Chapter 66: Shut up, you spoiled bitch.

“What are you two whispering about?!” the red-haired girl shouted impatiently. “It’s enough that you’re ignoring my orders, now you’re going to flirt in the middle of the road?!”

The soldier tried to intervene, desperate:

“Miss, please restrain yourself! They… don’t exactly look… ordinary.”

Damon let out a short laugh.

“See? Even the poor guy has noticed.”

Ester closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to compose herself. When she opened them again, her usual coldness had returned, but her blush still stubbornly resisted.

“Let’s go,” she said firmly, as if nothing had happened.

But Damon, still amused, leaned in and whispered:

“Your mouth is still frozen. If you try to speak too loudly, you’ll give it away.”

She gave him a withering look, but didn’t respond. She simply mounted her horse again with a curt gesture.

The soldier took the opportunity to kneel slightly, pleading:

“Gentlemen… please, if you could at least direct us to the nearest village, my lady is exhausted and—”

“I’m not exhausted!” the girl interrupted indignantly. “I’m irritated! Which is quite different! Keep telling Damon to shut the fuck up and stop being a spoiled bitch, no one here is her slave.”

The silence that followed the girl’s scream seemed to echo even in the surrounding trees. The soldier was still kneeling, his eyes lowered, as if waiting for the ground to swallow him.

Ester, already mounted, watched the scene from above, completely rigid, as if waiting to see how far Damon would go.

The girl, on the other hand, stamped her foot in the snow, her red hair flying with pure fury.

“Angry, exhausted, whatever,” Damon muttered, finally turning his gaze directly to her. “But one thing is certain…”

He leaned forward in the saddle, spear resting on his shoulder, and his voice came out like a blade, firm and thick:

“Shut the fuck up.”

The young woman’s eyes widened in shock. No one had ever spoken to her like that.

“Wha-what?! How dare you—”

Damon held up his hand, cutting her off mid-sentence.

“No. Enough.” His voice echoed, harsh, carrying a weight that made even the soldier look up in alarm. “No one here is your slave. Not me, not Esther, not this poor wretch you’re flaying with your sharp tongue.”

He tilted his head, the crooked smile reappearing, but without humor.

“You’re just a spoiled brat who thinks the world has to bow down because Daddy said you’re important. But out here…” Damon lightly tapped his heel on the black horse’s flank, which snorted, sending hot steam into the frigid air. “Out here, snow, cold, and death don’t give a damn about your last name.”

The girl’s mouth fell open. Her pale cheeks flushed, but not with embarrassment—with anger.

“You… you dare insult me?! I’m the daughter of—”

“Oh, here it comes,” Damon interrupted again, rolling his eyes. “’The daughter of someone important.’ Listen, you little brat, nobody cares. Not me, not her.” He jerked his chin toward Esther. “So, either shut your mouth and let the poor soldier work in peace, or I’ll find a rope to tie you to this wagon and let the road go its own way.”

The soldier’s eyes widened even more, glancing back and forth between Damon and the girl.

“Miss, p-please don’t answer…!”

But her fists were already clenched, trembling.

“HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT?! I—”

Damon tilted his head again, but this time his voice was low, almost a dangerous whisper.

“I already told you to shut up.”

The silence fell heavily. Even the wind seemed to vanish for a moment.

The redhead took a step back, unintentionally, her gaze burning with indignation but now mixed with something new: fear.

Ester, who had remained silent until then, watched Damon out of the corner of her eye. Her blush had faded, but there was something… curious on her face. A mix of disapproval and approval at the same time. As if part of her was irritated by the rudeness, but another part was pleased that someone had put the girl in her place.

The silence was so thick that the creak of the reins in Damon’s hands was too loud. The soldier remained motionless, kneeling, not daring to even take a deep breath. The redhead, for her part, was trembling with pure rage, but her lost gaze betrayed something beyond fury: she was facing someone who simply didn’t care about her name, her father, or her threats.

Damon took a deep breath, bracing his spear against his shoulder, and glanced back at the carriage. The broken wheel still sank into the snow, a twisted piece of wood that would never return to its place on its own.

He clicked his tongue wearily. “Ester…” he called, without taking his eyes off the scene.

The woman lifted her chin seriously.

“Fix this.”

She frowned. “I won’t waste my power on something so trivial.”

Damon glanced at her sideways, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, you will. The faster we get this pest off the road, the faster we can go.”

Ester hesitated for a moment. Her hand slid to the side of the saddle, her fingers drumming as if weighing her options. But in the end, she let out a cold sigh and dismounted.

The redhead took a step forward, as if to shout an order, but stopped when Ester’s blue eyes pierced her like blades of ice.

Ester approached the wheel. She crouched down, held out her palm, and let cold breath escape between her lips. The air around them condensed immediately, and a bluish mist covered the broken wood. The crack of ice filling the cracks echoed softly, like bones being welded together. Within seconds, the wheel was whole again, reinforced by a crystalline layer of solid ice that glistened in the dim light of the overcast sky.

The soldier looked up, his mouth agape. “F-for all the gods…”

The redhead, however, remained still. Her lips trembled, not in anger, but in something that seemed… fragility. Tears began to well in her green eyes, streaming down her flushed cheeks.

Ester stood, wiping her hand on the snow. She turned to Damon, her eyes silently pleading with him to end this.

And Damon didn’t hesitate. He tugged lightly on the reins, urged the black horse forward a few paces, and stared down at the redhead, his voice thick with ice:

“Swallow your tears.” —

She blinked, astonished, tears glistening beneath her lashes.

Damon leaned his spear against his shoulder and concluded mercilessly:

“Your shitty carriage is fixed.”

The sentence fell like a sentence, harsh and definitive. The girl pressed her lips together, trying to respond, but her voice faltered. The soldier hurried to his feet, pulling her arm gently, as if afraid that any word from her would further incur the stranger’s wrath.

Ester returned to the saddle, her cloak flapping in the wind, and mounted without a word.

Damon pulled on his horse’s reins, turning it around. He didn’t even look back.

“Let’s go,” he said simply, and continued down the road.

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