Page 21

Cael moves from one wooden stall to the next, trying to lose himself in the familiar, rhythmic routine of the market. He stops by a blacksmith's table to inspect a row of iron horse harnesses, his fingers checking the quality of the metal loops before using his silver quill to scratch a quick signature onto an official receipt.

Out of the corner of his eye, he continuously tracks Elara’s position near the horse. Every time he looks up, he catches her green eyes fixed intently on his hands. She remains silent, her expression unreadable. He cannot tell if she is looking at him with hidden pity, or if she is simply waiting for the tour to end so she can distance herself from him. He forces his focus back to a spice vendor’s unbalanced scales, using a firm nod to command the merchant’s attention.

Cael spends his entire morning and afternoon walking and riding back and forth. Stamping ledgers, verifying trade weights, and sealing official merchant manifests with the royal wax press keep his mind anchored in the clockwork rhythm of his duties. The rush of adrenaline from his physical labor and his rescue of the young boy yesterday fades, leaving him feeling raw, drained, and hyper-aware of the silence humming in his own ears. He can feel the phantom weight of the words on that poster pressing against his chest.

Kaera handles the smaller details, mostly accompanying Cael on these daily rides to be his voice while he completes his mandatory duties. Elara stands by his side silently. She lifts her dress to follow beside Cael with every step. As the sun fades into the horizon, turning the sky deep orange, she shivers, rubbing her arms as a chill breeze blows through the market. The rising chill indicates that the winter wind will only grow more severe.

Cael shrugs off his thick coat and offers it to her, careful to avoid touching her or causing her to startle.

Elara responds by leaning away from him and shaking her head. “It is fine. You need it too,” she says, smiling even as her teeth chatter from the cold.

A sharp winter breeze sweeps through the market square, rustling the thin green silk of her new dress. Noting her sudden shiver, Cael continues to offer her the coat until she relents and takes the garment, wrapping it tightly around herself. It is far too large on her frame, and Cael cannot help but smile, thinking of the way he had given her the same coat the night before when she had fallen asleep in the carriage. It had swallowed her small frame then, too. A few times, as he had carried her upstairs to his bedchamber, she had almost disappeared in the excess fabric of her dress and his coat.

When the chattering of her teeth stops, and the blue in her lips fades, he nods, more to himself than anyone else and resumes his duties. Cael looks around for Kaera as he approaches the blacksmith's shop. She is a short distance away, talking to a smiling mother who holds her young daughter in her arms. Cael bites his lip, tapping his fingers against the side of his leg. With a quiet sigh, he brings out his green leather booklet and steps up to the blacksmith.

Almost desperately, he flips past his earlier, frantic poem to find a fresh, unblemished page. Pressing the silver quill down and letting the black ink settle into a neat script, he turns the booklet around so the blacksmith can read his words. The vendor squints his eyes against the fading sunlight to decipher the text.

Two new anvils are approved. Bring this page to the lower garrison tomorrow to collect them.

A look of relief washes over the blacksmith’s weathered features, and he dips into a low bow. “Thank you, Your Highness,” the vendor says softly as Cael tears the authorization page from his leather notebook and hands it over. “This will save my family’s forge.”

Cael offers a single, reassuring nod to the man, closing his booklet with a click of the strap. He slides his silver quill back into his pocket, satisfied. Turning back toward the open thoroughfare, he checks on Elara, ensuring she is still comfortable despite the biting wind.

Kaera rushes back with a bright smile. “Elara, I see a blooming flower that I have never seen before. Do you wish to view it?” she asks excitedly, her energy matching that of a young child.

Elara smiles, nodding her head before glancing back toward Cael, as though silently asking if he would like to join them. Cael adverts his gaze and shakes his head, using the opportunity to claim a moment for himself. The softness in her expression fades as she turns to follow Kaera.

Finding the opportunity, he guides Snow away from the large crowd toward an area where the trees are thick, their long branches and leaves sweeping the ground. He buries his face against the steed’s neck, breathing in her familiar scent of dust and hair. Snow nuzzles him, letting out a whoosh of air onto his neck.

He inhales slowly, holding the breath until his lungs ache from the strain. The muscles across his shoulders burn, and his feet ache from the long hours of walking through the square. Though his formal training prepares him for physical exhaustion, teaching him how to endure the severe weight of his duties without a single break, he rarely finds the opportunity to claim a moment of rest.

Reaching out, he brings his hand up to pat the side of Snow’s neck, offering the steed a tired, appreciative smile. From afar, the clear sound of Kaera’s laughter echoes through the market. His eyes find Elara, easily spotted in the distance in her green silk dress, and relief fills his chest to see her sharing in the amusement as well.

Kaera and Elara return, laughing at Kaera’s horse as it nudges her palm, demanding attention. He raises his eyebrows as he notices the small paperwhite blossom in Elara’s hand, the way her fingers trace the delicate petals as if she is seeking comfort through the movement.

Standing upright, he brushes the stray leaves from his linen tunic. He walks out from beneath the shadow of the trees to meet them as they look around the market paths for him.

Kaera’s expression brightens. “There you are,” she smiles. “Shall we return? So far, our duties are completed, and the air is getting cold.”

He nods as his sister mounts her horse. Turning toward his own steed, he offers his bare hand, preparing to help Elara into the saddle again. Instead of taking his offered palm, she stops directly in front of him.

“Cael,” she says, her voice timid but steady.

He straightens his posture, his stomach turning as he wonders if she is going to ask questions he would rather not answer.

With a shy smile, she lifts the paperwhite flower toward his chest. “Can you put this in the horse’s mane?”

Eyes blinking, Cael nods. He reaches out to take the white paperwhite, his fingers brushing her palm. His breath hitches at the contact of her skin against his, smooth where his is so rough. Elara’s cheeks redden and she looks down, her soft brown hair curtaining her face. Swallowing, Cael turns away to hide the sudden impact of the touch. Working quickly, he weaves a section of Snow’s mane into a tight braid and secures the flower through the center.

Cael steps back to admire the simple adornment, his eyes tracking the way the white petals gleam against Snow’s coat before his gaze drifts back down to Elara. A rare softness ripples over his features, his heart hammering against his ribs as he waits for her reaction.

With a smile, her pinks still stained pink, Elara steps forward to pet Snow’s nose. Cael’s physical exhaustion temporarily disappears and wonders about the intention behind her offering the white rose to Snow, trying to comprehend the sudden softness across her face. Nonetheless, he steps back to give Elara her moment.

“Is this your horse?” Elara asks, her eyes on his.

He offers a nod.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs, leaning in closer to bring her other hand to pet Snow’s neck. “The horses back in my father’s castle were always hungry and sad,” she admits, her throat bobbing as if she is physically forcing the painful memory down.