The carriage wasn’t a carriage anymore. It was a fucking tomb. Aaron’s legs cramped, locked tight, knees grinding against the bench like they’d snap if he dared stretch. Used to be he could sprawl, arms wide, let the road’s rumble shake the tension out. Now? Packed in like cattle. Sweat dripped down his spine, soaked his shirt, the air heavy with too many lungs sucking it dry. He smelled them all—Henry’s sour musk, Susi’s iron tang of blood from that damn whetstone, Tanya’s lavender perfume gone rancid in the heat. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached, a low growl clawing up his throat.


    “Why do nobles like you lot wanna squeeze in with us peasants, my lady?” His voice scraped out, rough as gravel, less a question than a curse spat at the world.


    Tanya’s giggle sliced through, high and bright, a shard of glass in the murk. “Oh, sometimes we need a little humility. This seemed… opportune.” She fanned herself with that tattered paper, her grin too sharp, eyes glinting like she’d already won something he didn’t know he’d lost.


    Amelia’s scoff was a whipcrack. She pressed tighter against Aaron, her nails digging into his arm, a feral little beast staking her claim. “Should’ve bought your own damn cooling box. Leave ours alone.” Her voice trembled—half rage, half whine—her precious Aaron-time stolen by these silk-clad vultures.


    He patted her hand, quick, firm. “Ames. Chill. They didn’t know.” His tone flattened as he flicked his gaze to Tanya. “It’s new. Barely anyone’s heard of it.”


    Tanya’s fan paused, her head tilting, hunger flashing in her eyes. “Where’d you get it? I’d slit throats for one—my room, this carriage, anything.” Her words dripped casual, but they gripped like a fist.


    “Elyra,” Aaron muttered, tossing it out like a spent match, already bored.


    Her smile curdled. She snapped the fan shut—crack—loud enough to make Elizabeth jump. “Elyra. Of course.” Her voice was venom, thick and slow. “Our families have been bleeding each other dry for centuries. I’d rather roast than take her scraps.”


    Aaron shrugged, shoulders heavy, like her feud was a fly he couldn’t be bothered to swat. “Your loss.” Noble bullshit meant nothing to him—never had, never would. He’d seen too much dirt to care about their polished wars.


    The carriage jolted, wheels slamming a rock. Henry’s knee smashed into Susi’s again, and Susi’s whetstone slipped—red bloomed on his thumb, a thin, bright line. He didn’t flinch. Just smeared it on his pants, kept scraping steel, the sound a heartbeat in the chaos. Aaron’s eyes drifted to Tanya. She was staring. Always staring. Her gaze a blade, peeling him layer by layer, like she could carve out his soul and keep it.


    “Spill it,” he snapped, voice low, a fuse burning short.


    Elizabeth erupted, tiny fists balled, crimson eyes blazing. “How dare you talk to Lady Tanya like that? She’s nobility—show some respect!” Her shriek was a kid’s tantrum, all heat and no weight, trembling with righteous fury.


    Tanya’s hand shot up, cutting her off. “Lizzie, enough. We’re adventurers here. Titles are horseshit on the road.” She leaned back, smirking, but her eyes never left Aaron. “I like it. No groveling. It’s… honest.” Her voice softened, but it was a lie—there was steel underneath, cold and waiting.


    Aaron’s lip twitched. Honest. Rare as a clean blade in a butcher’s den. He didn’t trust it—didn’t trust her. She inhaled deep, the cool air hissing through her teeth, then let it out slow, savoring. “Aaron. Amelia. Join my family. I’ll give you everything—knowledge, gold, a fucking palace. Name it, it’s yours.” Her words landed heavy, a promise laced with chains.


    Silence hit like a hammer. Lucy’s dagger froze mid-twirl, dangling in her shaky grip. Susi’s whetstone stilled, the scrape dying. Henry’s hum choked off, abrupt, a snapped wire. The air turned solid, every breath a fight.


    Amelia lunged up, nearly braining herself on the ceiling, finger stabbing at Tanya. “No! You can’t have him—he’s mine! No, no, no—fuck no!” Her voice cracked, raw, a scream of possession and panic, her face red, eyes wet and wild.


    Aaron’s hand clamped her arm, yanked her down hard. “Ames. Sit. Now.” His cheeks burned, a flush crawling up his neck, embarrassment gnawing his gut. She thudded back, arms locked tight, a coiled spring ready to snap.


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    He faced Tanya, eyes hard as flint. “Don’t waste your breath. Your family couldn’t buy me—or us—if you emptied every vault.” His voice was a wall, unyielding, built from scars she’d never see.


    Tanya blinked, confusion creasing her brow. “What’s that mean?” She leaned in, fan forgotten, her curiosity a live thing, clawing.


    Aaron’s gaze slid to the window. Dust swirled outside, endless, choking. His mind wasn’t there—it was on the treasure, a weight heavier than kingdoms, a ghost that dragged him forward. “What I’m after… it’s more than your noble blood can touch.” He didn’t say it—couldn’t. A kingdom’s worth. More..


    “What treasure?” Tanya pressed, voice low, a blade against his throat. “Tell me. I can help.”


    He shook his head, slow, final. “You can’t.”


    She didn’t stop. “Power? Riches? Revenge?” Her words sped up, enticing, desperate, a net closing in.


    His fingers tapped the bench—tap-tap-tap—a restless tic, a heartbeat he couldn’t kill. “No.” Flat. Done. A door slammed shut.


    Lucy’s voice cracked the quiet, small, nervous. “We’re broke, you know. Maybe we could—” His glare cut her off, sharp as a lash. She shrank back, muttering, twisting her tunic ‘til it frayed.


    Tanya sighed, fan snapping open, the sound a gunshot in the stillness. “Fine. But if you ever—”


    “I won’t,” Aaron said, voice iron, ringing finality.


    Celina sat rigid, her peasant hands—gnarled from scrabbling out of shit—gripping her flask ‘til her knuckles blanched. She watched Aaron, eyes like razors, peeling back the lie. Rugged, yeah—boots scuffed to ruin, voice a growl—but it was bullshit. His spine was steel, his stare a throne he didn’t bother claiming. Noble? Fuck that. King. Born to crush, bred to rule. Even Tanya—hammer-swinging, highborn strut—faded next to him, a candle by a bonfire. Celina’s thumb pressed—crack—a split in the flask, a secret she’d choke on ‘til it killed her.


    Tanya slumped, fan limp, her pride a bruised thing. She grabbed Celina’s wrist—do it—nails digging, a plea in the heat. Celina squeezed back, a grunt, a pact forged in grime. Tanya sagged, breath hissing out—fine, your show—and let go.


    “Sir Aaron.” Celina’s voice cut through, steady, dipped in respect she didn’t fake. “The Purple Rose—we want you. You and Amelia to be exact. To forge an Alliance with gold, ten centurian gold.”


    ‘Ten centurian gold. Ten centurian. Say something, you fossil.’ Lucy thought with pure shock. But Aaron’s eyes stayed fixed on Celina, black and bottomless, like he was peeling her ribs open to count the lies in her heart.


    “Three tasks,” Celina repeated, her voice steady but her left hand twitching—’tap, tap, tap’—against her thigh. A nervous tic she’d learned to hide in back-alley negotiations. Not today. Today, her soul was a raw wound. “You pick. You walk. No chains.”


    Henry snorted, a sound like gravel in a tin can. His calloused fists clenched—’350 gold a month to babysit this circus?’—but he swallowed the words. Knights turned sell-swords didn’t get to bark at kings, even fake ones.


    Tanya’s fan snapped shut. ‘Click.’ A sound like a guillotine’s blade. “Generous, no?” Her smile was all teeth, a wolf sizing up a rival pack. But her free hand gripped Celina’s wrist—’hard’—fingernails digging in like she’d carve the offer into bone if she had to.


    Aaron leaned back, leather creaking. A laugh burst out of him, sudden and sharp, like glass shattering. “Generous.” He rolled the word around, tasting it. “You’re not buying soldiers, ‘Lady’ Tanya. You’re buying a war.”


    The air thickened. Even the cooling box seemed to hold its breath.


    Lucy’s heart hammered. ‘……Shut up, shut up, shut—’ “Mast—” she blurted, then choked on the word. Aaron’s glare pinned her like a bug. Her throat closed. ‘……ooooohhhhh.’ The insults weren’t his; they were hers, screaming in her skull.


    Celina stepped into the silence, a dagger wrapped in silk. “War needs weapons. You’re sharper than most.” Her gaze flicked to Amelia, still as a statue in the corner. The unspoken hung heavy: ‘And she’s the edge.’


    Amelia’s fingers twitched—’towards her sword? Or towards Atlas?’—before stilling. Her loyalty was a live wire, sparking.


    Aaron’s smile died. “Ten centurian.” He let the words drop, slow and heavy. “For three favors. No leash.” A beat. “But ‘you’ come to ‘me’.”


    Tanya’s laugh was a silver blade. “Done.”


    Celina’s breath hitched. ‘Too easy.’ But she nodded, sealing it with a flick of her quill. The parchment bled ink like a fresh wound.


    Henry’s knee slammed into Susi’s—’thud’—again. Again. The big man’s whetstone screeched, metal singing a funeral dirge. ‘This is wrong. This is—’


    “Lucy.” Aaron’s voice cracked like a whip. “Details. Now.”


    She scrambled, tripping over her own feet. “Y-yes, sir?” The title tasted like ash. ‘Sir. Master. Dog.’ Her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood.


    Celina’s eyes narrowed. ‘This girl’s half a heartbeat from shattering.’ But she thrust the contract forward, all business. “Sign here. Initial here. Binding oath—”


    “Save the theatrics.” Aaron’s quill slashed through the paper, a violent ‘X’. “I don’t kiss nobles’ feet.”


    Tanya’s grin widened. ‘Got you.’ Her mind raced, already tallying the cost: ‘Gold, favors, a foothold in the coming storm…’ Her fan fluttered open, hiding the triumph. “Pleasure doing business, ‘Sir’ Aaron.”


    The carriage hit a rut. Everyone jolted. Susi’s blade slipped, slicing his thumb. Blood pooled, thick and dark. No one apologized.


    Aaron’s eyes met Tanya’s. A promise, or a threat? “Don’t make me regret this.”


    Tanya’s laugh was pure poison. “Oh, you will. But by then?” She leaned in, breath hot. “You’ll ‘need’ me.”