Eventually the capital's walls rise into view, pale stone catching the late‑morning light. They tower far higher than I remember, broad enough for three wagons to ride abreast along the battlements. The banners of each council house snap proudly in the wind—deep crimson, forest green, royal blue, gold—bright against the pale sky.
As we draw closer, the great gate comes into full view. Two carved lions flank the archway, their stone manes flowing like water, each one large enough to dwarf a horse. Between them stands the statue of the First King from before the council, his marble gaze fixed eternally on the road beyond the walls. His outstretched hand holds a broken sword, a symbol of the end of the old wars. I've seen it a hundred times, yet it still sends a shiver down my spine.
The guards at the gatehouse straighten the moment they spot my family's sigil on the carriage. Spears lift, boots snap together, and a crisp salute follows as we pass beneath the archway. The echo of hooves on stone replaces the soft thud of dirt roads, and the air shifts—busier, louder, alive.
The wilderness of the past few days gives way to the familiar bustle of the city. Merchants call out from their stalls, children weave between carts, and the scent of fresh bread mingles with the sharper tang of forge smoke. Sunlight glints off tiled roofs and polished brass lanterns. Despite Vaeroth sitting across from me, I feel a small measure of ease return. This is home. This is order. This is where things make sense.
At least… they used to.
The carriage rolls into the heart of the capital, and the streets open into the Central Plaza — a wide sweep of pale stone that always seems brighter than the rest of the city. Sunlight glints off the polished tiles, and the air feels warmer here, stirred by the constant movement of people crossing in every direction.
Tall buildings ring the square, their facades carved with the usual scenes of the realm's history. I've seen them since childhood — the First Queen raising her banner, the early councilors meeting beneath an oak tree, farmers offering grain during the first harvest after the war. Familiar stories, comforting in their way, even if I've never paid much attention to the details.
At the center stands the Fountain of Concord, its two stone figures facing outward toward the four roads that lead into the plaza. Water spills from their hands in thin silver streams, catching the light as it falls. Children dart around the base, laughing as they try to catch droplets in their palms.
Banners hang from balconies and archways, their colors bright against the pale stone. They flutter lazily in the breeze, marking the council houses the way they always have. Guards patrol the edges of the square in pairs, their armor polished enough to catch the sun. They're a normal sight here — part of the plaza as much as the fountain or the vendors.
Merchants have set up neat rows of stalls along the outer ring, selling fruit, pastries, trinkets, and whatever else travelers might want. The smells of warm bread and spiced nuts drift through the air, mixing with the sharper scent of metal from a nearby smithy.
It's busy, loud, alive — and for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe again.
Father signals for the carriage to stop before dismounting. I step out as he approaches, Vaeroth following me unbidden.
"Elaris and I need to speak with the council," Father says, helping Mother down from her horse. "Why don't you two walk back? I'm sure your legs could use a good stretch after the long ride."
I frown, not seeing why we need to walk an hour when the carriage is right there waiting for us.
"Can't we just stretch our legs at home?" I ask, glancing at Vaeroth for support. He only smiles and waves, which earns him an eye roll.
"Oh, show him around," Mother says, that same firm smile she wore when she insisted I ride with him. "The poor man has no memories. I'm sure he'll enjoy seeing the city." She turns to Vaeroth. "You'll keep her safe, won't you?"
"As if I were a child." The thought flickers through my mind before I can stop it.
"Sure, I'll keep an eye on her," Vaeroth replies cheerfully, patting my head.
Heat rushes to my face. I smack his hand away without caring how unladylike it looks.
"I'll ask you not to be so familiar with me," I snap, pretending not to notice the way Mother's smile tightens at the edges.
"Dear, that was rather improper," Mother says, her voice a bit strained.
"No, it's fine. I like that she doesn't hold back," Vaeroth chuckles, earning another glare from me.
"Let's just go." I snap and walk off without waiting. For a moment I expect a sharp rebuke from Mother, or Father's calm, deliberate tone. Instead, I just hear footsteps—mirroring mine, as if someone is trying to match my footfalls exactly but from a few feet behind me.
I try to ignore it, but after a minute I whirl around with a sigh. Vaeroth stops abruptly before waving again.
"Stop that!" I snap. "You're not stupid, so why are you acting like it?"
"Me?" he asks, feigning surprise. But when he sees my face, he holds up his hands and chuckles gently. "Okay, okay. You just… you're only yourself when you're mad." He shrugs, as if that explains everything.
"What does that even mean?" I ask, annoyed. I sigh and hold up a hand before he can answer. "Never mind. Just walk next to me like a person instead of some weird shadow."
Mercifully, he doesn't push me further, falling into step beside me and occasionally asking about statues or stopping at a stall.
Vaeroth drifts toward a smith's stall and picks up a fire poker. He turns it over in his hands, inspecting it as if searching for some hidden flaw.
"I've used this before," he murmurs at last, ignoring the nervous‑looking merchant — a middle‑aged man with a soft belly and a balding head.
"Yes, sir, it's a fire poker," the man says, though his eyes keep flicking toward me, unsure if he should say more.
"Oh, we're not looking to buy, sir," I say quickly, not wanting to waste the poor man's time. "Put it back and let's go." I try to sound polite, but it comes out sharper than I intend.
Vaeroth looks at me, then at the merchant, then at the poker one last time before setting it down and following.
"Why was he so nervous?" he asks.
"Probably because someone was examining his fire poker like a crazy person," I say, waving it off.
"No. He wasn't afraid of me. He was afraid of you." His tone is maddeningly certain.
"Why would he be afraid of me? I was just standing there." The words snap out before I can regulate them.
"I don't know," Vaeroth says calmly. "It's your city. You tell me."
"Liriel." The sound of my name freezes the breath in my chest. I groan inwardly — as if dealing with Vaeroth wasn't enough.
"Ethandor. What a surprise." I turn with a polite smile I don't feel.
"A surprise indeed." He steps closer than necessary, the space between us shrinking. "I came to call on you this morning and Laurien said you were out of the city. Yet here you are… walking around alone with another man."
"I just returned," I say evenly. "And who I walk with is my own concern." I take a small step back.
His smile tightens, just at the edges. "What would your parents think if they knew?" His tone softens in a way that doesn't feel like actual concern. His gaze slides to Vaeroth. "You may go now."
"Oh, that's alright," Vaeroth says cheerfully. "I don't really have anywhere I need to be."
I hate to admit it, but his obliviousness is far less irritating when it's aimed at someone else.
"Liriel, let's go. I'll escort you back." Ethandor reaches for my arm—
—and a hand catches his wrist before he can touch me.
"Don't you know it's improper to grab a lady?" Lysander asks, his voice calm, his smile polite but unmistakably firm.
Relief washes through me. "Ah, Lysander, how wonderful to see you again." Ethandor says, a warm smile on his face.
"Indeed, I wish I had more time to talk, but I was on my way to see Laurien. Shall I escorted you Liriel? He has a point about rumors if you're seen alone with a man." Lysander replies.
"Yes that would be great thank you." I say, happy to have an excuse to leave. "Until next time." I say to Ethandor, turning to leave.
"Yes, I'll call on you soon." Ethandor says politely before also turning to leave.
Vaeroth follows after Lysander and I for a few minutes before breaking the silence.
"So you're not one of her suitors?" Vaeroth asks curiously.
"Oh forgive me, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Lysander, I'm courting her sister Laurien." Lysander says. "And you are?" He asks.
"No, I'm not one of her suitors either." Vaeroth replies. "Just a guest."
Lysander seems a bit confused by his strange response.
"Just ignore him." I sigh. I'm both annoyed by his feigned stupidity and relieved he didn't give his name.
Lysander's eyes flicker back to Vaeroth multiple times before he finally seems to accept my words.
"Very well. I think we are far enough away now anyway." Lysander says, glancing back to make sure Ethandor is out of sight. When he doesn't spot him he stops walking. "Send Laurien my best." He asks.
"Of course." I assure him. "She likes you, you know? Don't drag your feet." I can't help but meddle as we part.
Lysander doesn't say anything, but I see the pleased smile he is trying to conceal. I feel lighter as we finally leave the market, not far from our estate anymore, but then Vaeroth draws too close.
"We're being followed." He says quietly, but his voice is tense. "They must be looking to mug you."
I scoff at his words, crime in this city is very low, and no way are we getting mugged this close to the plaza. I'm about to mock his perceptions when I realize there is no way he'd think we were being followed if we weren't, he must just be wrong about the why.
"Don't do anything stupid, no one is going to mug us." I say sharply, my mind racing, before it clicks. We are being watched, but it must be by people who work for the council. We sent word ahead, they know Vaeroth is here and with me.
The realization settles like a stone in my stomach.
Of course.
Of course Mother and Father didn't send us walking to 'stretch our legs'
Of course the council would want eyes on him the moment he crossed the gate.
I slow my pace just enough to look casual, not enough to look frightened. "They're not muggers," I murmur. "Just… pretend you don't even notice them."
"Who are they then?" He asks, his stance already more casual.
"Don't worry about it, the important thing is they aren't going to do anything more than just watch us." I say, trying to seem relaxed, but I'm tense, and worse I know Vaeroth can sense I'm tense, which only makes me more tense. "Seriously, just be normal." I snap.
"I don't think I'm acting particularly abnormal." He shrugs.
"If anything, you're the one who needs to relax. Just lower your shoulders, focus on your breathing, count the seconds in and out."
I open my mouth to snap back — but the tension in my chest is real, and the watchers are real, and for once I don't have a better idea.
So I inhale. One, two, three.
Exhale. One, two, three.
It helps. Infuriatingly. I do relax a bit, step out of my head enough to think more clearly. The council is watching through these men — what do I need them to see? What did Mother want them to see?
I turn to Vaeroth, stopping to face him fully. He halts and looks back at me, confused.
"I need to… show them you're under control," I say, unsure how to manipulate him into this and deciding it's better to just ask directly. "Just stay close to me, act like you trust me." My eyes quietly plead with him to understand.
He smiles — not his usual clueless smile, or his teasing one. "That's easy enough." He shrugs simply and falls into step beside me.
We walk, but just like two normal people. He still asks the occasional question, but it's not the idle curiosity from earlier. It's things a reasonable person might ask: house histories, our domain, the council. Questions I'd expected him to ask this morning in the carriage.
"The council formed about fifty years after our last king made peace. He didn't leave behind any eligible heirs, and rather than start a civil war the five great families came together and formed a council to rule. They were instrumental in helping humans move into elven lands and negotiating all the political marriages to help the peace really last," I explain.
"Political marriages? Between humans and elves?" Vaeroth asks, sounding surprised.
"Yeah. Several humans married into elven lines and elves married into human lines. Eventually it led to both countries just kind of merging, since all the family lines became connected," I say proudly.
"I see." Vaeroth says, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. "And the Baron? He is one of these mixed lines, then."
"Yes, that's right," I say, surprised he noticed. "You can tell?"
"No. It just explains some things." He doesn't elaborate, but my mind flashes back to my father's outburst at lunch, and embarrassment prickles at my skin.
"Anyway, we're here." I point down the road where our estate has come into view, grateful for the distraction — and the safety — of home.