivering shoulders a cool once-over before fixing his eyes on me again.
A soft chime from the system:
[FAVORABILITY: +4 (now 4/100)
Reason: "Protective instincts activated."]
Ah, so this meter tracked his opinion of Margarita?
What the hell — was I stuck in a damn dating sim?
Staring at the notification, nausea coiled in my gut.
Perfect. Another wolf at our door.
Julian's laugh shattered the silence left by the gunshot. He clapped slowly, mockingly, heels clicking through the blood puddle.
"Bravo, Captain! Such gallantry. Though I'd have preferred a blade," his eyes flicked to Margarita, still crushed against me. "You're unharmed, my dove?"
I shifted to block his path, brushing against Oberon's stiff arm.
"Your concern is noted, Lord Wyston. We're leaving."
Margarita clung to my sleeve, her breathing ragged.
"Y-yes, I'm quite alright, thank you."
Julian ignored me, leaning in over my shoulder with that wolven smile.
"You're pale as milk. Allow me to escort you home. I've a bottle of excellent brandy in my carriage…"
"No need," I cut in sharply, steering Margarita backward, her skirts dragging gravel. "Ours will suffice."
Oberon holstered his revolver with a final click.
"The lady is shaken. Best not linger."
My sister chose that moment to lean against me dramatically, hiding her face with a lace handkerchief.
"Shock, you understand…"
The market noise surged back — vendors righted stalls, a child cried, and the metallic tang of blood sliced through the spice-laden air.
For a moment, the two men locked eyes — Oberon's ice meeting Julian's smirk.
I didn't wait for their posturing to end. Guiding Margarita to our carriage, I snapped my fingers at the footman.
"To the estate. Now."
Julian's gloved hand landed on the door before I could close it. He reeked of cigars and cheap cologne.
"Curious, isn't it? How danger dogs your house like a stray," his eyes flicked toward Oberon, still interrogating the stunned soldiers. "Take care, Your Grace. Some saviors charge interest on their heroism."
I yanked the door from his grip.
"I don't believe I need your advice."
The carriage jolted forward with a quiet creak. I watched through the window as the captain lifted the dead man by the collar of his sweater and gave him a hard shake. Forks spilled out of the man's pockets.
Margarita pressed a lavender-scented handkerchief to her dry cheeks.
"That was… rather dramatic."
"Tomorrow you're staying home," I said, knocking on the roof to signal departure.
"But the hunt with Captain Oberon—"
"You're staying home," I repeated, leaning back lazily against the soft cushion. "And you'll drink tea with Aunt Livia."
She opened her mouth to argue, but then suddenly leaned forward. Her pale fingers found mine.
"Will you be careful?"
"Of course."
There was no confidence in my voice, but Margarita trusted me, so she calmed down quickly. We sat in silence for several minutes, with only the sound of hooves and the crunch of wheels grinding the earth beneath us. Then she whispered softly:
"I don't like Julian. He's an idiot."
I smirked.
"Glad you figured that out."
One down.