"You planned this entire nightmare from the very beginning, didn't you, Richter?" Ghina whispered, her voice shaking with a terrifying realization.
Richter did not drop his mask. He allowed his knees to buckle slightly, leaning his full weight onto the crude wooden staff. He forced a wave of visible panic to wash over his features, his chest heaving under the tattered burlap cloak.
"What do you mean, mistress?" Richter whimpered, his voice high and trembling perfectly. "I only wanted to give you the treasure. I wanted to make you happy so you would keep giving me bread. I did not know the great lord Galileo would come with his soldiers. Please do not look at me with such anger."
Ghina stared at him, her breathing ragged as she searched his face for any sign of deception. The utter patheticness of his posture, combined with the permanent deformities of his right hand, eventually wore down her sudden suspicion. She let out a long, bitter breath, rubbing her temples as the reality of her financial ruin settled into her mind. Galileo had permitted their marriage to proceed solely because he intended to seize the southern drilling fields the moment they produced a single drop of Cruor fluid. She had been thoroughly outmaneuvered, and she was now bound to a useless, crippled beggar in the eyes of the law.
Three weeks later, that legal bond dragged Richter into a world he had once known all too well.
The grand banquet hall of the Galileo Mansion in Upper Aethelgard was a monument to stolen brilliance. Massive brass chandeliers hung from the vaulted marble ceiling, powered by clean, white-hot ethanol flames that left no soot or smoke. The air was cool and scented with expensive imported lavender, completely detached from the sulfurous stench of the lower docks. High-society oligarchs, dressed in tailored silks and polished copper accessories, milled about the floor, their laughter clinking as softly as the crystal glasses in their hands.
"Keep your head down and stay exactly three steps behind me," Ghina hissed, her fingers digging sharply into Richter's left shoulder as they navigated the edge of the ballroom.
She wore a dark velvet gown that felt stiff and desperate compared to the effortless luxury of the upper-class elites surrounding them. Her financial reserves were entirely depleted, and her presence tonight was a mandatory show of submission to Galileo's rising corporate monopoly.
"Yes, mistress," Richter mumbled, keeping his eyes locked onto the polished marble tiles. "I will not make a sound. I will hold your train just as you instructed."
"Do not call me mistress in front of these vultures," Ghina snapped under her breath, her face flushing with deep humiliation. "You are officially my husband now, as grotesque as that word sounds. If the other clans realize just how helpless you are, they will realize my syndicate has absolutely no teeth left. Stand straight, even if your useless leg refuses to cooperate."
Richter purposely allowed his right foot to drag heavily against the floor, creating a rhythmic, scraping sound that drew irritated glances from a nearby group of merchants. He offered them a dim-witted, apologetic smile, bowing his head repeatedly until Ghina yanked him forward by his collar.
"You are doing this on purpose to humiliate me," Ghina whispered fiercely, her eyes flashing with a dangerous, unstable rage. "Fetch me a glass of sparkling wine from the service tables near the terrace. And try not to spill it on your filthy rags, or I will have the guards lock you in the carriage for the rest of the evening."
"Right away, my lady," Richter replied, bowing low as he slowly backed away from her.
He turned toward the long banquet tables, exaggerating the rigid stiffness of his spine. The copper wires beneath his clothes pressed against his scars, a sharp reminder of the fire that had forged his new identity. As he navigated the crowd, his sharp eyes scanned the faces of the high-society guests. He was looking for the cracks in Galileo's corporate foundation, the rival clans who were quietly starving as Galileo's monopoly grew absolute.
Near the grand terrace doors, a small group of aristocratic elites stood detached from the main crowd. At the center of the circle stood Lady Vanya, the wealthy young heiress of the Vanya oligarch clan. Her family controlled the primary banking networks of the western districts, and they had been losing millions in transit revenue ever since Galileo had seized control of the Cruor-Steam formula. Vanya was dressed in emerald silk that matched the calculating coldness of her eyes. She was not laughing at the jokes of the surrounding merchants; instead, her gaze was fixed entirely on the pathetic, limping figure of Richter.
Richter noticed her attention immediately. He did not look at her directly, but he subtly adjusted his path, moving closer to her circle while maintaining his submissive posture.
"Pardon me, noble lords," Richter mumbled, intentionally fumbling with a brass tray as he reached for a crystal glass of wine.
He allowed his deformed right hand to twitch, causing three silver spoons to clatter loudly onto the table. The merchants around Lady Vanya instantly turned, their expressions turning to disgust as they looked at the ragged servant intruding upon their space.
"What is this trash doing in the upper tier?" one of the merchants muttered, stepping back to avoid contact with Richter's tattered burlap cloak. "Galileo's security must be getting lazy if they are letting slum-dwellers clean the banquet tables."
"That is not a servant, Lord George," Lady Vanya spoke up, her voice smooth, clear, and dripping with an unsettling curiosity. "That is the new husband of the Black Water Syndicate. The brilliant prize Ghina brought home from the lower rings."
The merchants erupted into cruel, hushed laughter, shaking their heads as they looked at Richter, who had dropped to his knees to pick up the fallen spoons.
"A fitting match for a failing syndicate," George sneered, turning his back on Richter completely. "They deserve each other."
Richter remained on his knees, his left hand moving slowly to gather the silver. He ensured that his movements were awkward and pathetic, giving Lady Vanya ample time to observe the severe scars running up the side of his neck and the absolute lack of defiance in his posture. He could feel her eyes tracking his every move, analyzing his weakness with the precision of a banker looking at a bankrupt estate. She did not see a threat; she saw an opportunity.
"Here is your wine, Ghina," Richter said a few moments later, limping back to where his wife stood near the ballroom pillars.
Ghina snatched the glass from his hand so violently that a few drops of the sparkling liquid splashed onto his chest. She looked at his damp cloak and the dirt-caked edges of his collar, her temper finally snapping under the weight of the collective mockery she had endured all evening.
"You truly are a curse upon my life, Richter," Ghina said, her voice loud enough to carry to the nearby guests. "Look at you. A broken, mindless i***t who cannot even carry a simple drink without making a mess. I should have left you to rot in the market square where I found you."
"I am sorry, Ghina," Richter whispered, lowering his head until his chin touched his chest. "I tried my best. My hand did not cooperate."
"Your best is completely worthless," Ghina insulted him openly, turning her back to join a group of low-tier logistics managers who were trying to curry favor with Galileo's chief auditor. "Stay out of my sight for the rest of the night. If I see you dragging that useless leg near the dance floor, I will ensure Marcus uses his whip on you the moment we return to the docks."
Richter stood alone in the shadow of the velvet curtains, his body trembling slightly to maintain the illusion of a thoroughly broken spirit. He watched Ghina walk away, her shoulders tense with a desperate pride that would soon lead to her utter destruction. The public humiliation was a necessary currency; it purchased the absolute safety of his disguise.
A soft rustle of silk sounded from behind him. The scent of expensive lavender grew stronger, masking the faint metallic odor of the banquet hall's steam lines.
Richter turned his head slowly, letting his eyes fill with a calculated expression of naive surprise. Lady Vanya stood just a few inches away, a thin, elegant smile gracing her sharp features. She held two golden goblets in her hands, the polished metal reflecting the bright ethanol light of the chandeliers.
"Your wife treats you with an incredible amount of cruelty, Richter," Lady Vanya said, her voice dropping to a smooth, intimate murmur that did not carry to the rest of the ballroom.
"She is the mistress," Richter whispered back, his voice cracking slightly as he stepped away from her, mimicking the behavior of a frightened animal. "I must obey her. She gives me bread."
Vanya laughed softly, a low, melodic sound that lacked any genuine warmth. She took a step closer, extending one of the golden goblets toward his left hand. The calculating smile on her face deepened as she looked down at his deformed fingers.
"A man with your history deserves far more than just crumbs of bread, my data clerk," Lady Vanya whispered, her eyes locking onto his with a predatory intensity. "Drink this with me in the shadows of the terrace, and let us discuss what your father truly left behind in those southern tunnels."
Aksara