It had been too long since anyone had seen such a scene, and they never expected to see one so soon.
Three figures stepped out of the ornate red carriage, and in an instant, the hum of the city stilled. The rhythm of haggling merchants, clattering hooves, and murmuring gossip broke into silence. Every gaze and ear was one of curiosity.
There stood Prince Aramith, unmistakable even at a glance: the long black hair, the chilling glow of purple eyes, the noble posture carved from years of royalty, and rumors.
Beside him, Mozrael kept her gaze low, her soft steps almost ghostlike. Looking at her, one could know the kind of person she was: quiet, observant, and uncertain, but the people didn't fail to notice the necklace she wore. It was quite rare to see her in jewelry.
Today, she seemed...bold.
And then there was her, the girl in white.
"…Is that… Princess Lia?"
"No, it can't be. She walks too boldly… and her face… This girl is older, and has a more mature figure."
"But why white? That's Lia's signature color. What's that symbol on her necklace?"
"I heard Princess Lia's been unconscious. Poisoned. Maybe this confirms it."
"Of course, everyone knows she's unwell."
"So who is this girl…?"
Whispers rippled like wildfire, yet none dared approach. She moved with elegance and confidence, her platinum hair catching the light like it was spun from pure metal. Her pale features were noble, almost divine, but there was no mistaking it now. White may be Lia's color, but this girl claimed it with greater confidence.
She turned her head slightly, eyes scanning the crowd with a subtle, knowing smirk. She'd heard them. She didn't mind because she was used to attention
The first shop they stopped at was lined with glass cases, each bursting with fine jewelry; gems, metals, all craftsmanship from across the continent.
Kesha stepped inside without a word without waiting for Aramith or Mozrael. They followed because they had to.
The attendants straightened immediately, stammering their welcomes. But she didn't bother acknowledging them. They stole glances at these esteemed guests, afraid to even look them in the eyes.
Kesha's eyes landed on a necklace, thin silver chains interwoven with violet stones.
"Try this on him," she said.
Mozrael blinked. "Wh-what?"
"Not you. Him." She tilted her head toward Aramith, who had just stepped inside.
Aramith's brows furrowed, but before he could protest, Kesha had already picked up the piece and approached him. She didn't ask permission, just reached up to hold it against his neck.
"Hm. No," she said, lips pursed. "The color is right, but it's not dramatic enough. I want something that says lethal royalty, not a modest scholar."
A few people outside had started to peek in, and their expressions were priceless.
"Did she just… try to jewel the prince?"
"Who is she…?"
"He's not even stopping her…"
"Is she his...?"
Mozrael, who had been quietly observing from the corner, finally stepped forward.
"Um… Kesha. Don't you think it's a bit much?" Aramith didn't complain, but his expression was something even a child could understand.
Kesha turned slowly.
"You think so?" Her smile didn't fade.
Mozrael faltered. "It's… a lot of pieces. We don't really need-"
"But that's the joy of it. Need has nothing to do with want." She turned back to the jeweler.
"Wrap up those earrings, the emerald cuffs, and that obsidian choker. And send them to the palace."
The jeweler hesitated. "Ah… might I ask who-"
"You'll be paid," she said simply. Then, flashing Aramith a glance, added, "You can list it under the prince's account." They had the money Henndar had given them, but she wanted to declare something with that act. She wanted to claim him in front of others.
Aramith exhaled slowly, his silence saying everything. He didn't argue.
He wouldn't, because he knew the moment he did, she'd smile wider and call him husband again, right in front of everyone.
The next shop was an elegant boutique draped in velvet curtains and perfumed air.
"Three rooms," she said to the startled clerk. "I'll need them. We're trying on everything."
Mozrael blinked. "We…?"
Kesha chuckled. "Don't look so frightened. It's just clothing. Besides…" She glanced at her meaningfully. "You'd look stunning in something bolder."
Mozrael clutched her sleeves. "I… prefer not to stand out."
"And I prefer not to blend in."
She was already selecting outfits. Flowing capes. Gem-studded gloves. Dresses so finely embroidered they could be worn once and still be legendary.
Aramith, to his horror, was pulled toward a changing area.
"What are you doing now?" he asked, voice low.
"You're not going to wear that all day, are you?" she asked, gesturing dismissively at his current attire. "It's practical. And dull. Try this on instead."
It was a deep navy outfit with silver thread—flowing but sharp. Powerful.
"I'm not—"
"Try it." Her voice was soft, but there was something beneath it. Something he wasn't in the mood to fight.
Inside the stall, he muttered curses under his breath. Outside, the whispers grew. A small group had been following them and keeping an eye on them.
"Did she just choose his outfit?"
"She dresses him now?"
"She must be his betrothed…"
"I knew it"
"…Or maybe his concubine. But with that aura… she could be nobility."
"No, I don't think so. They're too young for that"
"This is royals we're talking about. They can have a harem at the early age of five"
"What?! I wish I were royal"
"You're not smart enough for that. And your looks..."
Mozrael heard them all. She kept her head down, unsure whether to feel protective… or envious.
The scent hit before they even arrived; a rich, decadent swirl of spice, citrus, and crushed flowers. The market's perfume section shimmered under soft silks and bottles glinting like gemstones. Each vial promised some luxury: attraction, elegance, sleep without dreams. There were elixirs from the coastal sands, blossoms that bloomed only once a decade, and even smoke bottled in enchanted glass.
Kesha exhaled as they stepped in, her voice honeyed.
"I love this place."
She brushed past Mozrael, her fingers barely grazing her arm. The gesture was casual, almost kind but Mozrael still stiffened. She wasn't used to anyone touching her like that. Least of all someone like Kesha. She didn't like how her mind was fully focused on the part where Kesha's fingers touched.
Kesha stopped at a tray of pale glass bottles, each etched with ancient lettering. She didn't read the labels. She didn't need to.
Instead, she reached for a dark amber vial, uncorked it, and raised it gently beneath her nose. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply then turned slowly to Aramith.
"Come here."
He didn't move.
"I said come here, Aramith," she repeated, more gently this time. "I want to try something."
Mozrael glanced between them. Aramith met Kesha's eyes, unmoving, unreadable.
Then, with a breath through his nose, he stepped forward.
Kesha dipped her fingers into the vial and touched his neck—just beneath the ear.
A flick. A small press.
Mozrael's breath caught.
The scent was warm, earthy, with an edge of burnt vanilla and something colder hidden within. Kesha leaned in, closing her eyes again, just inches from him.
Her voice dropped into a murmur meant for the space between them alone.
"This… this is how you should smell. At dawn. After war. After silence. After me."
Aramith's jaw clenched, he swallowed, but said nothing.
Mozrael looked away. Her heart twisted.
Kesha, without sparing either of them another glance, turned to the shocked vendor.
"Wrap this one. And the white lilac oil. That's for Mozrael."
Mozrael blinked. "Wh… I don't…"
"You'll like it. It's quiet, but it lingers. Just like you."
There was no malice in her voice, no venom. If anything, it sounded… thoughtful.
But that only made it worse.
The vendor packaged the scents with shaking hands, still glancing between the three of them as if trying to solve a puzzle that shouldn't exist. When he handed the bottles to Kesha, he stumbled over his words:
"Y-Your High—Miss, forgive me, are you…?"
Kesha just smiled. "No."
A pause.
"But also yes."
And then she walked away, the wind catching her robe just enough to make the old sigil shimmer.
Behind them, the whispers only grew louder.