Her screech sheared through the hiss of iron arrowheads. The archers, poised for their kill, hesitated, their bows still drawn. Lord Viper grimaced, twitching between the humiliation of the ruined ambush and the spectacle on the path. Lady Cicuta lowered her chin, pupils darting between Myat and Tuyen's quiet carriage. Myat didn't wait for a response. With a shrill yelp, she vaulted from her sedan chair, a tangle of cheap hem and flailing limbs lunging toward Zayar. Her arms, bedecked with ill-fitting bangles, stretched out to embrace him. “My beloved Zayar! They kidnapped me! This imposter stole my place, but now I’m back! Your true wife!” Before her grasping fingers could even brush the expensive fabric of Zayar’s robes, two of his personal guards, hulking men with expressions carved from stone, stepped forward shoulder to shoulder. They intercepted Myat mid-leap, their gauntleted hands closing like steel traps around her arms. Myat shrieked again, a sound of pure indignity, as she was held suspended, wriggling like a netted fish. Zayar watched, a cool, almost surgical detachment in his eyes. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even offer a flicker of recognition for the woman who claimed to be his bride. His gaze remained fixed on Myat’s thrashing form, then drifted almost imperceptibly towards the cedar carriage where Tuyen slept. A soft, contented snore emanated from within, a tiny, almost imperceptible sound that only Zayar, with his now perfectly clear hearing, could discern. “Master Phung,” Zayar’s voice cut through Myat’s renewed protests, smooth as polished jade, yet chillingly devoid of warmth. “Kindly clarify for this… individual. Who is the designated Lady of the Thousand-Step Manor?” Master Phung, ever the opportunist, bowed with an extravagant flourish. “Lord Zayar, the records are clear. The esteemed Lady Tuyen, by sacred rite and witnessed signature, is your singular and true bride. Any other claim is a fraudulent and blasphemous affront to the ancestral spirits.” He glared at Myat, his eyes gleaming with barely suppressed glee. Myat’s face crumpled. “But… but he was dying! I was told to run! This is a trick!” She appealed to the Venom Lords, her voice cracking. “Lord Viper, Lady Cicuta, you know the truth! She’s not from a noble house! She’s a mere stepchild, a stand-in!” Lord Viper, still reeling from the Death-Lotus tea incident, saw an opening. “Indeed, this entire affair smells of deceit. Perhaps the marriage itself is null and void! As for this… pavilion, it is, after all, technically on Viper Clan lands. We demand an investigation, a full inquiry into the legitimacy of this union and the origins of this so-called Lady Tuyen!” Lady Cicuta nodded, her jaw locked. The archers, their momentary distraction over, began to lower their bows, their eyes now glinting with renewed purpose. Bowstrings creaked in the brush. Zayar simply smiled, a slow, predatory baring of teeth. “Oh, is it on Viper Clan lands?” He turned to a thin, nervous-looking retainer who stood a respectful distance behind him. “Jadak, remind Lord Viper who purchased the entire Shimmer-Leaf Isle this morning. And the gazebo upon it.” Jadak, barely suppressing a triumphant smirk, produced a scroll from his sleeve. “My Lord, the deed of transfer for the Shimmer-Leaf Isle, including all land, existing structures, and mineral rights, was completed this dawn. For a sum of three million gold Ingots of the Xanian Treasury, paid in full and delivered to the Viper Clan coffers. The previous owner, Lord Viper, is listed as the seller. All documents are notarized by the Grand Exchequer of Champa-Xan.” The silence that followed was so profound it seemed to absorb all sound. Lord Viper’s jaw went slack. Three million gold ingots. The Shimmer-Leaf Isle, a verdant cluster of trade berths and rare spice farms, had belonged to the Vipers for generations. He had sold it for a pittance, convinced Zayar would be dead by noon, a dead man's debt easily ignored. He had been duped, fleeced, and humiliated, all in one fell swoop. Myat, still struggling in the guards' grip, stared at Zayar, her mind reeling. Three million gold. He hadn't just bought a pavilion; he'd bought an entire *archipelago*. The man she had abandoned as a corpse in waiting owned the bedrock beneath her slippers. “You… you left me to die, Myat,” Zayar said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “You chose flight over fidelity. You forfeited your claim the moment you fled the wedding drum.” His eyes, like chips of obsidian, bored into her. “And now you claim a husband you scorned, a fortune you abandoned. It seems your cowardice is matched only by your avarice.” Myat’s face burned, a furious crimson. The public shaming was unbearable, a thousand times worse than the guards’ rough handling. Her eyes darted around, catching Lady Cicuta's measuring stare. Dropping to her knees under the pretext of retrieving a loose hair-pin, Myat edged toward Lady Cicuta’s stool. Her voice was a low, venomous whisper. “Tuyen knows nothing. She sleeps through everything. But I… I know the Manor. Every hidden passage, every pressure plate, every poison dart trap.” She swallowed, her fear battling with a nascent, desperate hope. “The Thousand-Step Manor. It’s impenetrable, they say. But I can give you the blueprints. For her head.” Lady Cicuta’s mouth ticked upward at one corner. “Intriguing. Speak quickly.” Inside the cedar carriage, Tuyen stirred. A faint rustle of silk, a soft groan. She blinked, her vision blurry with the aftereffects of deep, dreamless sleep. Her fingers groped across the mat, searching for the familiar hem of her moth-eaten patchwork quilt. Her fingers met only empty air. Her eyes snapped open. “My quilt!” She bolted upright, rattling the carriage frame. Her linen was gone. Zayar, who had been observing her with a quiet, almost reverent intensity from his kneeling position beside the palanquin, offered a soft smile. “Ah, you are awake, my Lady.” He extended a folded square of fabric towards her. It caught the lantern glow with a deep, midnight blue sheen. “I took the liberty of replacing your… existing coverlet. This, I believe, is more befitting your station. Woven from the legendary Silk-spider silk of the Sunken Peaks. It is fireproof, waterproof, and, I am assured, the softest material known to the Dominions.” Tuyen’s eyes, still heavy with sleep, widened. She reached out, her fingers brushing the impossibly smooth, cool fabric. A fireproof throw. It seemed too good to be true. She could literally sleep through anything now. Her fingers sank into the plush weave. Then a sharper doubt cracked her lethargy. “Wait… does it stop poison darts, too?”

The Coward's Claim