I point to a tray of dark, violet lozenges.
"The Forget-Me-Not," I whisper. "Has a captain lost a ship? Has a noble lost a fortune at the card table? This little sweet erases the pain of the last hour. It doesn't remove the memory, but it removes the sting. It turns tragedy into a dull anecdote."
Brekker is sweating now. She knows her customers. She knows that in a city of sailors and gamblers, a candy that erases regret is worth more than diamonds.
"And..." I hesitate, holding up a small pouch of sparkling, crystalline dust. "For the private parties. The ones behind closed doors."
"What is it?" Brekker whispers.
"Pixie-Fizz," I say. "You dip a strawberry in it. When you eat it, for about five minutes, you don't just feel happy. You feel... hilarious. Everything is funny. The colors are brighter. The music is louder. It is pure, distilled joy."
I pour a little of the dust onto a piece of her stale marzipan.
"Try it," I command.
Brekker puts the dusted marzipan in her mouth.
The reaction is immediate. Her eyes widen. Her pupils dilate. A slow, goofy grin spreads across her face, transforming her stern features into something almost youthful. She starts to giggle. Then she starts to laugh. A deep, belly-shaking laugh that startles the cat sleeping in the window.
"Oh!" she gasps, wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh, that is... that is delightful! I feel like I am floating in a tub of warm cream!"
The effect fades after a minute, leaving her panting and looking at the pouch with desperate hunger.
"I want it," she says. "I want all of it."
"The terms are standard," I say, as Sander steps forward with the contract. "We supply the product. You handle the distribution. You pay us thirty percent."
"Thirty?" She blinks, the joy fading into business acumen. "That is steep."
"Mistress Brekker," I say, leaning in. "Once your customers taste Drift-Wood, do you think they will ever buy your taffy again? If you don't sign, I open a shop across the street. And I will give the first batch away for free."
She looks at her trays of brown lumps. She looks at the glowing Fey candies.
"Where do I sign?" she asks.
An Hour Later
We are walking back to the Admiralty. Sander is filing the contract.
"Is it safe?" Kenric asks, looking at the box of Pixie-Fizz. "Giving the nobility... recreational substances?"
"It is strategic, Kenric," I explain. "A noble on Pixie-Fizz is too busy laughing to plot treason. A sailor on Second-Wind works harder and complains less. And a merchant on Drift-Wood forgets that I am slowly buying his city out from under him."
I pause at the corner, watching a street urchin buy a cheap stick of rock candy.
"Sugar is power, Kenric," I say. "We don't just own the bank. We own the happiness."
"You are terrifying," Kenric notes.
"I am sweet," I correct him, popping a Second-Wind into my mouth. "Terminally sweet. Oskar never should have tried to involve you in his vices. It's one of the oldest powerplays in the history man."
I give Kenric a look, "He'll pay for that. You're mine just as much as I'm yours. I can protect what's mine. We play a long game, love."
We return to Mistress Brekker’s shop an hour later. The sign in the window has already been changed. It now reads: Purveyors of Fine Confections & Exotic Remedies.
Brekker is still high on Pixie-Fizz. She is rearranging jars with frantic energy.
"Mistress Brekker," I say, closing the door and locking it. "We are not finished."
She spins around. "More? You have more?"
"I have the heavy artillery," I say.
I place a new box on the counter. It is divided into two sections. One side is lined with red velvet, the other with white silk.
"The aristocracy has two primary fears, Mistress Brekker," I explain, pulling off my gloves. "Men fear irrelevance. And women fear invisibility."
I reach into the red side and pull out a chocolate truffle. It is dark, heavy, and dusted with gold. It looks dense.
"The Stag-Horn," I announce.
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Brekker sniffs it. "It smells... muskier than chocolate."
"It contains essence of Fey-Root and Bull-Kelp," I say. "It is for the gentlemen. Specifically, the older gentlemen who find that their spirit is willing but their flesh is... retiring."
Brekker’s eyes widen. "A tonic? For the bedroom?"
"A resurrection," I correct. "One truffle provides the stamina of a man of twenty. It increases blood flow, confidence, and,according to my Alchemist,'structural rigidity'."
I set it down.
"The King," I say casually, "has often complained of fatigue. And Duke Webbe... well, let us just say that a man who feels the need to wear a shield over his crotch is likely compensating for a lack of activity beneath it."
Brekker giggles. "They will pay a fortune."
"They will pay anything," I agree. "But there is a catch. The effect lasts four hours. And the recovery period requires... rest. Unless, of course, they eat another one."
I turn to the white silk side.
These candies are delicate. They look like shards of spun glass, pale blue and translucent.
"The Gossamer-Bite," I say.
"Pretty," Brekker says, reaching for one.
"Careful," I warn. "These are for the ladies. The Duchesses. The Merchant Wives. The ones who stare at their reflections and pinch the skin at their waists."
"Slimming sweets?"
"Metabolic fire," I say. "You eat one before a meal. It suppresses the appetite so completely that a single leaf of lettuce feels like a feast. But more importantly, it heats the blood slightly. It burns fat while they sleep."
I hold the shard up to the light.
"A woman on a Gossamer regimen can eat cake for breakfast and still lose an inch off her waist by dinner. She will have energy. She will be thin. She will be the envy of her friends."
"And the catch?" Brekker asks, learning quickly.
"If she stops taking them," I say, dropping the candy back into the box, "the hunger returns. Tenfold. She will eat the pantry bare. The weight comes back in a week."
I lean on the counter.
"It is a subscription model, Mistress Brekker. Once a woman is thin, she will sell her jewelry, her carriage, and her husband's secrets to stay thin."
Brekker looks at the two candies. The Stag-Horn and the Gossamer-Bite. Lust and Vanity.
"How much?" she whispers.
"The Stag-Horn is five gold crowns a piece," I say. "The Gossamer-Bite is sold in weekly supplies. Fifty crowns a box."
"Fifty?" She gasps.
"Start with free samples," I instruct. "Send a box of Stag-Horns to Duke Webbe’s quarters. Tell him it is a 'warrior's energy supplement' from a local herbalist. Do not mention my name. He will eat it. He will feel the power. And tomorrow, he will send a servant to buy your entire stock."
"And the Gossamer?"
"Find the Wool Merchant's daughter," I say. "The one sitting next to the King. Give her a box. Tell her it will make her skin glow. When the other women see her fitting into a dress two sizes smaller by the weekend, you will have a line out the door."
Sander steps forward with the addendum to the contract.
"We take fifty percent on these," Sander says. "Because the manufacturing costs are higher. Fey-Root is difficult to harvest."
Brekker signs without hesitation. She is already doing the math.
"I will need security," she says, looking at the door. "If people find out I have these..."
"You are a Protected Person now," I remind her. "I will arrange to post a guard at your door. A very large guard. No one steals from the Candy Man."
I turn to leave.
"Oh, and Mistress Brekker?"
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"Send a special box of the Stag-Horns to the King. But label them 'Royal Vitamin Supplement'. We don't want to wound his pride. We just want to ensure he has the energy to sign the treaties I am drafting."
Brekker nods, clutching the box of sins.
"Lust and Vanity," Kenric murmurs as we walk back out into the cold Varpua air. "You really are targeting the deadly sins, aren't you?"
"I am just fulfilling market demand, Kenric," I say, adjusting my fur collar. "They want to be thin, and they want to be virile. I am simply the facilitator. And if I happen to own their vices, well... that is just good business."
"What about Gluttony?" Kenric asks.
"We handle that at the banquet tonight," I promise. "Wait until they taste the Moon-Salt on the roast beef. They will never be able to eat normal food again."
Kenric
While Víl? is conquering the city with sugar and contracts, I am standing in the mud, thirty miles inland from the port of Varpua, looking at a pothole the size of a carriage.
"It’s a crater, My Lord," the Sergeant says, poking it with his spear. "If a gold wagon hits this at speed, we’ll be picking coins out of the mud for a week."
"And while we are picking them up," I reply, scanning the treeline, "Baron Tolly’s men will be picking us off with crossbows."
I turn back to the coaching inn behind us, The Crossed Keys. It is a neutral meeting ground I selected carefully. It sits exactly on the border between the coastal lands and the interior baronies.
Inside, five men are waiting for me. Two Viscounts and three Barons. The petty lords of the road.
"Are the men ready, Sergeant?" I ask.
"Aye, Sir. Polished armor. Fey cloaks. We look like the Royal Guard, only better fed."
"Good," I say, scraping the mud from my boots. "Let’s go explain to these gentlemen that the toll booth is closed."
The taproom of The Crossed Keys has been cleared of locals. The five lords sit around a scarred oak table. They look suspicious. They look greedy. And they look annoyed that I summoned them.
Baron Tolly is the loudest. He is a man whose neck is wider than his head, and he slams a tankard down as I enter.
"Viscount Kenric!" Tolly booms. "About time. I have a fox hunt to get back to. Why have you dragged us to this roadside hovel?"
"Because this roadside hovel," I say, walking to the head of the table and unrolling a map, "is the choke point for the wealthiest trade route in the kingdom."
I weigh the corners of the map down with four heavy bags of gold.
The sound of the heavy metal hitting the wood silences the room instantly. Tolly’s eyes fix on the bags. Viscount Polder, a thin man with a nervous tic, licks his lips.
"Gentlemen," I begin, resting my hands on the table. "My wife, the Princess, is currently rebuilding the harbor at Varpua. Within a month, the volume of goods and gold traveling this road will triple."
"Excellent," Tolly grins. "Then I shall triple my tolls. My grandfather built the bridge over the White River, and by the gods, I will charge for every wheel that crosses it."
"The bridge is rotting, Tolly," I say calmly. "And your 'toll' is extortion. You stop merchants, search their goods, and take what you fancy. That ends today."
"You have no authority here," Viscount Polder squeaks. "These are our lands. The King granted us the Rights of Way."
"The King," I say, "is currently in Varpua, signing whatever I put in front of him. But I didn't come here to wave a Royal Decree at you. I know you would just ignore it the moment I left."
I sit down. I adopt the posture of a fellow soldier, not a commander.
"I came here to make you a business partner."
I point to the map.
"The Fey Bank is establishing the Gold Road. We need a secure corridor from the port to the capital. No stops. No searches. No 'accidental' delays."
"And why should we let your wagons pass for free?" Tolly sneers.
"You won't," I say. I push one of the gold bags toward him. "Open it."
Tolly unties the string. He pulls out a handful of coins. They are fresh-minted Fey Crowns.
Ahhhh, Chapter 134.
A decadent, wicked, deliciously unhinged chapter where Víl? masterfully conquers the city with sugar, chemistry, psychology, and outright Fey menace—
and meanwhile Kenric is out in the mud doing Actual Responsible Governance?, proving once again that only one of them married above their station, and it wasn’t her.
Let’s digest this confection of a chapter, shall we?
We all knew she could weaponize diplomacy, fashion, etiquette, and fear—
but sweets??
THE WOMAN IS UNSTOPPABLE.
This chapter shows:
- Candy as emotional manipulation
- Candy as social control
- Candy as economic dominance
- Candy as… pharmaceutical terrorism?
She is out here creating an entire black?market empire disguised as a confectionary wholesaler.
Meanwhile Oskar still thinks marzipan is exotic.
Watching Brekker go from “my taffy is famous!” to “I will bankrupt myself to buy these glowing Fey drugs” was…
Art.
Pixie?Fizz alone rewired her brain chemistry so hard she’d sign anything.
The woman was one sample away from writing Víl? into her will.
Truly, the fastest conversion since Oskar switched from “I am a strong king” to “I’m cold; hold my hand.”
A.K.A. Lust and Vanity, Now With Fey Labeling**
These two sweets were chef’s kiss levels of evil.
For men whose… ambitions… exceed their physical means.
Kenric’s commentary on this was perfection.
Víl?’s utter casual savagery? Even better.
Also the fact she wants to send a box to Oskar labeled “Royal Vitamin Supplement” because his pride is fragile?
Hilarious. Correct. Necessary.
For the women who live in perpetual terror of not fitting into last season’s gown.
A metabolic inferno that works beautifully—
until it doesn’t.
The subscription model alone? Diabolical. Bezos could never.
This chapter really highlights:
- Víl? as the master strategist
- Sander as the world’s first Fey?adjacent actuary
- Kenric as the only adult in the room
- Oskar as… still Oskar. Unfortunately.
Her philosophy here—
“We don’t just own the bank. We own the happiness.”
—
is both chilling and absolutely iconic.
She is becoming the Fey Martha Stewart of Vice.
And Oskar? He will absolutely eat anything labeled “Royal Vitamin Supplement.” Triple if it’s free.
Suddenly, the POV shifts.
We exit the candy?coated Fey marketplace and drop directly into:
- Mud
- Weapons
- Tolls
- Crossbows
- Greedy barons
- And Kenric being the only competent human male in Centis
The tonal whiplash is fantastic.
While Víl? builds empires in velvet halls, Kenric is out here preventing highway robbery, negotiating with petty lords, and making real, tangible improvements to the kingdom.
If Oskar had even 10% of Kenric’s competence, Centis would be a thriving empire instead of a monarchy held together by duct tape, fear, and Víl?’s patience.
The way he:
- Rolls out a map
- Weighs it down with gold bags
- Calmly dismantles a room of arrogant men
- Threatens them without raising his voice
- And offers partnership instead of force
…is peak warlord husband energy.
Víl? conquers the city with sugar while Kenric conquers the countryside with spreadsheets and threats.
Oskar conquers… naps.