Beth had always hated leaving her husband Wilcris unattended for too long.
That was the first thought that returned to her as the wagon rolled through the outer gate and the city came into view—crooked, wounded, unmistakably wrong.
She remembered gripping the edge of the cart then, knuckles white, breath shallow.
'I was gone for a mere week,' she had thought, staring at the half-collapsed stonework, the claw marks crawling up familiar walls.
'Seven days of battling with those bloody Union people over prices and now this?'
She hadn't even reached the shop before the rumors caught up with her.
A rogue beast. Infected people. Streets torn apart. Hunters injured. Knights overwhelmed.
And—most absurd of all—
'A child?'
And not just a child. The young lord of Blackwood alongside his sibling and the Hunter captain's daughter.
Beth had snorted aloud at that, earning a sharp look from Miss Gable, who had accompanied her back to her house after intercepting her as she deposited her goods at her shop.
"Don't move around so much," Eleanor had said, voice low and worried, eyes flicking pointedly to Beth's stomach. "Especially not now."
Beth remembered waving her off, irritation winning over fear.
"Walking's good for the baby," she'd replied. "Hopes it keeps the young one from becoming an idiot like the many walking around nowadays."
Eleanor had sighed, long-suffering. "You're impossible."
"And alive," Beth had countered.
That memory faded as the present snapped back into place. She had told Eleanor that she'd like to see this kid but didn't expect that months later, she would walk him into her shop.
Elias stood in front of her now, small and quiet, his brows drawn together in confusion.
"What did you mean?" he asked softly.
Beth scoffed and walked back to the counter, leaning her elbows against it and folding her arms.
"People are saying the young lord risked his life fighting off a rogue beast."
Elias stiffened.
Beth continued, tone flat and unimpressed. "Which is ridiculous. First of all, you're a kid."
"Yes," Elias said automatically.
"Second," she went on, ticking points off on her fingers.
"Sir Gable was there. Other knights. Hunters. People whose entire job description involves not dying horribly. Even my incompetent husband could've fared better." Beth added with relish.
Miss Gable, who had moved away to browse the aisles, cleared her throat quietly from somewhere behind them.
Elias tilted his head. "Incompetent?"
"Professionally," Beth said. "Marriage-wise, debatable."
She glanced out the window, eyes narrowing. "Speaking of which… Wilcris is late."
The name tugged at something in Elias's mind.
'Wilcris…'
He'd heard it before. Somewhere. A voice overlapping another memory.
Beth shook her head. "Point is, there's no way you're that strong, kid."
Elias was silent.
"You're right," he said after a moment. "I'm not strong. I was foolish for going there in the first place."
The words came out hollow, like something recited too many times.
Beth's mouth opened.
Then she stopped.
Something about the way he said it—too calm, too certain—made her pause. She studied him, really looked this time. The stillness in his posture. The way his eyes didn't quite reflect what was happening around him.
She was about to say something sharp, something grounding—
The bell above the door jingled.
"Ah! Careful—don't move too much!"
A woman's voice filled the shop, brisk and fussy.
Three figures entered. One was a broad-shouldered man trying very hard not to look embarrassed as the woman hovered over him, hands fluttering near his chest.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
"You were cut through the chest," she snapped. "You are not fine."
A second man followed more slowly, leaner, his arm bound in a sling. He stared at them with open disbelief.
"I don't understand this," he announced. "I nearly lost my entire arm."
"You didn't," the broad man said.
"I almost did," the lean man insisted. "Heroically."
The woman rolled her eyes.
Elias watched, momentarily pulled from his thoughts.
"Gael," the lean man—Kev—continued, "why are you getting all the affection when I'm clearly the tragic one here?"
Gael winced as the woman pressed gently against his chest. "Didn't you say you had a woman?"
"I said that to make you jealous," Kev shot back. "I didn't think you'd take it personally."
Gael laughed—then coughed sharply.
"Don't laugh!" the woman scolded, rubbing his chest. "What if your wounds reopen?"
Kev stared from Gael's chest to his own sling, then back again.
"I hate this."
Beth cleared her throat.
All three froze.
"This," Beth said flatly, "is a shop. Not a stage for whatever love triangle nonsense this is."
There was a beat.
Then, inexplicably, they all giggled.
They shuffled toward the counter, still embarrassed. Beth rang up their items with brisk efficiency.
"So, you lot still aren't healed yet?" she asked, eyes sharp.
Gael answered first.
"I got slashed in the chest. The creature's venom slows healing so the wounds haven't closed yet."
Kev puffed out his chest, wincing but ignoring the pain.
"And I would have lost my arm if not for my quick thinking and superior Flow control. And here I am, the hero who defended the city gate, maidenless while my sidekick gets the girl."
Kev closed his eyes dramatically, then cracked one open to glance at the woman.
She ignored him entirely.
"That's unfortunate," Beth replied without looking up.
"What do you want for dinner?" the girl asked Gael.
Kev clutched his chest. "It hurts even more because we live together."
"Should've been me," he muttered. "I should've been the one to meet a girl while she was searching for her diary at night. Oh, woe."
Elias snorted before he could stop himself, a small sound of genuine amusement.
Kev noticed immediately.
"Hey," he said, leaning toward Elias.
"You get it. I'm charming, right?"
"Uh...."
"Hey, hey" Kev turned his attention to Beth, leaning elbow on the counter, wincing exaggeratedly.
"You know, if my arm does fall off later, I'd want my last memory to be of a beautiful woman showing me kindness."
Beth continued to work. "I sell herbs, not mercy."
Kev grinned anyway. "Harsh. I like that. Strong women are my weakness."
"Then you're about to collapse," Beth said dryly. "That explains why you're so weak. I bet even that kid over there is manlier than you."
Kev placed a hand over his heart.
"Rejected and emotionally wounded. Truly, today spares no one."
Beth slid his purchase across the counter.
"Next time you flirt, try someone who isn't married and pregnant."
Kev sighed theatrically. "Cruel fate. Always dangling perfection just out of reach."
The bell jingled again.
"Why," Wilcris asked mildly, stepping inside, "are you getting chummy with my wife?"
Kev grinned. "She started it."
Beth eyed him while Wilcris's gaze flicked to Elias.
Elias immediately turned and pretended to study a jar of dried roots with intense scholarly interest.
'Oh, he's Wilcris.' Elias remembered who the Hunter was now.
Beth rounded on her husband. "You're late."
"You're late," Beth said flatly, eyes flicking to the door and then back to him. "Again. If I had a coin for every time you were 'just five minutes away,' I could retire."
"I was—"
"I don't care."
Wilcris opened his mouth. She didn't let him.
"Don't. Whatever excuse you've cooked up better be edible, because I skipped breakfast waiting for you."
She shoved a wrapped bundle into his hands. "Here. Eat. You fight monsters all day but somehow forget you still need food."
He smiled sheepishly. Beth scowled harder.
"And don't smile like that," she added. "That's the smile you use when you know you're wrong and are hoping I'll forgive you anyway."
She turned away, muttering, "One of these days, I'm going to ground you—see how you like it."
Wilcris smiled like he'd just won something. "I love you too."
"Out," Beth snapped, cheeks pink. "You're blocking the customers."
Beth turned back to Elias.
"So, what's your favorite food?"
He hesitated. "Uh, rice pudding?"
Beth blinked once, then huffed. "Rice pudding, huh?"
She leaned her elbows on the counter, fixing Elias with a look that was sharp but not unkind.
"Alright. Then listen."
"You know why rice pudding's good?" she continued without waiting. "Because it doesn't try to be anything else. It's not pretending to be cake. Not trying to taste like spiced bread or fancy custard."
She tapped the counter once for emphasis. "It's just rice, milk, a bit of sweetness—simple. Honest."
Her gaze softened slightly. "Some people hate it. Say it's boring. Too plain. Others swear by it and won't touch anything else."
Beth shrugged. "Doesn't stop rice pudding from being rice pudding."
She straightened. "Point is—if rice pudding started worrying about every fool with an opinion, it'd never get eaten. And that would be a tragedy."
A brief snort escaped her. "Now imagine a kid doing that."
She looked Elias straight in the eye. "You may have been uncomfortable with people whispering about you and all. Forget what people say. Forget the rumors, the whispers."
"You don't owe anyone strength. Or heroics. Or expectations." Her voice lowered, steady and certain. "You owe yourself honesty."
Something about that last line struck in Elias.
'Well, not that I felt uncomfortable or anything, but thanks.'
Her attention shifted as Miss Gable emerged from the back, having wandered deep into the shop displays.
Beth snapped at Kev and the woman again as they resumed fussing.
Elias's thoughts drifted.
Pawn, Deus had said.
Expectation...
He looked out the window.
Jamie slipped past the glass, quick and familiar.
His eyes lit up but he paused.
A pale young man followed her, his gaze fixed.
Something cold twisted in Elias's chest.
"Elias?" Miss Gable called, returning. "What would you like to eat tonight?"
He didn't answer.
By the time Beth looked up again, the boy was gone.
Beth clicked her tongue. "Quiet one, isn't he?"
Miss Gable smiled faintly.
She adjusted the basket in her hands, already thinking ahead.
'Rice pudding,' she decided.
Tonight.