Elira woke in the earliest hours of morning, bewildered as to how she had come to lie in her own bed. The last she remembered was resting by the riverside, her back pressed against the great tree where she and Sylas had lingered the day before.
Her hands flew to her cheeks, covering them with both palms as the truth dawned on her. 'Sylas… he carried me home.' Heat rushed to her face, her heart stumbling with shame. She could hardly bear the thought of troubling him so.
"Shame on you, Elira!" she whispered fiercely to herself, her voice trembling with embarrassment. "How could you make yourself a burden to Sylas?"
Yet another memory pressed upon her—the nightmares that plagued her night after night. Ever since her childhood, cruel visions had clawed their way into her sleep. She remembered once more her mother, shutting her away in a lightless chamber, a place so dark not even the pale glow of the moon could seep through. It was suffocating, terrifying.
But then—within that dream—Sylas had come. He had broken through the shadows to reach her, to draw her out of that cursed room. It was the first time in many years that Elira had slept in peace. The memory softened her heart. She pressed her hand to her chest and let a small smile break through her lips.
Gathering herself, she rose from her bed. Before tending to her sheets, she stretched her arms above her head, her slender body arching as she tried to shake off the last traces of slumber. Crossing the chamber, she pushed open the window. The fresh morning air drifted in, cool and calming, carrying with it the quiet of the village and the gentle light upon its simple houses.
Elira bent her arm, resting her elbow upon the wooden sill. Her fingers curled delicately against her cheek as she leaned forward, gazing out. Below her chamber stretched a modest backyard—neither too wide nor too small—fenced in timber, where clothes were often washed and hung to dry.
Her eyes widened.
Sylas stood there.
He was half-bare, clad only in dark trousers and worn brown boots, his body glistening faintly with sweat as he trained. The sword gleamed in his grip, each motion deliberate, precise. This had become his ritual, a discipline he followed with unyielding devotion before the sun could crest the horizon.
Elira's breath caught. Her gaze lingered upon the ridges of his abdomen, the sculpted lines of muscle tensing with each swing. His biceps flexed with every strike, his broad shoulders carrying the weight of strength and resolve. His silver hair shimmered in the pale light, rippling with each movement, while his eyes—cold and radiant—burned with focus.
Each drop of sweat scattered through the air like beads of silver, catching the morning light. To Elira, he seemed a vision—less a man, more a god carved into life.
She could not look away. Her heart throbbed against her ribs, her thoughts dissolving until nothing remained but him.
'I wonder… is he always like this?' she whispered inwardly and she smiled.
As Elira stared intently at Sylas from her window above, he suddenly lifted his head—and caught her watching. The sudden meeting of their eyes made her start, cheeks flushing crimson, and she recoiled so sharply that the window rattled and slammed shut behind her.
Sylas blinked in mild confusion, tilting his head. 'Why did she just slam the window like that? Did I have something on my face?' he wondered, completely clueless that it was Elira's flustered reaction causing the commotion. Shrugging to himself, he calmly reached for the white towel on the nearby stool and wiped the sweat from his brow.
"I suppose she's awake already," he murmured softly, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips. The sun had now risen, casting warm light across the yard, and he tilted his gaze toward the sky. Then, looking down at the ground, a gentle smile curved his mouth as the truth struck him—Elira had been watching him all this time, captivated by every movement of his sword.
Elira's heart fluttered violently when Sylas suddenly cast a glance her way, his silver eyes catching the pale light of the sky before the sun had even risen. She pressed herself lightly against the window frame, her cheeks burning as the familiarity of his gaze hit her—it was the same intensity she had felt when their eyes first met during the parade, yet now it was different. Unsure of what she felt, Elira took a moment to compose herself before stepping out of her room to sweep the courtyard.
Grace silently descended the stairs, eyes fixed on the floor. She didn't know how to face Sylas, not after what he had done while she had been asleep. She wanted to thank him, but shyness held her back.
One step closer—
Boink!
Elira bumped lightly into someone's chest. She looked up, eyes widening, cheeks flushing crimson. It was Sylas, hair down, half-naked, a white towel draped over his shoulder from wiping sweat, his face calm and composed. He glanced at her, Sylas tilted his head, wondering why Elira had suddenly come down the stairs at this hour.
"Ah—eh—so… sorry, Sylas," Elira stammered, flustered, stepping aside to let him pass. Sylas remained cold and composed, watching her shyly bow her head, avoiding his gaze.
As Sylas took a step back upstairs, Elira gathered courage. "Thank you, Sylas, for carrying me home while I was asleep," she said, her voice steady, wanting to express her gratitude properly.
Sylas looked back at her and smiled faintly, raising his hand in a small wave as if to say, You're welcome. Elira returned his smile, feeling a warmth in her chest. That simple exchange made her heart soar, and slowly, she felt herself growing closer to Sylas—not just as a companion, but as a true part of his family.
It was already by mid-morning when Elira decided to ask permission from Mrs. Joana to visit The Bookworm Library, one of the largest bookstores in Highthorne's capital. She wanted to buy some books—especially history books and a few others she wished to read—while Sylas was away, since all the captains, including his father, the commander of the soldiers, had been summoned for a meeting.
Elira walked quietly along the streets, the bright sky shining above her with the glittering light of the sun. She carried her floral basket in hand, wearing a long, flowing beige dress with a dark brown bodice laced up with red strings and decorated with a floral pattern. Her golden eyes, rare and striking, glimmered beneath the sunlight. Her hair was styled with a crown braid circling her head, while two smaller braids flowed down the sides of her face. The dress had been a gift from Mrs. Joana, who thought it suited her perfectly.
When Elira arrived at The Bookworm Library, she entered with a happy smile and was greeted warmly.
"Good morning, welcome to The Bookworm Library," the attendant said cheerfully.
"Good morning. I was looking for a history book, maybe," Elira replied politely.
"History books? They're upstairs, Miss," the attendant said. Elira thanked her, then climbed to the second floor where shelves stretched high and wide. She strolled along, scanning the spines until one title caught her eye: A History of Knights and Kingdoms. She carefully pulled it from the shelf, intrigued, and continued browsing.
After choosing a few more books, Elira started to head back downstairs when someone called behind her.
"Hey, Miss? You dropped this."
She turned and saw a fine-looking man with fair skin, golden hair, and eyes as blue as the ocean. He held out her small pouch of coins. Elira checked her basket quickly, saw her wallet was missing, then smiled with relief.
"Thank you, Sir," she said warmly.
The man before her was none other than Cassian Durelin Highthorne, the crown prince of the empire, though Elira was completely unaware. Cassian, however, was delighted—he had finally met again the girl who once bumped into him in the street.
"Wait… are you the girl who sells bracelets?" Cassian asked, pointing lightly at her.
"Ahm? Yes? But how did you know?" Elira asked, puzzled.
"I was the man you bumped into on the street, ahaha," Cassian laughed, closing his eyes as he smiled, one hand resting casually behind his head.
Elira's eyes widened. She had never expected that the man in the black coat she collided with before was this handsome. 'Maybe he's from a noble family', she thought, studying his neat tunic—a deep red with brown lacing, cinched with a wide belt, paired with black trousers and polished boots.
"Oh, really? Well, nice to meet you again then, ahaha," Elira chuckled lightly.
"And why are you here?" she asked as she held the stack of books in her arms. Cassian noticed she carried five heavy volumes, and without hesitation, he reached out and took them from her.
"Oh? No, you don't have to—" Elira began, but Cassian interrupted with a gentle smile.
"No, let me carry these for you. Shall we head to the counter where the clerk sit?" he said kindly.
Elira, slightly embarrassed, nodded. She couldn't help but notice how gentle and noble his manners were, his bright smile seeming to match the warmth of the sun that day.
As they walked down to the first floor, the two spoke casually, almost forgetting the world around them. After Elira paid for her books, curiosity got the better of her.
"My name is Elira. How about you?" she asked, smiling. Her sweet expression made Cassian's heart flutter.
"I am Ca—"
"Your Highness, it's time for us to leave," a stern voice interrupted. Cassian's butler, Devito, appeared suddenly at his side. Cassian sighed in frustration—once again, his time was cut short.
"Ahahaha, I guess I have to go. Goodbye!" Cassian waved cheerfully to Elira before leaving the store.
Elira stood still, replaying the words she heard. 'Your Highness?' she thought, stunned. Her guess had been correct—the mysterious man she met was no ordinary noble. He was born to the highest title of all.
As Cassian was about to step into his carriage with Devito, his brows furrowed in displeasure. He had longed to introduce himself to the maiden he had once met on the street—now fate had brought them together again within the great bookstore. Perhaps it had been the right choice to obey his mother's command to visit the shop and purchase tomes for the mansion's library. Though he had first thought to refuse, seeing Elira had stirred his spirit.
"Why is it that whenever I find the perfect moment, you always intrude?" Cassian muttered, arms crossed, his tone sharp with annoyance.
"My prince, forgive me, but I know not of what you speak," Devito answered, smiling faintly, unbothered by his master's vexation.
Cassian rolled his eyes but soon his expression softened. Leaning against the carriage window, he allowed a smile to touch his lips as the name Elira lingered in his thoughts.
As the carriage moved slowly down the cobbled street, Cassian's mind wandered still—when would he meet her again? Suddenly, through the window, he spied Sylas astride his horse. Cassian's gaze followed his dearest friend, noting that Sylas was headed in the direction of the Bookworm's Library.
"Ah, so the meeting must have ended already," Cassian murmured. "Perhaps he now returns home."
For a brief moment, a shadow of envy stirred within him. His voice dropped to a quiet murmur, "How I wish I bore the freedom of Sylas—to ride where I will, unbound by duty, unchained from these walls of the capital."