ECHOES OF A STRANGER.
Recommend Song: Je Te Laiserrai Des Mot- Patrick Watson.
The night air wrapped around Nyxara like a whisper, cool against her skin yet unable to quell the heat pooling in her chest. The distant hum of the market was fading, lanterns dimming, laughter turning to murmurs before dissolving into silence. But inside her, there was no silence.
Her mind was loud.
Her steps were measured, steady on the outside, but within, she was unraveling—piece by piece, thought by thought.
The ring in her pocket felt heavier than it should, as though it carried a secret meant to be uncovered. A part of her wanted to let it go, toss it into the nearest alley and walk away. Forget him. Forget tonight. Forget the way his eyes looked through me, like they saw something I wasn't ready to face.
But she couldn't.
Because he was still with her.
Not in body, but in the way the night still smelled faintly of cedarwood and crisp winter air. In the way her heart still beat a fraction too fast, like it was running toward something—or someone—it wasn't meant to reach.
The moment she turned to look for him, and he was gone, something inside her had cracked.
She had known loneliness all her life.
But this was different.
This wasn't the aching emptiness of solitude. It was the feeling of something slipping through her fingers before she had a chance to understand it. And that terrified her more than being alone ever did.
Her fingers curled around the ring. The metal was cool against her skin. Ancient, almost alive beneath her touch.
Her breath trembled as she exhaled.
If she returned it, she would have a reason to find him again.
If she didn't… she would spend the rest of her days wondering what it meant.
And something inside her already knew—
This was not the last time their paths would cross.
This was only the beginning.
But, who was he?
Nyxara's hands trembled as she shut the door behind Lisette---- Her handmaid. The ring weighed heavily in her pocket, its presence a whisper against her skin, a reminder that the night hadn't been a dream.
She pulled it out once more, holding it between her fingers. The band was thick and regal, crafted from dark metal that gleamed in the dim candlelight. Strange symbols wound around it, their meaning just out of reach. Her thumb traced them absentmindedly, as if the movement could unlock the answer buried in her mind.
Her pulse quickened.
Who is this man?
The man from the market had exuded power—unshaken, unbothered, as if he belonged to a world far above her own. He had moved through the crowd unnoticed, unseen, but there was nothing ordinary about him. Not his piercing gaze, not his scent—rich and dark, like old books and stormy nights. And certainly not this ring.
A ring like this did not belong to a common noble.
She needed answers.
Nyxara moved toward the single candle flickering in the corner of her room, turning the ring over in her palm. She held it close to the light, inspecting every intricate marking.
And then she saw it.
A crest.
Her breath caught.
It was faint, hidden between the swirling symbols—an emblem she had only ever seen in the old history books, half-buried in dust and forgotten by most.
The mark of the royal house of Valtorin.
Her fingers went cold.
This belongs to the king.
A sharp knock at the door made her heart lurch.
"Nyxara."
Her uncle's voice.
She shoved the ring back into her pocket, straightened her shoulders, and schooled her expression into something unreadable before opening the door.
Lord Rhylen stood there, his keen gaze raking over her. "Where have you been?"
"The market." She kept her voice even. "As I do most nights."
His lips pressed into a thin line, his sharp features hardening. "You shouldn't be out so late. The city is changing. There are whispers of rebellion—rumors about the new king's enemies moving in the shadows."
Nyxara forced herself to meet his gaze. "And what does that have to do with me?"
Lord Rhylen studied her for a long moment before exhaling. "Just be careful."
She nodded once, stepping back as he turned to leave. But before he could disappear down the hall, he glanced at her one last time.
"There's a ball in three nights," he said. "A celebration for the new king."
Nyxara's stomach twisted.
"I expect you to be there."
The door shut, leaving her in silence.
The new king. The ball.
Her fingers brushed against the ring in her pocket.
Three nights.
Three nights until she would face him again.