Prince Kieran Astley had made exactly one impulsive decision in the last ten years. It had cost him two hundred gold sovereigns. The folded contract felt heavier than it should as he descended the worn stone steps beneath the estate. The air grew colder with every turn, carrying the scent of damp earth and rusted iron. His escort stopped before a barred cell. “There,” the guard said. “The contract’s yours now.” Kieran dismissed him with a quiet nod. The guard hesitated, then left, his footsteps fading into silence. For a long moment, Kieran simply stood there. On the other side of the iron bars sat the man he’d just purchased out of indenture. Not because Kieran needed another servant. Not because he had planned to interfere. Because, for the briefest moment at the auction, he’d been certain he recognized that face. A memory from years ago. A border skirmish. Smoke, steel, and a frightened boy disappearing into the crowd before Kieran could reach him. Now, standing in the dim light of the cell, certainty gave way to doubt. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. Perhaps he’d spent a small fortune rescuing a complete stranger. Kieran let out a slow breath.