He didn't need to yell. He didn't need to raise a hand or bare his teeth.
The chill in his voice was enough to make the air bite, to make the earth itself want to curl away in submission.
And he was looking—right. At. Me.
"Put the child down."
His voice was calm. Frigid. Lethal. And the effect was immediate.
The teachers froze and then scrambled as if his words were fire licking at their backs. My feet hit the ground so fast I stumbled a bit. Their hands were trembling. Their eyes stayed glued to the floor, like lifting them might mean death.
I blinked at them, confused—until I felt a presence move closer.
I turned—and froze.
Grand Duke Adrien.
He was close.
Too close.
Tall. Towering. Immaculate. Sharper. Like someone had carved him from onyx and winter. His boots crunched against the dirt as he stepped forward—slow, deliberate, spine-straight, and unbothered by the scene in front of him and handsome enough to ruin lives.
And so terrifying that I swear my soul tried to evacuate my body.
"You," he said.
Soft voice. Polished. But cold enough to give snow trauma.
His icy blue eyes settled on me, expression unreadable. He looked at me like I was something… strange. Not exactly repulsive, but not precious either. Like he was still deciding whether I was worth crushing underfoot or keeping in his pocket.
I flinched. Instinctively. Like a raccoon caught stealing bread. But I made myself look up. You got this, I told myself. Be bold. Be unhinged. Be the goblin you were born to be.
I raised my chin like a soggy warrior.
He stared at me like I was a bug on his new carpet. "Do you realize whose path you've crossed?"
The air changed.
It was like someone pressed the 'DRAMA' button on the weather.
A kid behind me sobbed. One fainted. Someone—not naming names—straight up peed. I smelled it.
"I could have you executed for this," he said casually. Like he was talking about weekend plans.
My heart went full riot in my chest, trying to beat its way out.
This was it.
My turning point. I swallowed, my throat dry and raw, and somehow found my voice. Then he tilted his head, a little amused. "What's your name?"
I glared right back at him and declared, "Sixty-nine."
He paused.
Just stared.
"…What?"
"Sixty-Nine," I repeated, louder. "That's my name."
A beat.
Then another.
"…What kind of cursed name is that?" he asked, blinking slowly like he wasn't sure if he'd heard me right.
"That's because I'm the sixty-ninth child of this filthy, rat-infested orphanage!" I screamed, hands flailing like I was summoning thunder. "I'm not just a number—I'm a legacy!"
The audience gasped.
Like, audibly gasped.
A teacher looked like she was about to faint. A knight muttered, "Dear heavens." One guy whispered, "Nice," before being elbowed into silence.
My voice echoed. Loud. Bold. Righteous.
Gasps flew around us like gossip on fire. The knights standing beside him and the teachers actually stumbled back, mouths wide open, scandalized.
But I stood my ground like a warrior in a paper crown.
Adrien blinked once. Then he turned his gaze to the orphanage—the crumbling walls, the moldy roof, the smell of wet despair.
"…It is filthy," he muttered thoughtfully.
Then, without even blinking, he turned back to me.
"…And you look filthy too."
THAT. WAS. IT.
The last straw. The end of my tolerance. My last brain cell exploded like a soda can in a fire.
"HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT TO A KID!" I screamed, fists balled, hair flying. "I—I'M ONLY COVERED IN DUST BECAUSE I FELL AND ROLLED AND GOT DROPPED BY THOSE EVIL GOBLINS—BUT NORMALLY I'M THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PERSON IN THIS ENTIRE ORPHANAGE! I'M A GEM IN THE MUD! A ROSE IN THE DUMPSTER!"
He didn't flinch. Didn't laugh.
Instead, he stepped forward and—lifted me. with one hand. Like a potato sack.
Then he turned me left. Then right. Then he tilted me forward like I was some sort of weird goblin artifact he'd picked up off the battlefield.
"Hmm," he murmured, like a nobleman judging grapes at a market. "Ugly… but not beyond saving."
I kicked. "PUT ME DOWN! I'M A LIMITED-EDITION HUMAN, NOT A FRUIT!"
Avoiding my wild kicks—most of which only managed to hit the air around his arm—his gaze flicked lazily to the orphanage owner, who was still groveling on the ground like a slug caught in a thunderstorm.
"How much?"
The woman's head snapped up. "P–Pardon, my lord?"
He didn't even blink. "How much for this child?"
"Wh–what…?"
"I'm buying her," he said flatly, like he was ordering a pastry. "Name your price."
Flat. Like he was ordering cake.
I gawked at him. "You can't just buy people!"
"I can," he said, completely unbothered. "I'm the Grand Duke."
"…That's illegal!"
"It's called adoption," he corrected smoothly. "Calm down."
I froze, mid-protest. My mouth was still open, but no sound came out.
Adoption?
He wanted to adopt me?
I blinked, stunned. I mean—sure, that's better than being stuck in this moldy orphanage for the rest of my life. Probably. Yeah... definitely. I think.
Before I could fully process it, he turned on his heel, carrying me like a particularly annoying loaf of bread. With zero ceremony, he walked straight to a sleek black carriage waiting just beyond the gate, opened the door, and unceremoniously plopped me inside.
"Stay here," he said as I bounced on the velvet seat like a sack of potatoes. "I'll be back."
SLAM.
Door closed.
Silence.
I sat there.
Stunned. Disheveled. A mess of limbs and confusion. Hair sticking out like I'd been electrocuted.
"…Did I just get adopted or kidnapped?" I whispered.
And somewhere deep in my soul… I wasn't entirely sure which was worse.
Through the carriage window, I saw him walk back toward the orphanage, his coat flaring behind him like a storm. The teachers were still panicking—tripping over themselves, clutching their skirts; one even looked ready to faint.
I slumped back with a sigh, letting my legs dangle.
"…I guess… it's a good thing," I muttered.
Maybe.
Probably.
Hopefully?