[Rias POV]

  Rias’s thoughts spiraled.

  Was my judgment wrong?

  Did I make the wrong choice by siding with her?

  Was my instinct wrong?

  Each question fed the next. Her hard-earned position flashed through her mind, brittle and suddenly unstable. She had worked too long for it to be shaken so easily.

  Her face had gone pale without her noticing.

  She looked at Helena, really looked at her this time and tried to reconcile the person she knew with what she had just heard. A fugitive. Someone who had vanished after severing ties with both her family and the second prince. Someone who had even fled from a monastery.

  It did not sit right.

  Her irritation turned inward.

  Rias, you and your damned gambler’s instinct.

  Why hadn’t she done a background check? Why had she trusted her gut so easily?

  She exhaled sharply through her nose and glanced toward the other VIP area.

  Iscar Winterwell sat there, rigid and contained. Still part of the picture.

  Then another thought intruded, unwelcome but persistent.

  Then where did Helena’s wealth come from?

  Rias frowned.

  It did not add up. If Helena had truly been running for years, cut off from her family and the royal line, she should not have resources like that. Not without help.

  A backer?

  Yes, that was possible. Even likely.

  But that raised another problem.

  Rias was not worried about House Winterwell. A disgraced count’s house was manageable. Awkward, but manageable.

  A member of the royal family was not.

  The only person who could deal with that kind of trouble was Master Exis.

  The realization hit hard.

  Rias scrubbed her hands through her hair and let out a sharp, frustrated sound.

  “Ahhh… why do I have to deal with this?”

  Her voice was louder than she intended.

  “I’m not even hiding her,” she muttered. “Why is this my problem?”

  The noblewomen around her startled.

  Several of them turned at once, expressions ranging from surprise to concern.

  “Lady Rias?” one of them asked carefully. “What’s wrong? You look… are you feeling unwell?”

  “Please calm down,” another added. “You’re breathing very fast.”

  Rias froze.

  She became aware of the attention all at once. Too many eyes.

  She straightened and forced herself to breathe more slowly.

  “Ah. Sorry,” she said after a moment. “That was uncalled for.”

  Marchioness Venenya leaned in slightly, her expression genuinely concerned.

  “Is something troubling you?”

  Rias tilted her head, deliberately blank.

  The marchioness continued gently, “Your expression just now went through quite a range. I thought perhaps you were dealing with something serious. We may not be close, but I can listen. Or help, if I’m able.”

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  Rias smoothed her features into a polite smile.

  “Thank you, Marchioness,” she said evenly. “But it’s nothing of that sort. Just work-related stress.”

  The explanation convinced no one.

  Several of the women exchanged looks. They could all tell that what Rias had been thinking went far beyond routine matters. But she had drawn a line, and no one pressed further.

  Not openly, at least.

  Rias lowered her gaze, hands folded neatly in her lap.

  She was still confused. Still uncertain.

  In the end, there was nothing to do but wait. Whatever consequences were coming would arrive in their own time.

  Whether she would lose her position or not, she did not know.

  Right now, she knew very little at all.

  ---

  [Iscar POV]

  Chubbington leaned closer and lowered his voice.

  “It would do you no good to keep going,” he whispered. “You should give it up.”

  Iscar shot him a sharp look.

  He had already decided to let the potions go. That much was settled. But hearing it said aloud, especially in that tone, irritated him more than it should have.

  “Why?” Iscar asked, glancing toward the golden-masked bidder across the hall.

  His eyes narrowed slightly.

  Have I seen her before?

  The thought came and went. Familiarity tugged at him, but it wasn’t important. Not now.

  The real question was simpler.

  Why is she getting in my way?

  He ran through possibilities quickly. Had he offended her somehow? No. He hadn’t even been near that section of the hall before the bidding started.

  A rival house, then?

  Unlikely.

  If someone wanted to move against House Winterwell, they would do it properly. Quiet pressure. Political damage. Not petty interference over a stack of potions.

  It didn’t add up.

  Chubbington chuckled beside him.

  “Mm. Iscar, what did you do this time to make her single you out?”

  Iscar’s expression twitched.

  What did I do? How would I know?

  He forced himself to calm down before replying.

  “I don’t know,” he said evenly. “Do you know her, Lord Chubbington?”

  “No,” Chubbington replied at once. “How could I? She’s wearing a mask. But I can tell you this—you’re being targeted by a rather troublesome person.”

  “Nasty?” Iscar repeated.

  “Well.” Chubbington tilted his head. “Perhaps ‘nasty’ isn’t the right word. Let’s say… formidable.”

  Iscar frowned. “I’m not following.”

  Chubbington leaned back slightly, clearly enjoying himself.

  “You weren’t here earlier. About an hour ago, she had a bidding round with Duke Merlo.”

  Iscar stiffened.

  “Duke Merlo himself?”

  “Toe to toe.”

  That alone was enough to make Iscar pay attention.

  “What was strange,” Chubbington continued, lowering his voice again, “was how she bid. No hesitation. Not once. It was very clear she wasn’t going to stop until the item was hers.”

  He smiled thinly.

  “Even Duke Merlo stepped back.”

  Iscar said nothing.

  Merlo House was famous for its wealth. Duke Merlo was infamous for spending it. Once the duke wanted something, he rarely backed down.

  If she had made him stop, then she was not someone to challenge lightly.

  Chubbington shrugged.

  “I’m just advising caution. You can raise the bid if you want. But you might end up paying far too much for something that isn’t worth it.”

  Iscar swallowed.

  Did she really force Duke Merlo to back down?

  If that was true, then continuing this was pointless.

  Unless…

  Another thought surfaced.

  Maybe she isn’t targeting me.

  Maybe she just wanted the potions.

  That would explain the clean jump in price. If she were provoking him, she would have raised it gradually.

  Yes. That made more sense.

  He could simply move on. Buy something else.

  The point wasn’t the item. It was appearance.

  Leaving empty-handed would only feed rumors.

  The next lot was brought forward.

  A painting.

  The auctioneer’s voice carried smoothly across the hall.

  “Next lot: Moan-ah Lisa.”

  The cloth was drawn back.

  “Oil on canvas. A genuine work by Hilter, authenticated and fully documented. An early piece, painted during his transitional period.”

  The room grew quiet.

  “The subject is a young woman at the threshold of adulthood. The artist intended to capture that fleeting moment where innocence gives way to awareness.”

  The auctioneer folded his hands.

  “Bidding will begin at six thousand gold.”

  Iscar’s mood lifted slightly.

  Perfect.

  He raised his paddle without hesitation.

  The bids climbed steadily. Seven thousand. Eight.

  Chubbington glanced at him.

  “I never knew you were a fan of Hilter.”

  “I didn’t either,” Iscar replied.

  Then a familiar voice cut in.

  “Ten thousand.”

  The auctioneer smiled.

  “Ten thousand gold from bidder number thirty-three.”

  Iscar’s jaw tightened.

  Not again.

  This time, there was no doubt.

  She was targeting him.

  ---

  [Helena POV]

  Just a few minutes earlier, in Rias’s VIP section, Helena was in a good mood.

  She leaned back in her seat, watching Iscar from across the hall with mild satisfaction. Whatever his reason for backing down, the result was the same—he had stopped bidding.

  She still didn’t quite understand why.

  Helena had no real sense of auction etiquette or pricing. She didn’t know what potions were supposed to cost, or what was considered excessive. She had doubled the bid simply because it felt effective.

  Apparently, it had been too effective.

  Beside her, Stella tilted her head, studying Helena’s face.

  “Do you have a problem with him?” she asked. “Your smile looked kind of evil when you bid against him.”

  Helena glanced down at her, amused.

  “You could say we have some history.”

  She paused, then added,

  “Though I was hoping he’d keep bidding. I wanted to play a little longer.”

  Stella frowned.

  “Why would he?” she said. “You already forced him to give up on the first bid. Bidding again would just be risky.”

  She looked at Helena more closely.

  “Do you really not know anything about auction bidding?”

  Helena felt a brief, unfamiliar twinge of embarrassment.

  Being corrected by a ten-year-old was not something she had much experience with.

  “Well,” she said after a moment, “I never really had the chance to attend auctions like this. So no. I don’t know much.”

  She leaned closer, lowering her voice slightly.

  “Would you like to give me some tips, my lady?”

  Stella narrowed her eyes.

  “What kind of tips?”

  Helena smiled, slow and unapologetic.

  “How to annoy my opponent.”

  Stella stared at her for a second, then sighed.

  “You really are a bully.”

  Helena’s smile widened just a little.