The Capital breathed differently at night. The cobbled streets gleamed with reflections from lanterns and braziers; the smell of spices, toasted bread, and burnt sugar mingled with the old rain still clinging to the walls. In the distance, the tournament arena cut the sky like a black crown, and closer, the night fair lifted its cheerful murmur: drums, laughter, barkers, the hiss of oil in pans.
In their room, Blair adjusted her hooded cloak in front of a burnished metal mirror. She had chosen simple clothes: a cream linen blouse, a practical knee-length skirt, light boots, and most importantly, the hood low to cover her silver hair. Even so, something betrayed her attempt at anonymity: the straight back, the sparkle in her eyes, the firmness in her hands. A princess without a crown.
At her side, Asori wrestled with the drawstring of the blue tunic Eryndor had given him. He knew it felt wrong for a fair—he really did—but he had no idea how to dress for a date. He tugged at the sleeves clumsily and turned.
—Does this look… okay? —he asked, like a man about to offer himself for sacrifice.
Blair gave him a once-over, and her look turned into a smile.
—We're not going to a fight, Asori.
—So… should I change?
—No. —She flushed faintly, lowering her voice—. You look fine.
They lingered in the edge of silence, as if the word fine had left something suspended between them. She took a breath, pulled up her hood, and tugged lightly at his tunic to straighten it. Asori swallowed hard.
—Let's go —Blair said.
The fair spread across three streets and half a square. Lanterns with colored paper, banners, impossible taxidermies, and street shows: a fire-eater holding coals on his tongue, a one-eyed violinist pulling dreams from strings, an acrobat spinning inside a flaming hoop. The food stalls were an open war on the senses: glazed skewers, honey breads, cream-filled pastries, pumpkin soup, fritters dusted with sugar.
Asori stared wide-eyed. Without thinking, he took Blair's hand "so he wouldn't lose her."
—It's so… —he blurted, red— so we don't get lost in the crowd.
Blair squeezed his hand gently.
—See? Not so hard.
But inside, her chest unraveled at the gesture.
—Hungry? —he asked, in the voice of someone who'd never taken anyone anywhere—. I could… get honey bread.
—Honey bread? —Blair smiled—. Well, someone's been paying attention.
"Someone" meant "I saw you try to buy me one that day and fail." She walked with him to a stall where the bread flaked golden and the vendor drizzled warm honey from a copper jar. Asori bought two, trembling as though the purchase were an exam.
—Open up —Blair said, amused.
—What?
—Just open. —She held a piece of bread to his lips. Asori obeyed, but the honey betrayed him. A string slid down his chin.
—Ah— he coughed, almost choking. Blair laughed like a set of small bells and wiped the honey with her thumb, absent-minded—until awareness caught them. Her fingertip, his jaw. They pulled back as if the air burned.
—Now your turn —he said, eager for cosmic revenge.
He tried to feed her with equal poise. He had none. The piece was too big; Blair bit into it, luckily spilling just enough to lick her lip clean. Asori stared at the gesture as though it were a forbidden technique. He blinked three times to remember how to breathe.
—Let's try the games —Blair suggested mercifully.
The knife-throwing booth was run by a man with a curled mustache and a ridiculous hat. Wooden targets spun at different speeds. "Three knives, hit two, win a prize," the sign read. Blair paid before Asori could react.
—Are you sure? —he asked.
—I learned not to cut myself with my own swords at eight.
She threw. The first knife hit a target quick, sharp. The second, with a flick of her wrist, split a coin-sized one. The crowd went ooooh. Blair handed back the third unused: she didn't need it. The mustached man, defeated, offered her a basket of prizes. She rummaged as if picking fate and pulled out a small stuffed fox, stitched, a little ugly. She placed it in Asori's hands.
—So you'll remember not everything is won with strength, mountain boy —she said with mock solemnity.
Asori hugged the fox as if it had a soul.
—My first… ridiculous fair trinket.
—It's a fox —she corrected—. And it's not ridiculous if I gave it to you.
He had no reply. His fingers, without realizing, tightened around Blair's hand.
The next stalls were excuses to stay close: a fortune-teller reading futures in tea leaves—"a hard road, two lights, one shadow"; a watchmaker with tiny music boxes; a terrible magician hiding doves poorly. Blair laughed easily; Asori started to laugh too, and every new laugh was another brick in the house they were building between them.
They reached the "Lookout Wheel," a wooden and iron machine that lifted open baskets high enough to make the city below look like a map. They sat across from each other. As the wheel creaked upward, the fair shrank beneath them, stitched in lights.
—Look —Blair whispered.
The Capital spread out: a dark canal like a ribbon, towers glowing with oil-lanterns, streets unraveled into sound. The arena in the distance looked like a pit of shadow surrounded by teeth. From up here, fear was geometry. The wind brushed their brows.
—When this is over —Blair said, not as a princess or warrior but as someone making a promise—, I want to come to a place like this with nothing on my mind but us. Just… you and me.
Asori looked at her, and reality collapsed on him: he, who once wanted no part in anything; he, who had said "not my problem"; he, who now carried a stuffed fox and his heart in his throat.
—Then I'm not going to die —he said. —I can't. I have to see that day with you.
Blair lowered her eyes. She smiled. The basket creaked softly. The wheel paused at the top, as if the world held its breath for them. The Sweet Kiss bond vibrated faintly in their chests, a private note.
—We could… try "hearing each other better" —she said, recalling the idea—. The bond. Maybe if we focus, we can… talk without words when we need to.
Asori nodded, serious.
—How? Do we use more Astral, or…?
—Sometimes —Blair laughed quietly—, sometimes you just have to be closer.
They were very close when she said it. So close that eyes stopped being eyes and became only color, and each other's breath became their own. With clumsy charm, Asori lifted a hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes. So did he.
—Asori… —she whispered.
—Blair.
They kissed.
Not a kiss of urgency nor a remedy. A kiss that walked slowly and found its place. Below, the fair kept shouting; above, the wind stilled so as not to intrude. The bond hummed, yes, but it didn't pull them—it accompanied.
—This… —he said, pulling back slightly— this is mine and yours. Not the Sweet Kiss's.
—I know. —Blair pressed her forehead to his—. That's why it matters.
The wheel groaned and began to descend. And with it came something else. A brush of air that wasn't wind. A muffled sound, like a misplaced step. Blair opened her eyes, alert. Asori too, not knowing what he was searching for, only that he was.
They saw nothing. Just a shadow folding itself along a rooftop, becoming part of the night.
The fair went on. They walked back to the inn through quieter streets, sharing a cup of spiced milk bought from an old woman in a kerchief. Asori kept the fox under his cloak; Blair kept his hand. They didn't need words. Sometimes magic was just silence saying I'm here.
—Do you think Mikan and Mikrom…? —he asked suddenly.
—I don't want to know —Blair laughed—. Though I hope he doesn't get too clever.
—He gets clever for sport.
—And she kills for sport. —They looked at each other, conspirators.
At the inn entrance, a guard slept with his mouth open. They crept upstairs. At the hall, Asori froze. It wasn't a thought; it was the instinct training had honed. Something moved where eyes couldn't reach. A weight on the roof. An attention that wasn't his.
—What is it? —Blair whispered.
—Nothing. —He lied by reflex, then corrected—. Maybe… someone's watching.
Blair squeezed his hand. Not from fear—by choice.
—Let them watch. —She held his gaze—. We won't hide from fear.
He nodded. They entered the room. Inside, the light was gentle. Blair dropped her cloak, let her hair fall free, and in that simple act there was a ceremony. Asori hung his tunic on a chair, it slipped, he rehung it, it slipped again; Blair laughed and fixed it for him. They sat on the bed's edge, shoulder to shoulder, as if the day still needed settling.
—Today —Blair said, staring at her hands—. Today you were happy. Did you notice?
Asori thought of the honey bread, her laughter, the wheel, the kiss, the silly fox that now felt like a talisman.
—Yeah.
—I want you to remember that tomorrow. Whatever happens in the arena. Remember that you can be happy without having to wrestle life for it.
—I'll try. —He looked at her, serious—. And if I forget, you remind me.
—Deal.
They kept talking a while longer—small things: how the violinist seemed to cry through his strings; how the acrobat smiled inside the fire; how the fortune-teller spoke of "two lights and a shadow." Beneath the bed, the stuffed fox stood guard.
Asori drifted toward sleep, resting his head on Blair's shoulder. She stroked his hair, feeling how the Sweet Kiss bond now was only a gentle murmur, not a tightening rope. She wondered—without saying it—if "being more intimate" someday meant more than kisses and hands. She blushed alone in the dark and mentally smacked Mikan for planting the thought.
—Good night, my idiot —she whispered, kissing his forehead.
Mine, he thought on the edge of dreams, and that possessive cradled him better than any blanket.
On the inn's roof, the shadow crouched at the edge. Weightless, leaving no trace. Eyes like burning coals behind a mask, fixed on the rectangle of light going dark.
—The wind brat —it murmured, barely a breath—. And the dead princess. At last.
It rose, feline. The roof creaked like a promise.
—Interesting. Very interesting.
The shadow slid away into the night, like an idea still waiting for the page. Outside, the fair kept singing. Inside, Blair and Asori slept with their fingers intertwined.
Tomorrow, the arena. But tonight, the world was small enough to fit in a single room.