The palace after sunset had always belonged to guards and ghosts. Daughters did not wander. They were escorted, observed, and corrected. The simple act of walking freely at night made her chest ache with happiness, edged with disbelief.
Or maybe she was dreaming—and she never wanted to wake.
She wasn’t used to being allowed anywhere this late. Palaces locked their daughters in long before midnight. All she could do was read by candlelight, staring out her window and wishing for adventure.
“Careful there,” Teren said as she stepped over a wagon wheel. “Ground dips close to the water.”
She smiled politely. “Thank you.”
The bracelet on her wrist pulsed gently, almost as soothing as a hot bath. Her magic stayed tucked neatly under her skin, like a sleeping cat. For once, her heartbeat didn’t conjure sparks or trembling light.
Calm felt unfamiliar. She had grown accustomed to her magic reacting first—announcing fear before she recognized it. Now her body was quiet, and she didn’t yet know how to listen without the warning bells.
She felt… strange. She liked not creating havoc, but the absence of sparks felt wrong in a way she couldn’t place. For the first time, she wished for a magic lesson with Basil.
Teren led her between two leaning pines, then down a narrow slope where moonlight pooled over a stream. Water burbled softly over smooth stones, catching silver across the ripples.
“Oh,” Esther breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
She had imagined this scene countless times, yet it was more breathtaking than she’d imagined. She wanted to bring Nythir here.
“Greyhollow streams usually are,” Teren said proudly. “Come sit.”
He gestured toward a fallen tree, smooth from years of weather. She perched carefully, smoothing her green dress, trying to sit like a proper person. Her etiquette tutors had never prepared her for log seating.
“We’re already in Greyhollow?” she asked. Nythir had said four days or more. It had barely been a full day.
“Just the outskirts. Greyhollow is a large city, great for merchants. A few days till the market square,” Teren said.
“Oh. That makes sense,” she nodded.
“You’re not from around here,” Teren said, sitting too close. “I could tell from the way you ride… and talk.”
Esther blinked. “Do I talk wrong?”
“No,” he laughed. “You talk like someone kept indoors a lot.”
It wasn’t said cruelly. That made it harder to place. Esther searched for the correct response, the way she had been taught—polite, neutral, non-provoking. No lesson covered what to do when kindness felt tilted.
“That’s accurate,” she admitted softly. She had been trapped, not merely kept.
“First real road trip, then?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “First… everything.”
Teren’s gaze lingered. “We don’t meet many like you on the road.”
“What kind?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“Soft and sweet,” he said.
Esther froze. The words were wrong. Soft had always meant manageable. Sweet had always meant pliable. Compliments like that had followed her through palace halls, usually right before someone decided what was best for her.
She regretted not listening to Nythir. He noticed danger before it touched her. He catalogued tone, posture, and proximity.Esther noticed danger only when it pressed too close to ignore. She hated that difference—and relied on it all the same.
“Thank you,” she said politely, though her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“I meant it,” he murmured, leaning closer.
