The morning air was crisp as we stepped out of Falcon’s Flight. A thin mist clung to the cobblestones, curling at our boots and drifting toward the still-shuttered shops. The sun had just begun its slow climb, casting pale gold across Lanton’s rooftops.

  And there he was.

  His white carriage gleamed at the roadside like a pearl among pebbles, its silver inlays shimmering in the dawn light. Moon Elf banners fluttered gently from its sides, and a small retinue of armored guards stood at attention in polished formation.

  Prince Elledor waited at the foot of the carriage steps.

  He looked immaculate—of course he did. Robes of silver and moonlight draped from his narrow frame, tailored to perfection. His platinum hair was tied back in a formal clasp of carved opal, and his expression was as polished as the crystal crest he wore across his chest.

  The sight of him made my stomach twist.

  Lyria’s steps slowed as we approached. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, but I saw the hesitation in her movements—the way her fingers curled inward at her sides.

  Elledor’s eyes found her at once. He smiled.

  “My Lady Lyria,” he said, bowing with courtly precision. “I trust you’ve had time to consider my offer.”

  Lyria came to a standstill, her posture precise and proper, but I saw past it—her shoulders were stiff, her eyes flickering once toward me before settling on the prince.

  “I…” she began, but something in her tone faltered.

  Elledor stepped forward. “There’s no need to delay further. My carriage is ready, my guards await. We’ll have you home before the week is up.”

  That was it—he wasn’t asking.

  She opened her mouth again. A breath, uncertain.

  I knew I shouldn’t. I understood the danger, but I couldn’t stay silent.

  “No,” I said.

  All eyes snapped to me—Lyria’s, keenest of all.

  “She’s not ready,” I went on, stepping forward. “You might see her as part of some grand design—some political maneuver—but she’s more than that. She’s part of this party. She’s fought and bled with us. She deserves the chance to make this decision on her terms.”

  The elven guards flanking the prince stepped forward instantly—hands on hilts, expressions hard.

  Selene winced behind me. “Yukon…” she muttered, almost warningly.

  But I didn’t back down.

  “Give her until the end of the week,” I said. “Five days. Then, if she wants to go, none of us will stop her.”

  Lyria’s mouth parted in surprise, but she didn’t speak.

  Elledor raised a single, elegant brow. Then—smiled.

  The guards paused.

  “That’s quite a bold request,” the Prince said, stepping toward me with that same unsettling calm. “And who might you be?”

  I stood a bit straighter, meeting his eyes. Unflinching.

  “My name is Yukon. I’m the newest member of this party,” I said, fully aware of how reckless this was—but saying it anyway. “I won’t pretend to know her as well as you claim to, but I know I speak for all of us when I say that Lyria is our precious party member, our friend. Please allow her until the end of the week to make her decision.”

  Elledor’s eyes glinted. “Very well, Yukon. A week then. But under one condition…”

  He turned to Lyria, his tone softening into something almost affectionate. Almost.

  “I will stay in Lanton for the duration. Close to Lyria. I wish to better understand the life she has chosen. See what she values here. Who she values.”

  The way he said it—dripping in pleasant formality but heavy with meaning—made my blood simmer.

  Lyria nodded slowly, still saying nothing.

  “Excellent,” Elledor said with a satisfied breath. “You have until the end of the week, Lady Lyria. Then… we shall see where your heart truly lies.”

  He bowed again, then turned, his guards stepping aside as he strode back to his carriage, silver cloak swaying behind him.

  He didn’t waste a moment. With a few short words to his guards and a clap of his hands, a bag was produced along with some other effects. He turned back toward us, stepping past me with a decidedly smug grin as he disappeared into the Falcon’s Flight to arrange his room.

  I might have just made a powerful enemy… but I didn’t care. I’d bought Lyria some time.

  I turned to the others. Bront, arms crossed over his massive chest, offered me an approving look through his sour expression. Selene just looked pale, and Lyria… she refused to meet my eyes. Instead, she turned slowly, retreating back into Falcon’s Flight, Selene tentatively following after her.

  Did I… make a mistake…?

  * * *

  If Elledor had any trouble adjusting to the modest accommodations of Falcon’s Flight, he didn’t show it.

  He strolled through the common room that morning with the air of a visiting dignitary, silk-trimmed cloak trailing behind him, a courteous smile gracing his lips like it was painted there. The barkeep bowed a little too deeply when handing over his tea. Selene exchanged the barest of nods. Bront grunted from behind his morning ale. I just watched.

  Lyria emerged last. Her silver hair was still damp from a wash, tied back with her usual blue ribbon.

  She froze for a second when she saw Elledor already waiting, his tea steaming beside him at our usual table. But then she stepped forward and took the seat next to him with practiced grace.

  The hearth was cold today, left unlit. Ironic, considering the fire building within me.

  Selene, Bront, and I joined the two of them.

  “Good morning, all,” Elledor said smoothly, raising his cup. “I apologize for my early arrival. I trust the night treated you well?”

  “Could've used fewer dreams,” Bront muttered.

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  “It is no trouble, your highness,” Selene said quickly, trying to cover for Bront’s comment, which might have seemed rude to the Prince. “We are honored to have you here.”

  Despite her words, I could see the way she forced her smile.

  Me? I kept my mouth shut, but my tea tasted like ash.

  Lyria, to her credit, tried to steer things forward. “We’re taking a few days off questing,” she explained. “We figured a bit of rest and resupply wouldn’t hurt.”

  “A wise choice,” Elledor said, eyes flicking toward me for half a heartbeat. “Perhaps I might accompany you all. I’d very much like to understand what Lyria’s chosen life entails. It must be... illuminating.”

  I could feel my eyebrow raise at his glance, but tried to suppress it.

  “I’m sure it can’t beat strolling through marble halls in silk slippers.” I muttered sarcastically, my tone dryer than I’d intended.

  Selene kicked me under the table.

  Elledor chuckled softly, though, whether it was genuine or not, I couldn’t say.

  Kaela returned late that morning, already gushing about “the handsome elf with the cheekbones carved by angels.”

  Selene and I left Bront with Lyria and Elledor, walking with Kaela as she went to drop some things off in her room. We filled her in briefly on what had developed while she was away, explaining the details of Prince Elledor’s intentions. She didn’t have much input to offer, but I could swear her gaze lingered on me more than once.

  “Sounds like an interesting ordeal,” Kaela offered as she shrugged off her bag.

  “That’s one way to describe it,” I muttered.

  Selene eyed Kaela for a moment, before sighing.

  “Kaela, do you intend to continue adventuring with us?” Selene asked suddenly.

  “I do… For the time being anyway,” Kaela responded slowly. “Why?”

  “...Adventurers often face threats beyond those found in quests and in battle,” Selene stated, bringing her gaze up to meet Kaela’s. “We’re at risk of losing an important member of our party. Can we count on you to help us ensure that this decision be Lyria’s and Lyria’s alone?”

  Kaela hesitated for a moment, holding Selene’s gaze.

  “Aye… I’ll do what I can,” she said with a sigh.

  With that, the three of us returned to the tavern, just as Prince Elledor was standing from the table. Without a second's delay, he held his hand out for Lyria, helping her up. My stomach twisted as she placed her hand in his, rising gracefully.

  His gaze caught mine, and a peculiar smile curled at his lips.

  “Ah, Yukon! Just the man we were waiting for! Lyria, it seems, has some errands to run, and offered to show me around town. I’ve been told you are new to Lanton as well. Care to join us?” Elledor said, his tone all too inviting.

  I glanced at Lyria but she avoided my gaze.

  “...Sure. It would be my pleasure,” I said, forcing the words through a cordial smile.

  The three of us left Falcon’s Flight shortly after. Somehow, I ended up alone with Lyria and Elledor, gods help me.

  The market square was packed, the air thick with spice and the sound of haggling. Lyria drifted between stalls, inspecting travel rations and enchanted trinkets, speaking with a familiarity that only came from months of routine.

  Elledor, in contrast, touched nothing. He followed with hands folded neatly behind his back, observing the grime, the noise, the people, like an artist studying an unfamiliar medium.

  “I didn’t expect you to be so thorough, Lyria,” he commented lightly as she bartered with a merchant.

  “I like knowing our gear won’t fail us,” she replied. “Especially if our lives depend on it.”

  He gave a quiet chuckle. “So practical. But I suppose necessity breeds new habits.”

  She smiled faintly, but didn’t answer.

  I stood a little ways off, chewing a dried fruit, watching Elledor watch her. His eyes weren’t just admiring. They were calculating.

  When Lyria moved on, Elledor lingered behind for a moment.

  “She’s strong,” he said, tone light, but directed at me.

  “Stronger than you know,” I replied, not bothering to meet his gaze.

  A pause. Then—

  “You care for her.”

  My breath caught.

  It wasn’t a question.

  I turned to face him fully. “She’s my party member.”

  “And yet,” he mused, voice as smooth as oiled parchment, “you look at her like she’s something you’re afraid to lose.”

  Before I could respond, Lyria called out to us from the next booth. I walked past him without another word.

  * * *

  Later, we regrouped at the guild’s sparring yard. Bront led drills, Kaela heckled everyone, and Lyria sat cross-legged beneath a tree, watching.

  Eventually, Bront sparred with Selene. Rapier clashing against shield, Selene moved with quiet intensity. Bront remained stoic as always. Elledor watched from the sidelines with polite interest.

  When Bront called for a switch, Selene stepped aside to catch her breath. Elledor stood, brushing invisible dust from his gloves.

  “May I try a round?” he asked, looking pointedly at me.

  I arched a brow. “With me…? You sure?”

  “Wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

  We stepped into the ring, circling. The moment the signal rang, I moved—not recklessly, but fast. I wanted to see how much of his courtly confidence translated to actual skill.

  As you’d expect of a prince, with no expense spared on training, he was strong. His movements reminded me of my fight with the dark-elven bandit, too fast, too agile, experience beyond his appearance. What vexed me most—he was holding back.

  Our wooden training swords ricocheted off one another as we danced around the practice arena. He had no openings, and his smile betrayed how casually he took me.

  I feinted low and swept his leg. He caught himself, too easily, maintaining his smile as he rose.

  “A bit aggressive, aren't we?”

  I stood for a moment, unsure how to respond, but he didn’t seem bothered. He lunged in—faster than before. His flurry of slashes pressed me back with ease. It took all of my concentration to keep him from landing a hit.

  “Oh—! Impressive! I didn’t expect a ranger to be this skilled with a sword!” he said through his onslaught, his words effortlessly condescending.

  Infuriating.

  I felt the mark on my chest react to my rising anger, a dull chill prickling just beneath the skin.

  Relax.

  His brows arched in excitement. Could he tell…?

  Suddenly, his barrage doubled, his grin darkening ever so slightly, and hits slipped through my defense. The hard wood of the training sword grazed my hand, then my wrist. Slapped against my side, then my thigh, I could barely keep up, but I refused to give in. Coming back at him with everything I had, our match was heating up.

  I managed to make him take a step back with a series of unconventional swipes, following with a feint into a twisting jab. He deflected it effortlessly and his training sword struck the side of my skull—harder than necessary. I stepped back, holding my face, my eyes burning ever so slightly, though I refused to lose my cool.

  “Why don’t we call it there—” he started, his smug grin spreading as I ignored his words, already charging in.

  “Yukon!” Lyria shouted, stopping me in my tracks.

  “...That’s enough…” she said quietly, now standing beside the ring, fists clenched, eyes burning.

  I glanced back at him, his smirk endlessly infuriating. With a curt bow, I returned the wooden sword to the rack and walked off without a word.

  * * *

  As evening fell, I quietly exited the guild hall where I’d spent the last few hours reading more of Lun and Ten’s tome and walked back to Falcon’s Flight, my mind a mess of emotions. Day one of Elledor’s stay with us had been exhausting. His pompous attitude, infuriating politeness, grating smirk… I clenched my fist, recalling the humiliation of the mock duel. He was purposefully toying with me. Enjoying every minute of it.

  My hand found a worn railing as I walked up the rickety staircase bolted to the outside of Falcon’s Flight, leading up to the rooms on the second level. I didn’t want to use the stairs inside the tavern. I didn’t want to see anyone.

  Of course, fate had other plans.

  As dusk settled, Lyria and Elledor took a walk through the inn’s courtyard-garden. I caught sight of them as I made my way toward our rooms.

  From the second-floor balcony, I watched their silhouettes drift between hedges and lamplight. I didn’t hear what they said, but I saw her smile. Not the way she smiled with us—softer. More... nostalgic.

  My fingers curled around the railing.

  I wasn’t sure which thought hurt more—that she might leave, or that part of her was considering it.