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The festival square rang with laughter as the duo dance was announced. A ripple of excitement ran through the maidens, who all crowded around the pompous young nobleman Tyche had found so irritating earlier. Each girl fluttered, waiting for his choice. And when his hand reached for the youngest and fairest among them, the others wore faces of forced smiles that quickly fell into disappointment.
Tyche rolled her eyes at the obvious vanity of it all. "Xanthe, I need to… excuse myself for a while," she muttered. Xanthe gave her a curious look but nodded, too caught up in the festival to question her.
On her way down the quieter paths leading away from the square, Tyche's irritation turned to discomfort. She stumbled across groups of youths—some barely older than she—giggling and pressing too close in shadowed corners, their laughter edged with something she couldn't name but instinctively recoiled from. She quickened her pace, cheeks warming, wishing she had never taken this path.
Then came the sound of rough laughter ahead. A cluster of young men loitered by the fence, passing around a skin of ale and jostling one another crudely. Tyche lowered her gaze and tried to slip past unnoticed, but one of them called out with a lewd remark. She didn't answer, but the movement of her shoulders gave her away—her discomfort was like blood in the water.
"Hey, pretty thing," another drawled, stepping into her path. She tried to ignore him, but their footsteps fell in behind her. Her heart beat faster. She quickened her pace, clutching her skirt.
Then suddenly, the presence behind her shifted. She knew she was being followed. She turned to a corner sharply—and collided hard into a tall figure. The impact knocked her clean to the ground.
She looked up, startled. The young man before her seemed to have dropped from the shadows themselves. Dark attire clung to his lean, powerful frame, his posture effortless yet commanding. His amber-brown eyes caught the lantern light, warm and ordinary—but something about his face stirred a strange familiarity in her, as though she had glimpsed him before in another life. See
The boys behind her stopped short, their laughter dying as their eyes met the strange see.
"Looking for trouble?" the man asked, his voice calm, almost bored, yet edged like a blade.
One of them sneered. "Back off. She's with us."
Levi's lips curved in the faintest mockery. "Is that so? Strange. I don't recall her choosing you." He let the words drip with disdain, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I came here to take my girlfriend back."
The boys bristled. "What did you just—"
They lunged, but they never had a chance. Levi didn't even seem to move quickly; one step, one strike, one twist of his wrist, and each was on the ground groaning before Tyche could blink. He hadn't broken a sweat.
Tyche's breath caught. She scrambled to her knees, alarm warring with amazement. "Please—don't hurt them further," she begged. "They've had enough."
He tilted his head, studying her. "You plead for cowards who would have cornered you? Strange girl."
But after a long pause, he stepped back, letting the beaten youths crawl away.
When his gaze returned to her, it lingered. Green eyes. His mind whispered the words, unsettled. He had never seen such a color in this kingdom. Eyes like hers were unnatural—otherworldly. Was she sick? Or was she hiding a secret?
Tyche whispered a shaky thank-you, brushing dust from her dress. She tried to move past, but he fell into step beside her, his hand suddenly catching hers. His grip was firm, yet careful—as though he feared bruising her wrist.
"You'll get yourself into trouble again," he said flatly. "I'll see you back to the square."
She stiffened. "That isn't necessary. I can manage."
"No one tells me what's necessary," he replied coldly. "Least of all someone who stumbles into alleyways like prey."
His words should have stung, but there was no mockery in them—only a strange intensity, as though he were speaking more to himself than her.
As they walked, his questions slipped out against his own will. "Do you live with your parents?"
Her throat tightened. "Yes," she answered softly, though the lie ached in her chest.
"You're thin," he remarked, his eyes scanning her. "Not sick, then?"
She frowned, uncertain how to reply. But he didn't press further.
At last, the square's light spilled back into view. He stopped at the edge, preparing to part ways. She dipped her head politely. "Thank you. For everything."
But before he could respond, an elderly woman bustled over, mistaking the scene. "How could you leave a beautiful young lady standing here while the music plays? For shame!"
Tyche blinked, flustered. "No, it isn't—"
The woman ignored her, wagging her finger at Levi. "You ought to be dancing with her, not abandoning her!"
Levi's tinted eyes narrowed with faint irritation. Yet when he turned to Tyche, something in her uncertain, bewildered gaze made him pause. Without a word, he extended his hand.
"Shall we?"
Tyche's breath caught. For a moment she hesitated—then placed her hand in his. He led her to the brightly lit dance floor, where lanterns swung above and the fiddlers played a lively tune. As they stepped into the swirl of dancers, Tyche finally looked fully at him.
And in that instant, she couldn't deny it. He was breathtaking. Every maiden on the square seemed to think the same—for as he moved with her, not a single eye remained on their own partner. All gazes, every last one, fixed upon him.
The music swelled, lanterns flickered, and whispers rippled through the crowd. Tyche's heart beat faster as Levi's hand closed around hers — firm, unyielding, yet strangely careful. He guided her onto the dance floor, where every pair of eyes turned to them, where curiosity and envy mingled in the air. For a moment, Tyche forgot the danger she had just escaped, forgot the irritation she had carried all evening. All that remained was the way the world seemed to hush when they took that first step together.
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