After getting back to the palace, before Elliott could even ponder what to do next, he was instantly ambushed by a frazzled aide because something urgent had come up.
Aiden, meanwhile, was left carrying Elliott's shopping bags to his chambers. Because of course— after purchasing every single thing in sight, Elliott somehow proceeded to forget the bags at the shop. And after that had happened for the third time, Aiden had simply stopped reminding him and accepted his fate as Official Bag Carrier.
The bags in his hands were a mixed collection of chaos—one held a half-eaten honeyed cake, another contained the sad remnants of caramelized hazelnuts. There was also a ridiculous sun-shaped hat made of straw, bright yellow paint, and regret, and a small wooden knight figurine that Elliott had insisted was "strategically important" and would be "useful in the war room." It would, in fact, be useful in no shape, way, or form.
Apart from the bags, there was something else. Clenched deep in Aiden's right palm was chain the moon charm—the length of silver chain dangling between his fingers, the weight of it still present from their last purchase before hurrying back to the palace.
Just as Aiden turned down the hallway leading to Elliott's chambers, he almost collided with someone.
Gabriella. Of course.
She stood there, arms crossed, one elegant brow arched like she'd been waiting for him. "And here I was wondering where my son and his little shadow had disappeared to," she remarked.
Aiden rolled his eyes. "We just went out for a bit."
"A bit?" Her gaze flicked to the clock on the wall, and she smiled sweetly. "You've been gone for three and a half hours."
Aiden groaned. Of course she'd kept track of the exact time—why wouldn't she? "You didn't count the minutes too?" he asked dryly.
Gabriella gave him a look of mock sympathy. "Your humor could give the court jester competition, Prince."
"I try," Aiden deadpanned.
Her eyes dropped to the bags he was carrying, the edge of that ridiculous yellow hat peeking out like a crime against fashion. She didn't even need to see the whole thing to know exactly who it belonged to. Only one person in this entire palace would find that monstrous hat endearing.
"I trust Elliott had fun," she said, her tone amused.
Aiden scoffed but didn't reply, shifting slightly to step past her. She, naturally, didn't move.
"Ah ah—wait." Gabriella's voice was smug, and Aiden could now see exactly where Elliott got his insufferable smirk from. "You're looking a little grumpy. And here I thought you'd be in a better mood after your little date."
Aiden gritted his teeth. "It was not a date."
Her lips twitched. "Your tone says otherwise."
"It wasn't," he repeated stubbornly. "We just went out to see a festival. Because he made a promise to me years ago and wanted to keep it. I tried to discourage him, but—you know how it is."
Gabriella chuckled knowingly. "Of course. I raised him. He's stubborn—especially when it comes to keeping promises."
Aiden thought that was the end of it, started to move past her again, but of course she hadn't let the "date" thing go.
"Back to the topic," she said smoothly. "You say Elliott is stubborn, but you are just as bad, if not worse. Admit it."
Aiden opened his mouth for another sharp denial, but Gabriella raised her hand, cutting him off, her gaze flicking to the items he was carrying.
"Parasol— just one. I'm assuming you shared. Strolling through the market, buying trinkets..." Her eyes shifted to the silver chain peeking between his fingers, the moon charm catching the light. Her smile turned positively wolfish. "Oh-ho-ho... is that a matching necklace?"
Aiden froze. "...How did you—?"
"I haven't lived this long without being observant, Prince." Her smirk widened. "That's clearly one half of a detachable piece. A crescent moon, hmm? I'd bet the other half—the sun—belongs to my son."
"You—" Aiden sighed in defeat. "Fine. It is. But it still wasn't a date."
Her smile stayed. It looked pleasant, but it felt like it was mocking. And it probably was.
"Whatever you say, Prince." She stepped aside, finally giving him room to pass.
Aiden was about to leave when he remembered something. Carlson Veyth.
He turned back. Gabriella had merchant roots before joining the court— she might know something. "Question. Carlson Veyth. Do you recognize the name?"
Gabriella's teasing expression vanished instantly. "Veyth?"
Aiden stopped walking. "So you do."
"I do," she confirmed. "Every merchant house does. And Carlson Veyth— he's the Veyth family heir. Son of the head of the Myraethra Guild. Though, since the old master passed away recently, I'd assume he's taken the reins."
Aiden's eyes narrowed slightly. So the man hadn't just been "part of" the guild, like he'd claimed. Suddenly, it clicked—it was on purpose. Carlson introducing himself with his full name wasn't a coincidence. He'd wanted them to know who he was. He could have easily lied, but he hadn't. He wanted them to dig, to connect the dots—especially after the way he'd whispered that final sentence before leaving.
Gabriella's eyes were still on him, sharp and assessing. "Why do you ask?"
If it had been anyone else, Aiden would have brushed it off. But Gabriella... as much as he was irritated by her, he knew she had Elliott's best interests at heart. Plus, she wasn't someone he could intimidate or dismiss.
"We... met him," Aiden admitted. "In the merchants' market."
Gabriella nodded slowly. "The Myraethra have always overseen the market."
Aiden continued, "He recognized Elliott. Called him 'Your Majesty'—like it was a joke—as he was leaving."
Gabriella exhaled, her expression unreadable. "You've attracted the Myraethra Guild's attention, clearly."
"Is that a good or bad thing?"
Her gaze followed him as she stepped aside once more. "Only time can tell, Prince," she said simply. "Only time can tell."
----
Aiden sat in his study.
His head was in his hands—he looked properly stressed. And no, he wasn't working on some document or drafting a war plan. Right now, he was far more invested in his own mental turmoil.
Part of the worry was, naturally, Carlson—but not much of it. However powerful the man might be, he was still just a guild master in their empire. No, the much larger cause of his unrest... was the shadow.
That black shadow he'd seen.
He still couldn't shake it off—the memory stuck in his mind like the stubborn clinging of cigar smoke on a man's coat. Unshakable, still distinct. If he tried to push it out of his head, he might think he'd succeeded for a moment, but then—out of nowhere—it would drift back in, unwelcome, vivid.
He slumped further into his chair, running a tired hand through his hair. Outside, the sun had already set, the glass panes of the window holding only the deepening navy of night.
The door to his study creaked open.
Someone stepped inside, the sharp click of heels ringing against the marble floor. Aiden didn't even have to lift his face from his hands to guess who it was.
Of course—it was Gabriella.
"You're brooding," she announced, taking in the sight of him like she'd just caught a guilty child in the act.
"I'm working," Aiden groaned into his palms.
"Working?" she echoed, eyebrows arched, "Slumped in your chair with your hands over your face? I never knew the young prince was such an inventor—pioneering new postures for work." Her tone was sharp, but not unkind.
Aiden didn't dignify that with a reply.
Gabriella walked further into the room, lowering herself into a plush chair with the sort of unhurried grace that made it obvious she was going to take her time here. "You're worried."
She didn't need to put it in the form of a question—though Aiden knew that, in reality, it was one.
"...Nothing. Just the Carlson thing," he said after a pause.
Gabriella looked at him like she could see straight through that lie. Which, to be fair, was probably hereditary. "You're lying," she said, plainly.
"I—" He was about to start some half-hearted excuse, but then he met her eyes. And one look at that sharp, unrelenting green told him she wasn't going to let it drop until he spoke. "...Fine," he said, voice carrying the weight of resignation. "There was one other thing."
Gabriella leaned forward slightly—a silent invitation to continue.
"There was... something," Aiden began. "We were stopped at a stall, Elliott was buying some sweet snack... and I saw it. Down the entryway of a narrow alley. It was completely dark—probably from how the buildings were arranged—but I thought I saw movement. Something was in there. In the shadows. It looked like it was going to step out, but then I blinked—and it was gone."
He glanced up at her, and before she could respond, added quickly, "I know how it sounds. Even I think maybe I imagined it. And normally I wouldn't even be this bothered, but I just... can't shake it off. It's like it's still clinging to me. Like some insect you can't get off your skin."
Gabriella's brow lifted slightly, her expression turning thoughtful. "I don't think you imagined it," she said quietly. "Imaginings don't haunt the minds of rational men like this."
Aiden felt an odd sort of relief at having his unease acknowledged. He'd been reluctant to tell Elliott—not because he doubted him or thought Elliott wouldn't believe him, but because Elliott had been wound tight enough with stress from the war. That breakdown after the public address still lingered in Aiden's mind. He didn't want to add another weight to his already heavy shoulders.
But with Gabriella—he could say it.
"...What do I do, then?" he asked.
"Nothing. For now," she replied without hesitation. "I'll see what I can find out. But you—don't chew on it too much. Worrying will only trap you inside your own head. The more you turn it over, the more it will stay."
He wanted to argue. But he knew she was right. He had enough to deal with preparing for war as it was. He couldn't assign this to a subordinate—if it was something, he didn't want it spreading to too many ears. Gabriella was his best chance.
"...Fine."
She nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, the reason I came here in the first place. Elliott is waiting for you."
Aiden's head snapped up at that. "What?"
"You left the festival early. He still wants to float the lamps. He's waiting. Go."
Recognition flickered across his face. Ah. That. He'd assumed Elliott would forget after getting wrapped up in palace matters—but apparently, no such luck.
Gabriella's lips twitched like she was trying not to smile. Mention her son, and the young prince's face softened—if only a little.
"Go," she urged again, waving him toward the door. "He's waiting."
Aiden was already halfway out of his chair before she finished the sentence.