The maid stumbled backward, the empty tray clattering against her hip. Her face drained of color.
"Sir… please," she managed, voice trembling, "I'd appreciate if you didn't jest like that. Excuse me."
She turned quickly toward the door, her thoughts racing bitter and fast.
'He's only mocking me. A high lord from one of the great kingdoms—every woman in Norco would kill for a glance from him. He'll laugh about this later with his noble friends, how the silly maid actually believed him.'
"I'm not jesting," Ramius said quietly, earnestly.
Her hand froze on the door handle. Slowly she turned back. Tears had already gathered in her blue eyes and now spilled freely down flushed cheeks.
"If you want my body, Sir Ramius," she said, her voice breaking but steady in its hurt, "you needn't wrap it in lies. Just ask. A man of your station—how could a maid like me refuse?"
She had been born to better things. Her father had been a respected guildmaster; she had once walked these same streets with her head high, dresses fine and her future bright. Then he died, and grasping relatives stripped everything away. She had been cast out with nothing but the clothes on her back. Now she earned her bread serving others with her head bowed. She knew exactly how cruel and greedy men could be.
Ramius rose from his chair, taking on a serious expression. "You're right—I do want your body. Today, tomorrow, and every day after until the end of your life." He paused, letting the words settle. "Take whatever time you need to think it over."
The maid stared at him, tears still falling. "You can't just… say things like that. You speak of marriage, but you don't even know my name. I don't like you, sir. I... I hate you."
With that, she fled the room, the door banging shut behind her.
Ramius stood alone in the sudden quiet.
"Turned down on the very first try," he muttered, running a hand through his golden hair. "What's all this nonsense about marriage needing to be fancy—knowing names and all of that?"
In his mind, Orin's mocking voice echoed clear as day: 'Looks like that precious brain everyone praises is just decoration after all. Couldn't even land one girl. Watch me sweep ten off their feet before breakfast.'
Ramius scowled at the empty air and stalked to the bed, throwing himself down with a huff.
"I'm not giving up," he declared to the ceiling. "I'll try again tomorrow."
For now, though, there were more pressing matters.
He folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the beams.
"Orin and I have been piecing together the attack on Aeloria's caravan near Squora ever since he accepted her as his little sister. Whoever the Thornsleeper was that left her for dead—they'll have passed through Norco at some point. If the Almon family truly hired them, I'll drag the proof out into the light and see them face justice. Then maybe that potato-skulled oaf can finally play the protective 'big brother' he's always wanted to be."
The problem was identifying a Thornsleeper in a town this size. They hid in plain sight, indistinguishable until they struck.
If only I could find a Protector willing to help…
Plans and counter-plans spun through his mind until exhaustion pulled him under.
...
KNOCK KNOCK.
No answer.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
Ramius jolted awake, his golden hair tousled with his eyes narrowed in irritation.
"Alright, which potato-brained idiot thinks it's a good idea to wake me this early in the morning ?"
He threw off the covers and stomped to the door, yanking it open with far more force than necessary.
The maid from the night before stood there, she stared at him and immediately directed her eyes to the floorboards. She held a fresh breakfast tray, her knuckles white around the handles.
"Come in," he grumbled, swallowing the rest of his anger.
She stepped inside hesitantly, still not looking up.
What's wrong with her? She won't even meet my eyes.
Only then did Ramius remember—he had fallen asleep in nothing but his under-tunic. It was now morning and his little brother down there was also up.
He cleared his throat, grabbed the blanket from the bed, and draped it over his head like a hood as he lay back on the bed, leaving only his face visible.
"I… I'm sorry about yesterday," he said awkwardly.
Ramius, the man whose judgments were legend across kingdoms, had never once needed to apologize for a misstep. The words felt clumsy and foreign in his mouth.
Silence answered him.
He tugged the blanket down just enough to peer over the edge.
The maid stood near the table, tray set down, her hands clasped tightly in front of her apron. Her cheeks were pink, eyes still on the floor—but now he saw the faint tremble in her shoulders and the way she worried her lower lip.
She kept her eyes fixed on the floor as she moved about the room with efficient motions—straightening the rumpled quilt with sharp tugs, sweeping invisible dust from the tabletop, emptying yesterday's wash water and refilling the pitcher from the fresh jug she had carried in. Every action was precise and deliberate.
Marrying someone like Ramius would hand her the sweetest revenge on the relatives who had stripped her of everything after her father's death. She could walk back into their halls with her head high again, watch their faces twist at the sight of her on the arm of one of the three great kingdom's most powerful men.
Yet the cold certainty that he was only amusing himself—that he would brag to his friends later about the foolish maid—cut far deeper than any blade. It stung her pride more than the years of scraping and bowing ever had.
Ramius sat on the edge of the bed, the blanket still draped over his bare shoulders like a makeshift cloak, watching her in silence.
"Could you at least tell me your name?" he asked again, softer this time.
She didn't pause in her work. No answer came.
He let out a slow breath. 'It would seem that women are their own kind of puzzle. But I've solved worse. I'll figure this one out too.'
"It's Jerice, sir," she said finally, her voice clipped and formal. She couldn't risk the overseer hearing complaints of rudeness—not from a guest like him. One wrong word and she'd be out on the street again.
Ramius nodded. "My name is Ramius." He offered it as though it were new information. "Though you seem to know it already."
She had scolded him yesterday for proposing marriage without knowing her name. Fair point—he would start fixing that now.
"I've never seen a young woman work as quickly and thoroughly as you do, Jerice. Where do you come from?"
"Nowhere, sir." The answer slipped out raw and honest. She had no home left to name.
Ramius's brow creased slightly. 'This might prove more difficult than I anticipated.'
"What's your favorite food, then?"
"Rice."
She answered because he was Ramius—because refusing outright could cost her wages, maybe even this job.
She finished wiping down the windowsill and turned toward the door once more.
"Please excuse me, sir."
"Wait." Ramius stretched out a hand, then caught himself and let it drop. "Is something wrong?"
"Please stay a bit longer."
"I'm sorry, sir. I can't linger. There are other rooms waiting, other guests who need tending." She paused in the doorway, her chin lifting just enough to show a flicker of old pride. "But I suppose someone who has had everything handed to him since the day he was born wouldn't understand that."
The door closed with a firm click.
Ramius stared at it for a long moment, genuinely baffled.
"Now I'm truly lost. What did I do wrong this time? My reasoning seemed flawless—sincere offer, honest intent—yet the result…"
Orin's imagined voice boomed in his head, loud and mocking: 'Couldn't even make up with one girl. Better stay quiet when real men are talking.'
He could picture the brute's smug grin lasting for years.
"I will have you, Jerice," Ramius muttered to the empty room, his resolve hardening. "Mark my words. This time I'll learn from every misstep."
He rose, dressed properly—fine tunic, fitted coat, boots polished the night before—and headed downstairs.
...
A while later, Ramius entered the familiar upper hall of the grand eatery, the same luxurious second-floor eatery where Hanon and Aeloria had met Krazel the previous day. Afternoon light filtered through tall windows, glinting off crystal and silver. The room was quieter now, only a scattering of early patrons nursing wine or reviewing ledgers.
He chose a table along the carved balcony rail—one with a clear view of the entrance stairs—and settled in to think. Jerice occupied most of his mind, but beneath it ran the steady purpose that had truly brought him to Norco: tracing the Thornsleeper who had ambushed Aeloria's caravan.
A shadow crossed his table.
"You're sir Ramius, if I'm not mistaken?"
Ramius glanced up. Krazel stood there, fine merchant's coat slightly dusty from morning dealings, a cautious smile on his face.
"That's right," Ramius replied, gesturing to the opposite chair. "You're Krazel. Please, join me."
"I'll take you up on your offer then, I'm alone as well—my companions won't arrive until evening." Krazel inclined his head gratefully and sat.
A servant appeared at Ramius's subtle signal. He then ordered two swamp wines.
After the wine was poured and the servant withdrew, Ramius leaned forward slightly.
"Tell me something, Krazel—you're married, yes?"
The merchant blinked, surprised by the directness, but recovered with a small laugh. "Yes, for nearly twenty years now."
"How did you win her?" Ramius asked, swirling his wine thoughtfully. "How did you convince her to say yes?"
Krazel took a sip, considering. "Well… my wife and I grew up in the same town. We knew each other since we were children—played in the same streets, shared festivals, watched each other grow. By the time we were old enough, it felt natural. There was no grand persuasion needed."
He shrugged good-naturedly. "But for a man of your rank and reputation, Sir Ramius… you could have any woman in the three kingdoms with a single word."
Ramius's gaze drifted to the window, thoughts returning to a certain dark-haired maid with defiant blue eyes and a tongue sharp enough to draw blood.
"I'm not so sure about that," he said quietly, almost to himself.
"You shouldn't concern yourself with women, you could have them all." Krazel laughed lightly.
As Krazel laughed, Ramius noticed a man at a far table—someone whose eyes lingered a second too long on the merchant. The strategist's mind clicked back into place. Women were a puzzle, but a hunt? A hunt he understood.