The blueprints for the steam engine were definitely a masterpiece of theory, but they were currently just ink on parchment.

To bring them into existence, Evelina needed more than just a master smith; she needed a mind that could think in three dimensions and calculate the tolerances of pressurized steam.

And for that, she had been brainstorming for long. After going through the informations of her past life, a vague name had started taking root in her mind.

She needed the infamous Victor Thorne, the man the whom everybody referred to as ’The Mad Architect.’

"He’s in the Blackspire Oubliette," Ace said, his voice grim as he looked at the name Evelina had scrawled on her notepad, "He was sentenced to life for heresy three years ago. He claimed that the earth’s heat could be harnessed and that machines could replace the labor of men. The Church nearly burned him."

"He made a lot of sense saying that... What part of it was heresy?" Evelina rolled her eyes, already packing a travel cloak, "I have a feeling he is the only person in Empire who can bring my plans to life."

"It’s a high-security military prison," Ace reminded her, though he was already reaching for his sword belt, "You don’t just ’get’ someone out of Blackspire without consequences."

Evelina offered him a sharp, knowing smile, "Normally, no. But the warden of Blackspire is currently out of water, and his family is stuck in the scorched South. Everyone has a price, and I happen to own the currency."

Ace paused, seeing that the woman had really thought it through.

The journey to Blackspire took them through the sun-bleached canyons of the borderlands.

The heat was relentlessly shimmering off the rocks in waves, but inside the reinforced carriage, the atmosphere was somehow even more pressurized.

Ace sat across from her, his long legs cramped in the confined space. He kept shifting, his gaze darting between the window and Evelina, who was calmly reading a ledger.

"You look remarkably comfortable for someone planning a prison break," Ace remarked, his voice dropping into that low, rumbling tone that usually signaled he was trying to be charming.

Evelina didn’t look up, "Preparation prevents panic. You should try it sometime instead of just hitting things with a piece of sharpened steel."

Ace’s jaw tightened, a small smirk playing on his lips, "That sharpened steel has kept you and the kingdom safe for years, Duchess. And if I recall correctly, you didn’t seem to mind the ’lack of preparation’ when I cleared those bandits off your father’s trade route last winter."

"I appreciated the efficiency," she conceded, finally looking at him, "But let’s be honest. You enjoyed the violence. You’re like a big, armored cat and you just want someone to point you at a target."

Ace leaned forward, his personal space once again overlapping with hers. The scent of leather and salt-air filled the carriage, "Is that what I am to you? A weapon?"

"At the moment?" Evelina tapped her chin with her quill, her eyes dancing with a playful light, "You’re a very expensive bodyguard who is currently taking up far too much legroom."

Ace let out a frustrated huff, his face flushing, "You are impossible. I am trying to have a serious conversation about our future, and you’re treating me like a hired footman."

"If you were a footman, your posture would be much better," she countered smoothly.

"My posture is—!" Ace cut himself off, realizing he was once again falling into her trap. He slumped back against the seat, his arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit the brooding soldier, "I don’t know why I bother. I’m the Duke of the North, and I’m being bullied in my own carriage."

"Poor Ace," Evelina rolled her eyes at his dramatics, "Here... I’ll let you hold the blueprints later if it makes you feel better."

Ace opened his mouth to retort, then closed it, staring out the window in a helpless silence. He had fought dragons of men on the battlefield, but against this one’s poisonous tongue, he was unarmed.

When they reached the gates of Blackspire, the mood shifted instantly. Ace stepped out of the carriage first, his military cloak billowing in the hot wind. He didn’t need to speak; the mere sight of the Iron Duke made the guards snap to attention, their pikes shaking.

"By order of the Duke of the North," Ace barked, his voice echoing off the stone walls, "Open the gates. We are here for an inspection of the high-security block."

The Warden, a man named Silas, came scurrying out, wiping sweat from his brow, "Your Grace! We weren’t expecting—"

"In the current times, expectations are a luxury of the past," Evelina said, stepping out behind Ace. She activated her [Merchant’s Eye].

The world turned into a grid of gold and red. She saw the Warden’s Desperation Level: 88%. She saw his primary need: Clean Water for the Blackspire Garrison.

"Warden," Evelina said, her voice like a cool breeze in the stagnant heat,"I understand your wells have run dry. And I hear your daughter is currently at the estate in the South, the one where the fires are moving toward the stables."

The man turned pale, "How did you—?"

Evelina didn’t beat around the bush, "Here is my offer. I will send a private escort with a water wagon to your family’s estate tonight. I will also provide three months of grain and water for this prison. In exchange, I want Victor Thorne to be reassigned to Special Labor under the Alvarez household."

"That’s... that’s treason," The Warden whispered, his eyes darting to Ace.

Ace stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, "The Duchess is being generous, Warden. My soldiers are the ones who enforce the law in the North. If I say he is reassigned, he is reassigned."

Twenty minutes later, they were standing in front of a damp cell at the very bottom of the spire.