The Grey Fog was a forbidden phrase in this land, whispered only in fear since the 14th century. To the Greeks, it symbolized the beginning of the end. In England, it was believed to be a void of darkness—an omen filled with ancient, unspeakable evil.
I am the protagonist of this tale: Vikir Vanberskervile.
My life had changed drastically, though not by fortune's kindness. I was neither noble nor royal; no ancient bloodline traced my name through gilded halls or sacred scrolls. I was merely a detective—a commoner scraping a living on the outskirts of town, where unpaid bills gathered at my front door like silent judges.
My work paid little and demanded much. Missing chickens, stolen horses, petty disputes between drunken neighbors—such were the cases that kept me alive, though barely.
In this forsaken realm, people like me were regarded as refuse.
We existed to serve the nobles and the royals, to labor so they might feast, to bleed so they might rule. And yet, by some cruel twist of fate, I found myself entrusted with the greatest investigation of my lifetime: the abduction of Sophia Claret, Duchess of Grimsby.
Sophia was no mere duchess.
She was of royal blood, born of the prestigious House of Claret. Among all noble and royal families, three stood at the pinnacle of England's power: the House of Silver, from which the King himself hailed; the House of Bridgerton, masters of trade and influence; and the House of Claret, forged in steel and discipline.
The Clarets produced warriors—men and women trained from childhood in swordsmanship and war. From their ranks came the Royal Knights, sworn directly to the King.
For someone like me to be drawn into such affairs was unthinkable.
A fortnight after Sophia hosted the Royal Gala, she vanished.
Abduction, some whispered. Assassination, others feared. No evidence spoke clearly. The mystery shook the kingdom—and somehow, impossibly, I was the one chosen to unravel it.
That was where my story truly began.