The villa was alive with the sound of celebration, though it was a subdued kind of joy—laughter muffled by walls and heavy shutters, tankards clinking quietly as the men reveled in their success. The smell of roasting meat mingled with the earthy scent of damp stone as the mercenaries gathered around a makeshift table, their expressions ranging from triumphant to relieved.
Desmond stood apart from the revelry, leaning against the doorway to the storage room. Inside, the spoils of the caravan were piled high: crates of dried goods, barrels of wine, bolts of fabric, and coin purses stuffed with silver and gold. It was more than they could have hoped for, enough to keep them afloat for months.
Alaric crouched beside an open chest, his sharp eyes gleaming as he sifted through its contents. "This isn't just trade goods," he said, holding up a gilded goblet encrusted with tiny emeralds. "This is wealth. Real wealth."
Desmond stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the loot. "The caravan wasn't just carrying supplies," he said, his tone thoughtful. "It belonged to someone important. A noble family, maybe."
"That's an understatement," Alaric replied, pulling out a heavy velvet pouch. He loosened the drawstring, revealing a cascade of glittering gemstones. "Whoever owns this is probably losing their mind right now."
Desmond frowned, his mind already racing through the implications. A noble household would have the means to hunt them down—soldiers, trackers, and spies. The risk had just multiplied, and with it, the stakes.
"We need to be careful with this," Desmond said, gesturing to the chest. "If the wrong people find out we have it—"
"They won't," Alaric interrupted, flashing a confident grin. "We're smart enough to keep it quiet."
Desmond wasn't so sure. His gaze drifted to the corner of the room, where Rael lounged against a stack of barrels, idly flipping a dagger in his hand. The wiry man had a knack for fading into the background, but Desmond had learned to watch him carefully.
Rael caught his eye and smirked, his grin full of something unreadable. "What's the plan, boss?" he drawled. "We gonna sell this shiny haul, or just sit on it until it gathers dust?"
Desmond straightened, meeting Rael's gaze with a calm intensity. "The plan is to figure out what we're dealing with before we do anything. We don't move until I say so."
Rael's smirk didn't falter, but something flickered in his expression—annoyance, perhaps. "Whatever you say," he said, his tone light.
Alaric shot Rael a pointed look, his easygoing demeanor slipping for a moment. Desmond noticed the silent exchange but chose not to comment. Instead, he turned back to the chest.
As Alaric shifted through the loot, something caught his attention. He reached into the bottom of the chest and pulled out a small, intricately carved box. Its surface was smooth and dark, inlaid with silver filigree that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
"What's this?" Alaric muttered, running his fingers over the lid.
Desmond stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he examined the box. It was clearly valuable, the kind of craftsmanship only the wealthiest families could afford. But it was the emblem etched into the silver—a coiled serpent wrapped around a sword—that made his stomach twist.
"I know that crest," Desmond said quietly.
Alaric glanced up, his smirk fading. "Who does it belong to?"
"The House of Valen," Desmond replied, his voice heavy. "One of the most powerful noble families in the region."
Alaric let out a low whistle, setting the box down carefully. "And you think they'll come looking for this?"
Desmond nodded, his mind already racing. "They'll come for it. And they won't stop until they get it back."
Alaric's fingers tapped restlessly against the edge of the chest. "We could get rid of it. Bury it somewhere, make it disappear."
"Or we could use it," Rael interjected, stepping forward. His grin had returned, sharper than ever. "A family like Valen would pay a fortune to get this back. We could make a deal. Turn this little prize into an opportunity."
Desmond shot him a cold look. "You're assuming they'd negotiate. Families like Valen don't make deals with people like us—they crush them."
Rael shrugged, unbothered by Desmond's tone. "Maybe. But maybe they'd pay to avoid the embarrassment of losing something so important. A little leverage could go a long way."
The tension in the room thickened as Desmond and Rael locked eyes. Alaric cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "We're not doing anything rash," he said, his voice steady. "We need to think this through."
Desmond turned away from Rael, his hands curling into fists. He hated how easily the thief stirred doubt, planting seeds of discord with every word. But Rael wasn't entirely wrong—the box represented both danger and potential.
"We keep it hidden for now," Desmond said finally, his tone brooking no argument. "No one outside this room knows about it. Understood?"
Alaric nodded immediately, but Rael hesitated, his grin fading slightly. "Sure," he said at last, though his tone was laced with something that made Desmond uneasy.
The door creaked open, and Julen and Corin stepped inside, their faces flushed with excitement. "The men want to know what's next," Julen said, his voice tinged with youthful eagerness.
Desmond glanced at the chest, then back to the brothers. "Tell them to enjoy the night. Tomorrow, we plan our next move."
As the younger men left, Desmond turned back to Alaric. "Keep an eye on Rael," he said quietly.
Alaric smirked. "You think he's going to double-cross us?"
"I think he's looking for an opportunity," Desmond replied. "And we can't afford to give him one."
Alaric's smirk faded, replaced by a rare seriousness. "Got it."
Desmond picked up the carved box, its weight heavier than it should have been. He didn't know what secrets it held, but one thing was certain: their lives had just become infinitely more complicated.
He placed the box back in the chest and closed the lid, sealing it with a firm click. "Let's not give them a reason to find us," he said, more to himself than to Alaric.
But even as he spoke, a cold knot of unease settled in his chest. The House of Valen would come for what was theirs. And when they did, Desmond would be ready.
He had to be.