The market square rang with a hundred voices, each louder than the last. Merchants waved their wares beneath patched awnings, hawking bread, fabrics, and copper trinkets. Children wove through the crowd, laughing as they dodged between carts. The smell of smoke and roasting chestnuts clung to the winter air, and the press of bodies moved like a restless tide.
Adrien walked at a measured pace, his hood pulled low, Cassian at his side.
"You shouldn't be here without more men," the guard muttered, scanning the crowd with the ease of someone who had memorized every alley in the city.
"Afraid a pickpocket might relieve me of my crown?" Adrien smirked, adjusting the cloak at his shoulders.
Cassian snorted. "No. Afraid you'll get yourself stabbed by some noble's man, and I'll be the one explaining it to the Queen."
Adrien's smile faded. "Better stabbed in the streets than suffocated at council."
"Don't tempt fate, Highness."
Adrien didn't reply. His gaze had snagged on something ahead — no, someone.
Near the fountain, a girl knelt beside a cart driver, his arm scraped raw from a toppled load. She had pulled her scarf low over her brow, her gown plain enough to pass as any townsfolk. Yet her movements were practiced, deliberate. She cleaned the wound with water, tore a strip of cloth, and bound it tightly, her fingers steady even as the man hissed.
Children clustered around her, passing scraps of bandage, holding the jar of water, eager to obey. She spoke to them softly, her voice calm, coaxing, so natural it seemed to belong to the market itself.
Adrien stopped walking. His breath caught in his throat.
Cassian noticed instantly. "What is it?"
Adrien didn't answer at first. His eyes locked on the girl. There was something about the tilt of her chin, the precision of her hands, the way she moved without hesitation. And when her scarf slipped slightly in the wind, he saw her profile.
Evelyne.
Adrien's chest tightened. He had seen her countless times in the palace halls, steady and quiet, always with a measured bow or a flask of medicine in hand. But here — no titles, no courtiers, no polished walls — she was different. Hidden. Real.
Cassian followed his gaze and let out a low whistle. "Well. That explains it."
Adrien finally tore his eyes from her long enough to glare at him. "Explains what?"
"Why you've stopped like a man struck dumb." Cassian tilted his head. "That's Evelyne, isn't it?"
Adrien didn't answer, though his jaw clenched. He turned back just as Evelyne finished binding the driver's arm. She pressed her hand gently against his shoulder.
"It will heal," she said, her voice carrying even through the din. "Keep it clean, and no lifting more than you must."
The man blinked up at her, gratitude softening his lined face. "Bless you, girl."
She only smiled faintly, adjusted her scarf, and rose. From her basket, she drew a loaf of bread, breaking it in half to give to two children who stared at her as though she were a miracle.
Adrien's throat tightened.
Seraphina gave with spectacle, ensuring the court and songs remembered her name. Evelyne gave as though giving were breath itself, unnoticed, unclaimed, unseen.
"Highness," Cassian murmured, studying him carefully. "Do you know her?"
Adrien's eyes lingered as Evelyne handed the last scrap of bread to a child, her smile small but genuine. "I thought I did," he muttered.
Cassian raised a brow. "She looks the same to me."
"She isn't." Adrien's voice was low, rough.
Evelyne slipped into the crowd, her basket light now, her steps quick, practiced, as though she'd walked these streets countless times. Adrien's breath caught as she vanished between stalls.
Cassian waited. "Well? Shall we return?"
Adrien's gaze stayed fixed on the space where she had disappeared. Something sharp twisted in his chest, something that wasn't rage, wasn't hunger — something quieter but far more dangerous.
"No," Adrien said finally.
Cassian frowned. "No?"
"Go back to the palace." Adrien's voice left no room for question.
Cassian stared at him. "Alone? In this crowd? You'll vanish in an alley and I'll have to drag your corpse home to the Queen."
Adrien didn't even look at him. "Go."
Cassian's mouth opened, then shut again. He studied the prince for a long moment, the set of his jaw, the fire in his eyes. Then he exhaled. "As you command, Highness."
He melted into the throng, his hand resting near his sword until the crowd swallowed him.
Adrien pulled his hood lower. His heart pounded, his body moving before his mind could protest. He slipped into the market tide, eyes fixed on the faintest glimpse of Evelyne's scarf as it disappeared down a narrow street.
The fire that Seraphina had left in him still burned — hot, consuming. But now, tangled within it was something steadier, something he could not silence.
For the first time, the prince of fire was not merely burning.
He was chasing.