“Caspen, making new friends, are we?” The faint smile on her lips never quite reached her eyes.

“Princess Lyra!” Caspen stammered, his bravado faltering. He bowed, though the motion was stiff. “My apologies, but this whelp needs to be taught a lesson. Striking a noble is an offense punishable by death!”

Unbidden, sensing the danger, Jace felt the chains begin to pour from his hands again. This time, however, he stopped them before they grew longer than a foot. What’s happening to me? Get it together, man. Jace ordered himself.

Lyra’s smile faded, replaced by a serene seriousness that chilled the space around her.

“A dire claim indeed,” she murmured, her words slow and deliberate. Her voice was as smooth as silk stretched taut. “If it were true, that would be an issue.”

“It is true!“ Caspen insisted, his face a patchwork of indignation and lingering pain. “And I demand recompense! I demand blood!”

Lyra raised a single brow, her posture imperious. “From me?” Her tone carried the weight of a thousand unspoken rebukes. “I am not of your kingdom, Caspen, nor am I your subject. And yet you demand anything of me? I expected better manners from someone of your upbringing.”

Caspen opened his mouth, then closed it again, his words swallowed by her sharp gaze. The guards behind him shifted uncomfortably, their hands twitching toward hilts that no longer existed. Lyra stood tall, her presence as immovable as a mountain, her emerald eyes catching the faint glimmers of the ruby crystals above.

Jace exhaled slowly, his tension easing but not disappearing entirely. The chains at his fingertips faded back into shadows, though the cold echo of their power lingered against his skin.

“Not of you, Princess. Of him… I demand… I request…” Caspen faltered, searching for the right excuse to untangle himself from the silken web Lyra had spun. “I didn’t mean…” he began weakly, but Lyra raised a slender hand, cutting him off mid-sputter.

“If he truly struck a noble outside of a duel,” she said, her words sharp as cut crystal, “that would be quite the scandal, wouldn’t it?” Her emerald eyes glittered like a blade catching the light. “But I did see your magic, Caspen. I assumed, naturally, that a duel was underway. Otherwise…“ She let the silence stretch just long enough for the nearby onlookers to lean in, her voice dropping to a tone of mock gravity. “…you’d be admitting to common brawling. And that would be so… beneath you.”

She turned to her friends, her expression shifting as if struck by a sudden realization. “Oh, that would be such a scandal, wouldn’t it? Especially with your family so eager to secure a marriage for you. Can you imagine what the ladies of the Court would say? I shudder to think!” With a theatrical gasp, she clutched her hand to her chest, feigning faintness.

A chorus of giggles broke out from a nearby cluster of women dressed in vibrant gold and crimson—their insignias unmistakably Amon Ra. They whispered behind jeweled hands, their amusement at Caspen’s predicament thinly veiled. Caspen’s cheeks flushed crimson, his pride crumbling under the weight of Lyra’s words and the echo of laughter. He straightened, forcing his composure into something resembling dignity.

“Yes,” he said, the word strained through gritted teeth. “A duel. Exactly.”

Lyra’s lips curved into a perfect smile, bright and disarming, but there was a glint of something sharper beneath it. “Just as I thought. And I assume it’s over then, as Jace clearly made first contact.” She tilted her head ever so slightly, her regal poise unyielding.

Caspen gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Subtle as it was, it was all Lyra needed.

“Indeed, as it appears. I knew I was mistaken to think otherwise.”

“Quite right, Your Royal Highness,” he replied, the words rolling off his tongue with thinly veiled disdain. “I appreciate the… clarity.” He dusted himself off briskly. “Well,” he added, straightening his vest, “I suppose we should set to be preparing for the Ceremony tonight.”

He shot Jace a scowl, then turned to Lyra with a shallow bow before attempting to make his exit. But before he could take more than a few steps, Lyra’s voice rang out, bright and deliberate, slicing through the air as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

“And, of course, a duel must have a wager.”

Caspen froze mid-step, his shoulders stiffening. Jace caught the flicker of a bitter scowl twisting his features, as though he’d bitten into something rotten but couldn’t spit it out.

“All duels must, after all—Coin, Mark, or Recompense. Which was it, again?”

Caspen’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face taut as a bowstring. “Coin,” he ground out, his tone sharp, betraying just how much the word cost him.

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Lyra gave an approving nod and turned to Jace, her gaze softening only slightly. “Young Master…?”

“Jace,” he replied simply, still uncertain whether to feel victorious or like he’d stepped into something far bigger than himself.

“Well then, Young Master Jace,” Lyra declared, her voice carrying just enough to let everyone within earshot hear. “As the winner of this duel, you are due the standard wager in Coin.” She turned back to Caspen, her expression expectant.

The noble seethed, his shoulders rigid as he stormed forward. His hand darted into his sash, pulling out a weighty sack that jingled with the heavy clink of metal. He shoved it into Jace’s hand with enough force to make the coins clatter against each other. Leaning in close enough for only Jace to hear, he hissed, “You’ll regret this, Traveler. My family has places for people like you.” His breath was as cold as his threat, and before Jace could muster a reply, Caspen turned sharply on his heel and stomped away, his entourage scrambling to follow.

The tension evaporated as Lyra let out a laugh—bright, carefree, and entirely out of place against the backdrop of hostility. Her companions closed in around her, and she glanced back at Jace with a playful grin. “He’s such a little prick,” she said lightly, her tone conspiratorial. “I hope you don’t mind me having a bit of fun teasing him.”

One of her companions, a tall woman with silver-threaded braids, leaned in, her tone low but audible. “Your Highness, you really shouldn’t,” she murmured, though her words carried more indulgence than rebuke.

“Oh hush, Serephine,” Lyra replied with a wave of her hand, her laughter bubbling again. “Just a little fun.”

Her gaze flicked to the sack of coins now resting awkwardly in Jace’s hand. For the first time, he noticed how heavy it was. The weight pressed into his palm like an anchor, though it wasn’t the coin inside that left him uneasy. Something deeper churned—an understanding that this moment, however small it seemed, was the beginning of something far more dangerous.

He added the pouch to his inventory, and it vanished from sight.

Lyra’s emerald gaze swept over the vendor, softening as she reached into her sash and withdrew a stack of gleaming gold coins. She pressed them into his trembling hands. “For your trouble,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “And remember, you have the right to speak for yourself.”

The vendor blinked, his fingers curling instinctively around the stack of coins as if they might vanish if he didn’t hold them tightly enough. Lyra turned to leave, her entourage falling in step around her, but Jace’s voice cut through the moment before she disappeared.

“Uh, miss… Princess?”

She paused mid-stride, casting a glance over her shoulder with a curious smile. “Yes?”

Jace hesitated, then blurted, “What are Coin, Mark, and Recompense? I mean, I figured Coin out, but the others?”

Her expression softened into something almost maternal, though there was still a glint of curiosity behind her eyes. “I sometimes forget how little Travelers know,” she said thoughtfully, as if to herself. “Coin is a payment agreed upon before a duel, usually to cover perceived losses. Mark is far more valuable—a favor owed by the loser, enforceable by oath, and immensely powerful if taken from someone of status.” Her voice dipped slightly, just enough to let the final word linger. “Recompense, however, is taken in blood. All three are common wagers in our duels. He likely gave you the minimum allowable Coin wager for a proper duel.”

Jace nodded, filing the information away. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Lyra’s smile returned, a brief, radiant thing, and with a slight nod, she melted back into the crowd, her companions flanking her like loyal shadows. For a moment, her laughter carried on the warm air, fading like a song’s last notes.

The group stared at Jace in silence, a beat of stillness stretching too long. The vendor, still clutching the gold, broke it first. “Are you lot important people or something?”

Ell snorted. “Not particularly,” she said with a shrug.

“Speak for yourself!” Marcus declared, puffing out his chest as if trying to fill the space Lyra had left. The others chuckled, the tension easing slightly, though the vendor still looked uncertain.

Jace cleared his throat, glancing back at the vendor. “Do you know anything about Caspen or Lyra?”

The vendor rubbed the back of his neck, his demeanor slipping into something more familiar, less wary. “Caspen? Son of some big-shot noble family, a chosen avatar of Pluto. Mean streak, that one. Doesn’t surprise me he’s picking fights with Travelers.”

“And Lyra?” Jace pressed.

The vendor nodded slowly, his tone softening with a trace of respect. “Princess Lyra Ravenscroft. Daughter of King Trent—one of the Egyptian monarchs. But she’s Aztec by blood, the second daughter of their king. She’s been living with the Egyptians for years now, though.” He hesitated, then added, “She’s sharp, that one. Not someone you’d want to cross.”

Jace tipped him well, the clinking of coins punctuating the moment. They turned to leave, but he caught a faint flush on Alice’s cheeks. She glanced away before he could meet her eyes directly. Something stirred in him—a question perhaps—but he pushed it aside. Not now.

Jace pulled up his inventory, his eyes widening at the sight of his newest acquisition: five Etherium. He did the math in his head, and the result hit him like a punch. It was the equivalent of five thousand gold—ten times his scholarship’s annual stipend of five hundred! That was the minimum standard Coin? If that was the lowest allowed, he couldn’t help but wonder what the average wager for a duel with Nobles might be.

Marcus broke the silence, his voice low but dripping with exaggerated indignation. “Some people, honestly. Strutting around like peacocks, flinging their egos everywhere. It’s embarrassing, really. No manners.”

The group turned to him, their collective gaze a silent verdict of disbelief. Eyebrows lifted, lips twitching with barely concealed amusement.

Marcus blinked, glancing around at their faces. “What?” he asked, his confusion wholly sincere.

Dex stepped forward, laying a hand on his shoulder with the glistening eyes of someone holding back laughter. “Come on, Marcus. Let’s get to the rooms.”