2. Valen

CHAPTER 2

VALEN

T he wine in my glass barely moves as I swirl it, half-listening to Lord Reichenbach's endless prattle about his latest business venture. My eyes, however, are drawn to a figure moving through the crowd below. She navigates the sea of gaudy gowns and stiff tuxedos with a grace that seems almost accidental, like a dancer unaware of her own elegance.

"And then, of course, we had to outbid the Rivka Consortium," Reichenbach drones on. "Quite a feat, I assure you."

"Fascinating," I murmur, my gaze locked on the woman in the plain maid's dress. She stands out precisely because she doesn't try to. Her long brown hair falls in waves, catching the light in a way that no diamond necklace could.

"Indeed. Quite fascinating," Reichenbach repeats, oblivious to my distraction.

She pauses near the edge of the ballroom, scanning the room with wide-set eyes the color of rich milk chocolate. A luxury in this world. She doesn’t belong here; that's clear from her modest attire and unadorned demeanor. Yet she carries herself with a dignity that rivals any aristocrat present.

Reichenbach’s voice grates on my ears as he continues his monologue. "The key is diversification. You can never have too many irons in the fire."

"Of course," I reply, more out of habit than interest. I take a sip of my wine, letting its rich flavor roll over my tongue while my mind drifts to more intriguing matters.

She catches sight of me—or perhaps just the balcony—and her eyes linger for a moment before she resumes her duties, balancing a tray of empty glasses with practiced ease. Who is she? And why does she seem so different from everyone else here?

My eyes scan the ballroom, taking in the throng of guests that fill my estate. Each face here has a purpose, a reason for their inclusion on the list. It would raise eyebrows if any one of them were absent, and so they come, like moths to a flame. They flit around, their laughter and chatter a buzz that fills the air, but none of it reaches me. I'm here, yet I'm not.

Reichenbach rambles on beside me, oblivious to my disinterest. “We had to outmaneuver several competitors. Quite the strategic play.”

I nod absently, my focus drifting once more to the figure in the plain dress. She weaves through the crowd with an unassuming grace, her movements fluid and natural. Unlike these guests who hide behind their masks of wealth and power, she is genuine. She doesn’t belong in this world of opulence and deceit, yet she stands out because of it.

Why does she interest me so? Perhaps it's her authenticity in a room full of artifice. Or maybe it’s something deeper, something I can’t quite put into words. My guests serve as distractions, pawns in my game of information gathering. Each conversation is a thread in the web I weave to maintain control and stay ahead.

Reichenbach clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him for a moment.

“Indeed,” I reply, though my mind is elsewhere.

“Valen,” Reichenbach says, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “Are you even listening?”

“Yes,” I answer, my tone clipped. “But some conversations are more compelling than others.”

He frowns but says nothing more, turning his attention back to his drink.

The evening wears on, but my thoughts remain fixed on her. She is a mystery I intend to unravel, one layer at a time.

The buzz of the party fades as I slip into the shadowed hallway, away from prying eyes and insipid conversations. I find my aide, Tragan, near the service entrance, meticulously checking the guest list on his tablet.

"Tragan," I say, keeping my voice low but authoritative. He looks up immediately, his posture straightening.

"Yes, sir?"

"That woman," I begin, not needing to elaborate. He knows me well enough to follow my line of sight without question. "The one with the brown hair, carrying the tray."

Tragan’s eyes narrow slightly as he processes the request. "Ah, you mean Ariana?"

"Ariana," I repeat, savoring the sound of her name. "Who is she?"

"One of the locals we hired for the evening," he replies, his tone casual but efficient. "She’s not a professional—just someone from Armstrong looking for work."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "Not a professional? And yet she carries herself with more grace than half these aristocrats."

Tragan chuckles softly. "That's often how it goes, sir. The genuine ones tend to stand out."

"Hmm," I muse, letting my gaze drift back towards the ballroom where she moves like a whisper among shouts. "Any more details?"

He shrugs. "Not much to tell. Lives in one of the poorer districts—scrapes by with odd jobs. Hard worker by all accounts. Ah, there's a note here from her interview. Very charming and eager personality. Well, I wouldn't hire anything less."

"Interesting." I keep my tone neutral, not wanting to reveal just how much this information piques my curiosity.

"Should I dig deeper?" Tragan asks, ever perceptive.

"No need," I reply smoothly. "Just… keep an eye on her."

"As you wish," he says with a nod before returning to his duties.

I lean against the wall for a moment, absorbing what I've learned. Ariana—just a local woman struggling to make ends meet in this broken city. Yet she radiates something none of these pampered guests possess: authenticity.

The idea that she's simply working here for some extra credits makes her even more intriguing. She isn’t bound by the superficialities that imprison so many others in this room. There's a rawness to her presence that calls to something deep within me—a desire for something real in a world full of pretense.

I push off from the wall and make my way back toward the party, slipping seamlessly into the crowd once more.

I glide through the crowd, my expression a carefully crafted mask of polite interest. Each step measured, each nod calculated. The guests surround me like planets orbiting a star, drawn to my presence but never quite reaching me.

“Valen, good to see you,” says Lady Thera, her voice dripping with false warmth. Her eyes flicker over my frame, lingering on the horns that mark me as kilgari.

“Lady Thera,” I reply with a slight bow. “How’s your family faring these days?”

She launches into a monologue about her latest charity endeavors and her son’s entrance into the Trident Academy. I let her words wash over me, nodding at the right moments while mentally cataloging every detail. Thera’s family has connections to several influential trade routes; useful information for later.

“Have you considered expanding your charity work to Armstrong’s poorer districts?” I ask smoothly, steering the conversation.

Her eyes widen slightly. “Well, we hadn’t thought about it...but it could be beneficial.”

“Yes,” I say, my tone encouraging. “The planet still suffers from the war’s aftermath. It could elevate your standing considerably.”

She smiles, clearly pleased with the idea. “I’ll discuss it with my husband.”

As she moves on, I catch snippets of hushed conversations around me.

“He’s so enigmatic,” someone whispers behind a fan.

“They say he’s got ties to both sides from the war,” another voice murmurs.

The rumors swirl like smoke in the air, thick and pervasive. They never bother me; if anything, they serve their purpose well—keeping people on edge and off-balance.

“Valen,” a gruff voice interrupts my thoughts. Lord Garrick stands before me, his face flushed from too much wine. “I was just telling Lady Mirella about our new mining venture on Helios IV.”

“Is that so?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Helios IV is known for its harsh conditions.”

Garrick puffs up his chest. “Nothing we can’t handle. The returns will be worth it.”

“I’m sure they will be,” I say evenly. “Just ensure your equipment is up to date; those storms can be...unpredictable.”

He chuckles boisterously, clapping me on the shoulder. “Always looking out for us, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” I reply with a faint smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.

As he moves away, I glance back towards Ariana. She stands near the entrance now, her eyes scanning the room with an earnest curiosity that makes her seem out of place yet perfectly natural at the same time.

I slip away from the party, the noise and laughter fading behind me like a distant storm. The halls of my estate are a maze of opulence, each corner meticulously designed to project wealth and power. I find solace in the quiet as I navigate through to a secluded terrace overlooking the gardens.

The night air is cool, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming nocturnal flowers. I lean against the stone railing, letting my eyes wander over the meticulously manicured landscape below.

I replay the evening’s events in my mind, cataloging every snippet of conversation, every morsel of information. Lord Reichenbach’s bid to outmaneuver the Rivka Consortium—valuable insight for future negotiations. Lady Thera’s interest in expanding her charity work—a potential alliance that could serve multiple purposes. Each piece fits into the larger puzzle, a web of influence and control that keeps me ahead.

But amidst all this, my thoughts keep circling back to Ariana.

Ariana . Her name is an echo in my mind, resonating with a peculiar significance I can’t quite place. Genuine, unpretentious. A breath of fresh air in a stifling room.

I want to know more about her.

The decision crystallizes within me like ice forming on still water. I will learn more about Ariana—not just out of curiosity but because she represents something rare and real in this artificial world.

For better or worse, our paths have crossed on this war-torn planet called Armstrong. And I intend to explore every twist and turn that intersection holds.

I linger on the terrace for a few more moments before heading back inside. The night is far from over, and there are still moves to be made on this intricate board we all play on.

With Ariana as an unexpected yet intriguing new piece in play.