I slowly drifted back to consciousness, the first thing registering being the soft crackling of a nearby fire.

  Groaning, I reached up to rub my forehead, massaging my temples where the headache was pounding a furious rhythm against my skull.

  A deep sigh escaped my throat.

  What kind of mess have I gotten myself into?

  Except for that one tense night at Orin's, I hadn't spent a single normal night since arriving in this world. I'd been almost killed, knocked out cold, and whatever the hell else had happened yesterday…

  My groggy thoughts were pulled from their haze as a voice drifted across the room—one that sounded vaguely familiar.

  "You don't need to worry, he's doing fine."

  Wasn't that the woman from yesterday—Lady Ainsworth?

  My mind, still sluggish, tried to piece it together. Was she messing with me? I shouldn't worry because her dirtbag husband was okay after I nearly crushed him? An involuntary sneer twisted my lips, even with my eyes still closed.

  "Pff. Why should I care how he's doing?" I muttered.

  The answer I got wasn't what I expected. A warm, genuine laugh followed, and her voice returned, almost gently.

  "I wasn't talking to you."

  What? Not talking to me? Is someone else in here?

  Finally, I took my hand away from my face, forcing my eyes open. The ornate ceiling swam into view—yup, definitely the same room they'd apparently assigned to me. Groaning again at the protest from my skull, I pushed myself into a sitting position, fighting back a wave of nausea. After taking a few deep breaths to steady the spinning room, I turned towards the sound of her voice.

  I'd only gotten a hazy impression of her yesterday during the chaos. Now, seeing her clearly in the morning light filtering through the window, she was… stunning.

  She was a truly beautiful woman, maybe around thirty years old at most, with pearly blonde hair swept up elegantly, startlingly bright blue eyes, and an intelligent, sharp-featured face. She wore a turquoise, off-the-shoulder gown with a white underskirt and delicate frills, revealing the elegant lines of her collarbone and shoulders.

  Heat rose in my cheeks, and I quickly averted my gaze. But as I looked away, my eyes landed on a simple bundle of cloth resting in her lap.

  I saved myself the trouble of asking what that was about. Right now, priority number one was sucking up to my potential lifesaver.

  Lowering my head respectfully, I began, trying to sound as humble as possible. "Lady Ainsworth... my name is Grim. Please forgive my lack of knowledge regarding etiquette. If I addressed you improperly, or if I cannot bow as I should… I fear if I stand up right now, I might just tip over, and I'd like to spare us both the embarrassment. I hope you can forgive this simple country bumpkin… even though I'm not actually a farmer."

  When no immediate answer came, I cautiously raised my head, only to be surprised again. A genuine sparkle of amusement lit Lady Ainsworth’s blue eyes, and a soft chuckle escaped her.

  "You really are a strange boy… And don't worry about it," she waved a dismissive hand. "Frankly, I'm sick to death of being surrounded by stiff etiquette all the time. You have no idea what it's like, from dawn till dusk. 'Bow here, curtsey there. Oh yes, thank you so much, Your Ladyship. But of course, My Lord.' Ugh."

  She sighed dramatically.

  "I am so tired of all the bootlickers. So I'm actually glad to occasionally talk to people who aren't nobles. Speak normally to me when we're alone, alright? But," her expression turned serious for a moment, "continue with the… 'due respect'," she drawled the words mockingly, "when we're in company."

  Nodding in understanding, I replied, "I understand, Lady Ainsworth. Thank you for the… privilege." Okay, play along. "But what did you mean just now, when you said 'I wasn't talking to you'?"

  I didn't get the reaction I expected. A knowing smile touched her lips as she carefully folded back the layers of cloth in her lap, revealing what—or rather, who—was nestled inside.

  "Pip!"

  The name burst out of me, a raw mix of shock and overwhelming relief. My heart hammered against my ribs. I scrambled off the bed, ignoring the fresh wave of dizziness. "How did you get here?! Lady Ainsworth, is she okay?" I asked worriedly, my hands hovering, wanting to check her over myself but not daring to presume.

  Lady Ainsworth nodded reassuringly, gently stroking Pip's back. "She's fine. Just wet and chilled to the bone. Apparently, she spent the entire night scratching at the back door downstairs in the rain, trying to get into the manor." Her smile softened. "You have a very loyal companion there, Grim. She was incredibly worried about you."

  Bonus points. This woman was just racking up bonus points.

  Still… something bothered me.

  "Why do you say she was worried about me?" I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Forgive me if this sounds rude, Lady Ainsworth. But if you're just saying that to comfort me, you really don't have to. I might only look twelve, but I'm tougher than I look. Besides," I added dryly, unable to help myself, "it shouldn't be your job to comfort your slaves."

  Up until the point I said 'slaves', her expression had been relatively relaxed. But at that word, her smile vanished.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She bit her lower lip, a flicker of something unreadable—annoyance? guilt?—flashing in her eyes before being suppressed. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to steel herself before speaking again.

  "Let's put our cards on the table, Grim," she said, her voice regaining its calm, measured tone. "Because frankly, I dislike this entire situation just as much as you do. In case you haven't gathered, I am Marchioness Genevieve Ainsworth."

  She paused, letting the title sink in. Marchioness? Higher than a Baron? Okay.

  "And my husband," she continued, a subtle, sharp edge creeping into her voice, "is only my husband because he possesses an obscene amount of wealth. To his credit, he comes from simple origins and earned every coin himself through shrewd business. But now, here I am, married off like a political pawn, sold like a cheap whore, just so that man can claim a connection to true nobility."

  "But as you may have noticed," she went on, leaning forward slightly, her blue eyes sharp, "he is still only a Baron. Through his marriage to me, however, he gained access to all of my family's contacts, securing many new trade relationships. Make no mistake, boy," her voice dropped, becoming steelier, "in this house, I wear the breeches, and that miserable little toad would do well not to forget it."

  Leaning back, she seemed satisfied.

  "And to answer your earlier question—no, I wasn't just trying to comfort you in the figurative sense. I can read… well, let's call them the strong emotions, the intent, of your cat. I am capable of using Spirit Magic."

  She saw my blank look and elaborated. "It's quite rare, so I don't expect you to know how it works. Through Spirit Magic, I am able to… interpret souls, sometimes even hear surface thoughts or strong intentions. For example, if someone harbors ill intent towards me, I feel it as a negative presence. If he is obsessed with the thought of killing me, I might hear that specific thought clearly. It works similarly with your cat. As an animal, her natural defenses against Spirit Magic are weak, and it was very easy to sense her overwhelming worry for you."

  She paused, studying me intently.

  "But this is where you come in, Grim. No matter how hard I try to read your spirit, your mind… I get nothing. Not the slightest flicker of emotion, not a hint of intent. It's like trying to read polished stone. And that," she tilted her head, looking genuinely curious now, "makes me very curious indeed. Who are you?"

  "I'm Grim," I said flatly.

  The Marchioness stared at me, perplexed for a second, then burst into clear, bell-like laughter. "You truly are," she remarked, shaking her head with a smile, "a very strange boy."

  "Forgive the joke, my Lady," I offered, deciding partial honesty was the best policy. "To tell you the truth… I'm just a simple, unlucky kid. My parents are dead. And now I'm stranded in this world, apparently as a slave." I hesitated, then added quietly, "The only things I have left are my magic, and my family… Pip."

  Lady Ainsworth nodded slowly, her expression turning serious again, perhaps even a little sad.

  "I want to be honest with you, Grim. I bear partial responsibility for your current predicament. The bracelet you wear," she gestured towards my wrist, "is a combination of Spirit Magic and Blood Magic. Spirit Magic itself is harmless. But when combined with forbidden Blood Magic, using a drop of your blood, an object can be created that forces magical obedience."

  She held up a hand before I could ask.

  "And yes, both slavery and Blood Magic are strictly forbidden by the laws of every civilized kingdom and are punished severely. However," her lips thinned into a grim line, "among certain circles of the nobility… it's distressingly common, though no one ever speaks of it openly."

  "Which brings me," she continued, her gaze sharpening again, "to my offer. Victor needs a representative for the tournament. Participate. Do your best—you don't even have to win, just make a respectable showing for House Ainsworth. If you do that, then after the tournament, I will personally see to it that you are freed from that bracelet. As Victor said, the tournament is immensely important for his standing. Even though my influence is considerable, where this competition is concerned, my family will likely side with Victor to uphold appearances. But," she stressed, leaning forward again, "in all other matters within this household, my word is law. I will protect both you and Pip from him. And I might even grant you certain privileges… if you prove diligent and useful."

  Blood Magic… what a disgusting thought.

  But she had a point. She was offering a deal, an escape route. Protection. A roof over our heads, food, and—the biggest plus—I'd get magic training. That would definitely help me survive in this world, help me protect Pip.

  But the cost was high. Until the tournament, I'd have to play the part, to keep up the illusion of being an obedient slave. And what would happen after? Would they reward me with freedom, or just kick me out onto the streets once I was no longer useful?

  It was a gamble. A dangerous one. But it was the only one I had.

  "Alright," I said slowly. "I accept your offer. But I need to clarify one thing first. What happens after the tournament? You free me… and then what? Do you just let me go?"

  Lady Ainsworth thoughtfully touched her chin. "Hm. Not even I particularly wish to live in the same house as Victor," she admitted with a wry smile. "So I imagine that's not an option you'd desire either. But… I could arrange for you to be placed in an orphanage here in Aegis. A good one," she emphasized. "They would teach you to read and write, ensure you're cared for. While you're there, you would be expected to begin an apprenticeship, so you could stand on your own two feet afterward. How does that sound?"

  My gaze fell to Pip, who had woken in Lady Ainsworth’s lap and was now watching our conversation with those intelligent green eyes.

  The answer was simple. It was always simple.

  "If Pip can come with me," I stated plainly, meeting the Marchioness's gaze, "then I don't care where I go."

  Homeless again would be better than being without her. That was the one thing I couldn't compromise on.

  Lady Ainsworth nodded without hesitation. "That can be arranged. This cat truly means a great deal to you, doesn't she?"

  The familiar ache tightened in my chest. I nodded slowly. "You have no idea how much..."

  Lady Ainsworth stood, carefully holding the bundle containing Pip. She gently placed it down on the foot of my bed, then gestured towards a neat pile of clothes and a pair of sturdy-looking leather boots on a nearby table.

  "These are for you," she explained. "If they don't fit or aren't to your liking, inform Conrad. The tailor made them based on the style of your old clothes, just… cleaner and newer."

  Turning towards the door, she added, "The healer said you should rest today. Thankfully, nothing was permanently damaged when you collapsed. You should be back to your full strength by tomorrow. So, rest well. We'll see each other at breakfast."

  I inclined my head slightly. "Thank you, Lady Ainsworth. I truly appreciate all of this."

  She gave me a brief, acknowledging nod and walked out. Just before she closed the door, she paused. "Oh, and Grim? It would probably be best if you apologized to Victor tomorrow morning. I will be having… words… with him myself later today. Just to ensure a temporary truce."

  With a ghost of a smirk, she closed the door.

  Tens of thousands of thoughts whirled through my head—slavery, magic, tournaments, deals with nobles, a crazy Baron, a powerful Marchioness…

  But suddenly, none of it mattered.

  Pip carefully crawled out from under the blankets, stretched, yawned, and trotted purposefully across the mattress towards me, letting out a series of happy, welcoming meows.

  A ragged laugh escaped me as I scooped her up instantly, burying my face in her soft, warm fur, holding her tight against my chest. The familiar weight, the rumbling purr starting up against my ribs—it was the only thing that felt real, the only thing that truly mattered in this insane new world.

  "Hello, my angel," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "God, I missed you…"