I Just Wanted A Soft Life, Not A Demon Husband

Chapter 107: Paper Trails and Old Blood

Elyn’s POV

I stared at the paper in my hand for a long, silent second.

Then I slammed it down on the desk and shouted, "Jackpot."

Every head in the office snapped toward me.

Morthen nearly dropped the stack of files he’d been organizing. Naviel straightened instantly, glasses catching the light. Ignivar was already moving toward me before I even finished the word, hand half-hovering near his sword out of habit.

"What is it?" Naviel asked sharply.

"Did you find something?" Ignivar added.

Morthen blinked behind his glasses. "My lady?"

I lifted the paper like it was proof of a crime—which, in a way, it was. My heart was beating faster now, that sharp, electric rhythm that came when instinct and logic finally clicked together.

"I found the source," I said. "Or at least the spine of it. The connection that ties the trafficking ring together."

The room shifted immediately. Exhaustion retreated. Focus snapped into place.

Ignivar exhaled slowly. "Can you show us?"

I didn’t waste time. "I already planned on it."

I spread the papers across the desk, pushing aside older files and reports. Missing children. Border towns. Merchant routes. Family registries. Financial ledgers. At first glance, it looked like chaos—lists layered on lists, names repeating in ways that felt almost coincidental.

Almost.

"Look here," I said, tapping one parchment. "This is a list of merchants flagged for unusually high revenue spikes over the last three years."

I slid another page beside it. "This one is a registry of transport permits—specifically for goods that don’t require inspection because they’re classified as ’non-living cargo.’"

Naviel frowned. "Clothing. Textiles. Raw hides."

"Exactly," I said. "Now this—" I placed a third paper down, aligning it carefully. "—is a list of families who reported missing children but withdrew their petitions within a month."

Ignivar’s jaw tightened. "Withdrawals usually mean threats. Or payoffs."

"Or hope," I said quietly. "False hope."

I picked up a quill and began circling a name that appeared on all three documents.

Once. Twice. Three times.

The same surname. Grabonvar.

"This name," I said, tapping it again, harder. "It keeps appearing. Not as an individual—never the same first name—but always the same family name."

Morthen leaned closer. "A house?"

"That’s what I suspect," I said. "Or at least a lineage. A merchant family that operates through intermediaries. No single head exposed. No single signature that stays long enough to be traced."

I circled the name again on a fourth paper—this one a ledger of buyers intercepted during the raids.

"The buyers don’t buy from them directly," I continued. "They buy from shell merchants. Tailors. Traders. Caravans that specialize in ’custom orders.’"

Naviel adjusted his glasses. "Meaning the children were moved as goods."

"Yes," I said, voice hard. "Disguised as shipments that no one questions because everyone benefits from the trade."

A shadow fell over the desk.

I hadn’t heard footsteps. I hadn’t even sensed magic shift.

Zorathys was suddenly there.

I looked up sharply. "How long have you been standing there?"

He shrugged lazily. "Long enough."

Morthen startled like he’d just noticed a predator beside him and immediately stepped aside, giving Zorathys space with almost comical speed.

Zorathys glanced at him, one brow lifting. There was a flicker in his eyes—amusement, thin and sharp.

"...Thank you," Zorathys said, tone smooth.

Morthen dipped his head and retreated without another word.

Zorathys took his place at the edge of the desk, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over the papers. "You’re right," he said. "It’s a family name."

I stared at him. "You’re sure?"

He nodded once. "It’s an old one, and not many people are aware of it. They’ve survived multiple regime changes by never standing in the light. They also keep a very low profile."

I swallowed, suspicious already. "Did you know about this?"

"I suspected," he corrected. "You confirmed it."

I exhaled and kept going before the weight of that settled too deeply. And I got angry at him.

"Here," I said, pointing again. "This location keeps repeating—not as an address, but as a distribution point. Every route that intersects with the trafficking paths passes through it."

Ignivar leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "That place?"

"You recognize it?" I asked.

"Yes," he said slowly. "It’s... well-known. Extremely sought after."

"For what?" I asked.

"Clothing," Ignivar replied. "Specifically tailored garments for demons. Durable. Enchanted. Adaptable to different forms."

I frowned. "That doesn’t sound illegal."

"It’s not," Naviel said carefully, adjusting his glasses. "Which is why it’s perfect."

Ignivar nodded. "The shop sits at a crossroads between trade routes. No one questions its shipments because everyone wants what it produces."

"Where is it?" I asked.

"In the Beast Territory," Ignivar said.

I blinked. "Beast... territory?"

Zorathys answered before anyone else could.

"There are seven Dukedoms in the Demon Realm," he said.

"I know that," I said immediately.

He nodded once, half-lidded eyes on me. "Then you know that the Beast Dukedom is the largest."

I did not know that, because Morthen hadn’t yet told me about the beast demons.

"The beast demons," Zorathys continued, "are not limited to one form. They include shapeshifters, hybrids, feral-blooded demons, and ancient bloodlines tied to primal magic. They are numerous."

"People like Morthen, Marrok, Rin, and even this nuisance," Zorathys said, pointing at Azerion, who scowled at him, "are beast demons."

"And they own and control a vast amount of land," Naviel added. "Forests. Mountains. Trade passes. It’s nearly impossible to move large quantities of goods without passing through their borders at some point."

I nodded slowly. "So if this family is operating out of there..."

"They’d be well-protected," Ignivar finished.

I straightened. "Then we go to the Duke. Wouldn’t that be better? The Duke of the beast demons would be able to help us."

The room went quiet.

Naviel adjusted his glasses again—not out of habit this time, but nerves. Ignivar looked at Zorathys instead of answering.

I frowned. "What?"

They exchanged a look.

A very specific look.

"Why are you all looking at each other like that?" I asked.

Zorathys sighed.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just tired.

"Because," he said, "the Duke of the Beast Demons does not like me."

I narrowed my eyes. "That feels like an understatement."

"He hates me," Zorathys corrected. "Passionately."

"Why?" I asked.

Ignivar shifted. Naviel hesitated.

Zorathys spoke anyway.

"I killed his husband."

The room seemed to tilt.

"You did what?" I demanded, staring at him.

"I killed his husband." He shrugged. "The man deserved it."

"That is not an explanation," I said flatly.

"It’s the only one that matters," he replied.

I crossed my arms. "What did he do?"

Zorathys didn’t answer.

I stared at him, eyebrow arching slowly, deliberately.

Still nothing.

"Zorathys," I warned.

He looked away.

Ignivar cleared his throat. "Your Highness..."

I turned to him. "Yes?"

"The Duke’s husband," Ignivar said carefully, "was planning a coup."

My breath caught.

"He attempted to assassinate Zorathys," Ignivar continued. "Multiple times."