Lord Aeren stood at the far end of the room. His posture was still, unreadable, one arm resting lightly on the carved sill as he stared out into the distance.
Keira could not tell what held his gaze, only that it held it entirely.
She sat with the two older human women in silence, polishing the stem of a brass decanter, though her hands moved without thought.
Her mind churned, shifting between the memory of Sera's convulsing body and the strange flash that had happened in her mind her when Prince Riven touched her wrist.
She hadn't told anyone about it. Not Yvaine. Not even herself, not really. She was afraid to give it shape.
"You," Lord Aeren said, his voice a gentle disturbance, like the ripple of wind over calm water.
Keira startled. "My lord?"
He did not glance back. "The wine."
She rose quickly, heat blooming in her cheeks. "Forgive me, my lord," she whispered, moving to the polished table where a golden jug of chilled wine rested beside a crystal goblet. Carefully, she poured, watching the liquid catch the firelight and swirl like molten garnet. She set it down beside him.
He turned at last, his eyes meeting hers. He studied her face for a moment, then took a single sip. His gaze drifted past her once more, outward again. When he spoke next, it was not to her alone.
"We are going to the marketplace today."
Keira blinked, her eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. The older women, Mirien and Edra, paused in their needlework, exchanging a look.
"Did you say the market, my lord?" Edra asked, cautious.
Lord Aeren nodded once.
"But your robes," Mirien said, glancing down at the fine silks and layered silver embroidery he wore. "It is… common ground. Surely you would not wish to sully—"
"I shall decide what I wish to do," he said, voice cool but not cruel.
The room fell silent.
Keira's eyes had widened. She lowered her head slightly. "Thank you," she murmured, unsure if she even understood why she said it. Perhaps because he had never questioned her once. Perhaps because unlike Prince Rive, he believed her immediately.
He said nothing in return, his eyes sweeping her figure briefly.
"Shall we?" Edra softly said.
~
The marketplace in the lower quarter of the Midnight Court was unlike any Keira had known.
The path curved in different bends, each step unveiling new color, new sound. Fae children ran barefoot, giggling with dragon-kites chasing behind them. Lanterns hovered in the air like fireflies, blinking with slow rhythm, their light pale blue and humming.
The stalls were,selling things Keira could not name, glowing fruit, shimmering powders, cloaks that moved as if touched by invisible hands.
She walked quietly behind Mirien and Edra, basket in hand, as they haggled in hushed tones with Fae vendors. Aeren kept a careful distance, his hands clasped behind his back.
But Keira could feel his gaze. It lingered on her, subtle, not suffocating, but ever-present.
"You carry the basket well," he said suddenly.
She turned, startled by the nearness of his voice. It was a basket. Was there a way to carry a basket?
"I—thank you," she simply said, clearing her throat.
Aeren's gaze lingered on the crowd, but his attention was fixed on her. Slowly, he wet his lips with a thoughtful drag of his tongue, as though tasting the weight of his next words.
He inclined his head. "Tell me, Keira… how are you?"
"I… I am well enough," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
He studied her, then spoke again, more softly now. "Do you miss your parents?"
Keira swallowed. "They're dead."
Aeren was silent for a moment, the breeze catching the edges of his mantle.
"I am sorry," he said at last, the words low, but sincere.
"It is nothing," Keira murmured.
"Who did you live with?" He queried again.
"My aunt." Keira stated, and he kept quiet.
They walked a while longer. The crowd yielded before him like reeds before wind, no one so much as grazed his cloak.
Where he stepped, the market gave way.
His gaze remained fixed ahead.
"The girl who convulsed," he said. "Sera, I was told. Were you close friends?."
"No, we were not," Keira replied. "But she bonded in....our shared struggles."
He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "I understand."
"Thank you for defending from the prince." She said softly.
Stillness stretched between them, save for the hum of the market, bells chiming, voices rising and falling like wind over stone.
Keira's attention caught on a stall nearby, within a sphere of glass, something blue sparkled and blinked, like a star caught mid-breath.
She almost asked what it was, but then Aeren spoke again.
"Do you fear the prince?"
Her steps faltered, only a breath, but he noticed.
"Which one?" she asked, though she already knew who h was as talking about.
"Riven," he said.
She was quiet. Then, softly, "How could I hate the prince?"
"That is not what I asked you, human."
Keira lifted her eyes to his. His gaze held hers, calm. There was no judgment in it. Only that strange, ever-present quiet of his.
"Keira, you may speak freely with me. I though that by now we would have established that."
She dropped her gaze again. "Even so… I cannot say such a thing. He is the prince."
They came to a stop, he turned toward her.
Then, to her astonishment, he laughed.
A soft sound. Barely there. But unmistakable.
Keira blinked. "Was that—?"
"Yes," he said. "It happens."
A flicker of a smile curved her lips. Faint. But it was the first in days.