The market was lively that morning. Traders shouted, and the smell of bread and spices filled the air.
Kaldros walked through the crowd, not really paying attention, until he noticed her. She was a young girl, pretty as she arranged fruits in a basket. As she leaned down, her hair fell forward. She pushed it back with her hand.
Kaldros found himself staring, lost in thought.
Then, chaos broke out. A man rushed through the market, something tucked under his arm, with soldiers on his tail. He crashed into the girl's basket, sending fruits flying everywhere.
She gasped and crouched down to gather them, but people rushed past, almost stepping on the apples and pears. Without thinking, Kaldros knelt beside her, helping to pick up the fruit. "Here," he said, handing her an apple. Their hands brushed, and she looked up, their eyes meeting.
"Thank you," she said softly, a little embarrassed.
"I'm Kaldros," he blurted out.
She hesitated, then smiled. "I'm Anya."
That name stuck with him. He wanted to say more, to keep talking, but the words didn't come. She finished picking up the last of the fruit and stood up. "Well... thanks again," she said, giving him a quick smile before heading back to her stall.
Kaldros watched her go, the noise of the market swirling around him. For some reason, he felt like he had just let something important slip away.
***
News of Prince Geralt's return spread quickly.
The Lords were not pleased. In a private gathering, tension rose.
Lord Varion spoke first, his voice low and intense. "That boy shouldn't be here."
Lord Zorven crossed his arms and smirked. "But if we play it right, he could be a useful idiot."
Lord Maelor started pacing, wiping sweat from his brow. He looked at Varion. "We all know what this means. His return is trouble. It could ruin our plan to take down the Queen and your claim to the throne. Geralt wants the crown."
"What do we do now?" Zorven asked.
Maelor's voice trembled. "We need to deal with him first. He can't come back and ruin everything we've worked for."
Suddenly, Lady Lyra emerged from the shadows, her eyes bright. "But he's under the Duchess's protection. If that's true, we can't target him."
Varion narrowed his eyes. "How long have you been listening, Lyra?"
Before she could respond, Lord Mylis, Varion's son, chimed in. "That's not the issue. Our goal is clear: take the throne from Eryndor and give it to the rightful owner. The King's death should have been our chance, but the Queen got in our way. We misjudged her."
He turned sharply. "House Eryndor took the crown from House Valmorin. And House Sylvon betrayed us by siding with them. If we want to win, we need patience. But one thing is certain: I will be the Crown Prince of Fenroth, and Father will be King."
His words hung heavily in the air. No one dared to break the silence.