I take the road that leads to the capital, letting the sea breeze and its salty scent overwhelm my senses. It's nice living in a small port city on mornings like this—the waves crashing the shore, the smells, the sounds… all intoxicating.
The only reason our town is as large as it is, though, is because of the road that leads directly to the capital, which is only an hour away. It's convenient—especially since my parents live there and I can get fresh supplies for my shop every day.
As I am about halfway there with my companion, I take in the farmlands surrounding us. Fields stretch endlessly in every direction. It's what Elos is known for—vast, fertile lands. And yet, almost all of it goes to the central government to be distributed to the people or traded away.
We always get just enough—not too much, not too little. Just enough for everyone who has a ration card.
Things like coffee, tea, and sugar are luxuries most can't afford—usually reserved for those with influence, like my parents. But I always make sure people are taken care of in my shop. With whatever they can offer, I offer something in return. It's not about profit to me.
As I get lost in thought, I finally arrive at the capital. The towering walls loom ahead, blocking the morning sun. Just the sight of them makes me tremble.
I don't know how they built something so tall.
As I ride up to the gate, one of the guards greets me.
"Nyra, great to see you. But as is our routine, I need your papers, please."
I smile. "Of course, Sam."
I dig out the required documents—an everyday necessity for entering the capital. No one gets in without them. Luckily, since I own a business, I can reuse the same papers. Visitors aren't so lucky.
He flips through the papers—more for show than inspection—and says, "Okay, go ahead."
The gates swing open, and I motion for Buttercup to move.
The capital is already bustling. Workers extinguish the street lamps while the noise of a million people and horses fills the air. It overwhelms my senses. I don't like the crowds… but it's better than serving old products to my customers.
Buttercup knows the route well enough, so she trots off toward my usual vendor while I finish my coffee. My cinnamon roll is already long gone. It came out a bit stiff, though—I'll have to bake the next batch for a little less time in my wood oven.
Eventually, I arrive at the vendor I need.
I dismount, take Buttercup to the loading zone, and head inside.
Roland, the vendor, is holding the goods checklist when I walk in. He looks up and smiles.
"Good morning."
"Morning," I reply with a grin.
We grew up together. He's a good friend, and I always made sure his endless appetite was well-fed.
"It's all ready to go," he says. "I'll load it up—feel free to sit and relax."
I nod in appreciation. He stands and walks to the back, his heavy footsteps shaking the table he was just at slightly as he passes.
I lean against the counter. Just a normal day. Calm. Comfortable.
Until a familiar, arrogant voice cuts through that comfort.
"Well, well, well. Exactly where I thought you'd be, Nyra Wrenfell. Picking up supplies as usual."
I scowl. Not him. Not today—not after this morning's nightmare.
I bow curtly. "Yes, Your Grace. I have to open my shop today, and I'm in a hurry—so I must apologize."
He walks over with an air of cockiness, his blond hair swaying as he runs a hand through it. His golden eyes scan me like a hawk eyeing prey.
"What's the rush? Our families are great friends, after all. Drop the formalities."
He's not wrong. Our parents are close. As the Lord of Coin, he has ties with all the major merchants—especially my father, who is ranked first among them. It's likely he'll take the throne after our so-called "great" ruler.
"I certainly cannot do so, Lord Caoel."
He steps closer, smirking. I keep my head low… until he reaches out and grabs a lock of my hair.
My body begins to shake involuntarily. I try not to let him notice.
He brings it to his nose and inhales deeply as if savoring the scent. After too long of a moment he speaks, "You truly do have the scent and grace of a higher woman."
He releases the lock and leans in again.
"You should stop wasting your time down there and move here. What purpose do you have to stay?"
"Many, Your Grace. But I will consider your words at a more appropriate time."
He looks like he's about to say more, but Roland walks back into the room.
I take that chance.
Without a word, I turn and head straight for my wagon.
"Wait," he barks.
But I don't.
I hop into the wagon. He steps up beside Buttercup—bad idea.
She startles and kicks him square in the gut.
He lets out a painful groan and doubles over.
Without thinking twice, I motion for Buttercup to get us the hell out of there.
As we ride off, I yell over my shoulder, "Thanks, Roland! Make sure to treat His Grace's injuries with care!"
Roland just rolls his eyes as we leave him behind.
I smirk and lean forward to whisper, "Good girl."
Buttercup grunts—almost as if to say, "Did you really need me to do that?"
I stare at her for a moment. It's not like I could stand toe-to-toe with someone like that.
Only when we pass through the city gates do I finally let out a long, relieved breath.