Millbrook, Efrin Empire
For most young noblewomen, marriage, prestige, and honor are the most important things. But that isn’t the case for Velvette. She was different from the rest.
At eighteen years old, Velvette Duskthorne possessed all the trappings of nobility that other young women of her station coveted— wealth beyond measure, a family name that commanded respect throughout the Eastern Duchies, and suitors who would gladly bankrupt themselves for the mere chance of her hand in marriage. Yet none of these things stirred even the faintest flutter of interest in her heart. While her peers spent their days embroidering, gossiping about court scandals, and practicing the delicate art of fan language, Velvette found herself gazing out the tall windows of Duskthorne Manor, her sapphire eyes searching for something far more meaningful than the shallow pursuits that consumed her social circle.
The truth was, Velvette had always known she was different— not just in temperament, but in blood. Though no one had ever spoken the words aloud, the evidence was written clear enough across her features. Where every other member of the Duskthorne family bore the distinctive pale skin and raven-black hair that had marked their proud Styatian lineage for generations, Velvette possessed a rosy porcelain complexion that seemed to glow with an inner warmth. Her hair, naturally a vibrant auburn that caught fire in the sunlight, was dutifully dyed black each month by her mother’s personal maid— a ritual that had begun when Velvette was barely old enough to sit still for such ministrations.
She had pieced together the truth gradually, through overheard whispers between servants, the way conversations would halt when she entered a room, and the careful distance her parents maintained even in their affection. The Duskthorne family had adopted her as an infant, though the circumstances remained shrouded in mystery. Rather than feeling bitter about this deception, Velvette had come to accept her origins with a pragmatic grace that would have impressed even the most seasoned diplomat. After all, she reasoned, what cause did she have for sorrow when fate had placed her in the care of one of the wealthiest and most influential families not just in the Eastern Duchies, but in the entirety of the Imperial Union?
The Duskthorne fortune was built upon two pillars, though only one was acknowledged in polite society. Publicly, they were renowned as the most successful banking family in the realm, their financial institutions stretching from the Imperial Capital of Danthold to the furthest reaches of the Imperial Union. Lord Aldric Duskthorne, Velvette’s father, was consulted by emperors and merchant princes alike, his word capable of shifting the economic tides of entire kingdoms. It was expected that Velvette’s older brother, Marcus, would inherit this legitimate empire, having shown both the aptitude and temperament for the intricate world of high finance.
But the Duskthorne family harbored a second, far more secretive enterprise— one that had been passed down through generations like a sacred trust. They were thieves, but not common cutpurses or highway bandits. The Duskthornes practiced a noble form of larceny, targeting only those corrupt nobles and merchants who had built their fortunes on the suffering of others. They called themselves the Gilded Hand, and their mission was as clear as it was dangerous: to steal from the dishonorable and return their ill-gotten gains to the people who had been wronged.
This was to be Velvette’s inheritance.
For years, Lord Aldric had trained her in the arts that no finishing school would ever teach. She learned to pick locks with the same delicacy she applied to playing the harpsichord, to scale walls with the grace of a dancer, and to move through shadows as silently as a whisper. Her natural athleticism and quick wit made her an exceptional student, and within less than a year of beginning actual heists, she had proven herself more capable than operatives with decades of experience.
Her first mission, just after her 18th birthday, had been a carefully orchestrated theft in the Imperial Capital itself. A baronet, Sir Cornelius Blackwater, had been systematically looting archaeological sites throughout the southern provinces, selling priceless artifacts to private collectors while the people of those regions saw none of the profits from their own cultural heritage. Working alongside her father and a small team of trusted associates, Velvette had infiltrated Blackwater’s private gallery during a lavish dinner party, making off with over two dozen stolen pieces. The artifacts were subsequently donated anonymously to the Museum of Cultural Heritage in the Wyldhart, where they could be properly preserved and displayed for the education of all citizens.
Tonight, however, marked a different kind of milestone. For the first time, Velvette would be operating entirely alone— her final test before officially assuming the mantle of The Gilded Hand. The target was Mayor Aldwin Greystone of Millbrook, a township nestled in the fertile valleys of the Cradle of Civilization. While the surrounding farmlands had produced a bountiful harvest, the people of Millbrook were starving. Greystone had been systematically purchasing grain and other foodstuffs at artificially low prices from desperate farmers, then selling these supplies to neighboring town nobles at a markup of one hundred and fifty percent. His warehouses bulged with provisions while children in his own community went to bed hungry.
The plan was elegantly simple in its conception, though Velvette knew that execution would require every skill she had learned. She would infiltrate Greystone’s primary storage facility, document the extent of his hoarding for future legal proceedings, and then arrange for the food to be “discovered” by the townspeople the following morning. Her family would be positioned throughout Millbrook, ready to intervene only if she found herself in genuine peril, but the success or failure of the mission rested entirely on her shoulders.
As Velvette made her final preparations in the pre-dawn darkness, adjusting the fitted black leather outfit that allowed for maximum mobility while maintaining an appropriately noble appearance should she be caught, she reflected on the strange path that had brought her to this moment. While other young women her age were being courted by tedious young men who spoke only of hunting, gambling, and their own supposed accomplishments, she was preparing to risk her life for people she would never meet.
Her own luck in love has been— disappointing. The suitors who had attempted to win her favor over the years had been boorish creatures who saw her only as a prize to be won rather than a person to be understood.
The suitors who had attempted to win her favor over the years had proven universally disappointing—boorish creatures who saw her only as a prize to be won rather than a person to be understood.
Yet despite her disdain for the shallow romantic pursuits that occupied her peers, Velvette harbored a deep longing for genuine connection. She dreamed of finding someone who could match her intelligence, share her passion for justice, and understand the complex duality of her existence. Someone who would see past the carefully constructed facade of the disinterested noblewoman to the fierce, compassionate soul beneath.
But such dreams would have to wait. Tonight, she had a job to do, and the hungry people of Millbrook were counting on her— even if they would never know her name.
Velvette Duskthorne smiled with anticipation. This was who she truly was—not a decoration for some nobleman's arm, but the Gilded Hand, protector of the innocent and scourge of the corrupt.
The real test of her abilities was about to begin.
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