While Adam and Quintella watched the auctioneer present his wands one by one to the eager crowd, on the V.I.P. balcony where only marquises were admitted, Robert studied the stage intently. With every artifact sold, Robert's fist clenched tighter—knuckles white until the sharp pain in his palm confirmed it wasn't a dream.
Fourteen million, twelve, fifteen. The gavel thumped against the lectern, each sound turning into a downpour of wealth. He who had spent his entire life as a lowly baron was already guaranteed the prestigious rank of viscount. No, another noble house claimed a wand, bringing him closer to becoming a count—a count!
The surrounding nobles laughed behind their fans, their once unreachable rank feeling closer than ever. Ambition ignited in his eyes like newborn stars; dangerous ideas spreading in his mind like wildfire.
