Chapter 11
Lucien drifted between rows of gleaming garments and polished mannequins, each modeling attire that screamed wealth and history. The polished wood beneath his feet was rich mahogany, lacquered to the point that he could see his reflection shimmer back at him. Fragrances wafted through the air—sandalwood, polished leather, and something faintly sweet, perhaps enchanted incense. Crystalline lights above flickered like candle flames, giving the grand boutique a warm, almost sacred atmosphere.
Just as he was admiring an intricately embroidered midnight-blue waistcoat lined with frost-silver threading, a commotion a few aisles down drew his attention.
He turned his head.
What he saw immediately broke the genteel rhythm of his mood.
A rotund man with glistening cheeks and a voice that echoed like an angry drum was standing over a thin, timid boy no older than Lucien himself. The man wore garish velvet—deep maroon with gold trim that screamed poor taste rather than true nobility. A gaudy monocle was clipped awkwardly to his left eye, making his expressions seem even more distorted and mean-spirited.
"You miserable little worm!" the man shouted, raising a thick hand before slapping the servant boy across the face.
The sound was sharp—a skin-on-skin crack that cut through the soft, refined background of murmuring customers and harp music. Gasps echoed faintly.
Lucien narrowed his eyes but made no move to interfere. Not yet.
The boy's cheek was already red and swelling. He wore plain, well-maintained servant's clothes, but they hung off him slightly—as if he hadn't been fed properly for days. His dark brown eyes darted to the floor, avoiding the gazes of everyone watching. Yet, he didn't cry. He didn't even flinch as the fat man shoved him backward against a stand of cloaks.
"Do you think coin grows on trees?" the man roared, shaking a finely tailored shirt in his hand. "You dropped this. You filthy, worthless slave! How dare you shame me in front of these merchants!"
Lucien's heart skipped.