8. Foolish Things

The journey to the capital took nearly a week. Six days of travel from Ferendia to the sanctuary tucked deep inside Valkathra’s walls. But I didn’t mind the long ride. Not this time. For once, silence wasn’t some storm waiting to crack. No yelling. No tight leash tugging me back. Just the sound of hooves, the sway of the carriage, and wind slipping through the cracks in the curtains.

We stopped in a different place each night. Small towns, busy trade routes, old villages with crooked chimneys and stories etched into the stone. Every market we passed felt like a world I didn’t belong to. I watched them all. The baker brushing ash off his sleeves. The painter dragging color across his canvas with fingers stained in blue. A kid slipping a coin into a busker’s bowl, grinning like he'd just bought the moon.

They all looked so alive. So unaware of their freedom. And I hated how badly I wanted to be part of it. Not from a tower. Not through a window. Just… real.

In one town, we passed a street full of fabric sellers, their stalls bursting with silks and dyed cotton. A woman was arguing over a crimson scarf with this wild kind of confidence, like she owned the street, the sky, everything. She laughed so loud people turned to look, and gods, I envied her. That kind of boldness. That kind of ease.

Everything I saw felt like something stolen. Something I was never meant to hold. It made my chest ache. Not in a poetic way, just that deep, dull kind of ache that doesn’t go away, just settles in and makes itself comfortable.

By the time we reached the heart of Valkathra where all the important meetings were held, where the centre of everything was there, the place where all main education centres were established, the roads had smoothed out and the noise had changed. Bigger. Louder. Grand, in a way that didn’t ask for approval. I leaned closer to the window, trying to memorize every bit of it.

Then Davian spoke, “We’ll be at the sanctuary in five minutes.”

I nodded, still staring out the window.

He glanced at me. “You’ll like it. It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

The sanctuary came into view like something pulled out of a book. A cluster of soft cream buildings nestled behind rows of young trees and flowing white banners. No guards with spears. No locked gates. Just an open courtyard with steps leading into a stone hall and gardens that wrapped around the back. A new place for the Eryndor witches.

The carriage stopped. Davian stepped out first and offered me his gloved hand. I hesitated, then took it.

The moment I stepped down, it hit me.

This… existed because of something I said.

The idea. The approach. The gentle persuasion. All mine. And no one knew. No one would ever know.

As we walked through the open courtyard, people called Duke Davian’s name. With smiles. With respect. "Your Grace," they said. "You did something wonderful." They bowed. They praised. They admired.

And I walked beside him like a ghost again.

They’ll never know.

He’ll always be the one remembered. The man who gave witches a chance. The duke who bridged the gap. And I’ll just be the girl who stood behind him, sipping tea, smiling politely, nodding at the right times.

He glanced at me. "Would you like to meet the head of Eryndors?"

I smiled softly. "Sure."

But inside, something ached.

Because no matter how good he was to me, how gentle or kind or fair, he still wore the skin of a man. And I still lived in the shadow of one.

And that was never going to change.

We met so many people I lost count. Witches in long robes with soft-spoken voices and quiet eyes, nobles with the usual stiff spines and measured smiles, workers and architects fussing over blueprints and wood samples. Half the sanctuary was still unfinished, just scaffolding and rubble, but no one seemed bothered. The Eryndors had picked this abandoned, fading estate on purpose. They said it had "soul." That it reminded them of the forests and temples their ancestors lived in. That it was real.

I didn’t understand it at first.

But then I looked at the ivy curling through the cracks in the stone, the warm golden light hitting faded murals, the breeze slipping in through broken arches, and I got it. It was old. Elegant in the way worn things are. Like a memory still breathing.

After all the handshakes and small talk, I ended up sinking into one of the sanctuary’s old velvet couches in a side hall. My body felt heavy. Not in pain, just... used. Like it wasn’t used to moving this much or smiling this much or pretending I wasn’t overwhelmed. My arms slumped at my sides as voices echoed from the nearby room where Davian stood, still talking with some noble about resources and builders and royal permits.

Then finally, he turned to me. His eyes scanned my slumped form and a tiny smile crept on his face.

"Are you bored?"

I didn’t even try to lie. I nodded once, slowly. Exhausted and honest.

Instead of looking offended, he tilted his head and said, "Do you want to see the market?"

I sat up a little, confused. "What?"

"The city market. It’s not far. You’ve never been there, right?"

I blinked. He made it sound like he was offering me a candy.

"No. I mean... not really. Not since I was a kid," I said slowly.

He raised a brow, curious. "Why not?"

I shrugged, glancing at the marble floor like it held the answer. "Father always said it was foolish to walk roads and get dirty. That it was beneath me."

Davian didn’t react immediately. Just nodded once, like he was filing that away in the list of a hundred awful things he knew about my father.

"Well," he said, offering his arm, "maybe it’s time we do something foolish."

I stared at his arm for a second.

Do something foolish?

It sounded so light. So normal. Like something a friend would say. Like something I’d never been allowed to even imagine.

I took his arm.

It was a quiet walk back to the carriage, but not awkward. The kind of silence where you don't have to perform or explain anything. He helped me up, and we were off again.

The city opened up like a storybook I’d never read. Loud and messy and alive. Stalls packed in tight lines, colors everywhere, rugs, fruits, jewelry, strange creatures in cages. I could smell fried oil, rosewater, spices, and something burning in the distance. People shouted prices, argued in five different accents, children ran barefoot chasing dogs, and musicians played flutes with missing notes.

And yet somehow... it wasn’t overwhelming. It was real.

Davian walked beside me like he’d done this a thousand times. Sometimes pointing at a vendor, sometimes just watching me watch the world. He didn’t try to explain everything. He didn’t treat me like a porcelain doll suddenly out of her case.

He let me exist.

A vendor held out a candied lemon stick and winked at me. I looked at Davian instinctively.

"Try it," he said, already tossing a coin. "If you hate it, spit it out on me."

I took a bite.

It was too sweet and too sour and got stuck in my teeth, but it made me smile.

The market buzzed around us, and for the first time in years, I wasn’t Cessalie Draevin, the duke’s daughter, the useless one, the locked-up disappointment.

I was just… a girl walking next to a man who, against all odds, wasn’t cruel.

And it didn’t feel foolish at all.

We wandered without any real direction. For once, there was no script, no schedule, no expectations. Just steps and sights and the strange comfort of his presence.

I paused in front of a stall with glass animals, tiny deer and foxes and birds with wings too delicate to be real. One looked like Roxy, my rabbit-cheetah. Same tilt of the ears, same attitude in its stance.

Davian noticed. "Want it?"

I shook my head. "No. Just looking."

But he bought it anyway and handed it to me like it was nothing.

"It reminded you of something," he said. "That’s enough reason."

I didn’t say thank you. Didn’t gush or pretend to be grateful. I just held the little glass creature in my hand and kept walking, because part of me didn’t know how to say thank you without sounding like I owed him something.

And I didn’t want to owe anyone anything.

We stayed until the sun dipped low and the lanterns in the market flickered to life, casting golden shadows on the stone. The sounds softened, the crowd thinned, and the tiredness settled in my bones.

"I should take you back," he said gently, not asking.

I nodded, slower this time.

The ride home was calm. My head leaned against the cushioned side of the carriage, eyes half-closed, the tiny glass Roxy in my lap catching the last flickers of sunlight. My feet ached from walking, my thoughts from… feeling too much. Davian didn’t say anything for a while.

But then, I heard the quiet shift of his coat as he moved.

He left his seat across from me and came to sit beside me instead, close enough that the warmth of his arm brushed mine. I didn’t move away.

"I’ve never seen you like this," he said after a moment, voice low. "You were very… alive today."

I turned to look at him, unsure if it was a compliment or just an observation.

He reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed my skin like he wasn’t used to touching anyone this softly either.

Is he really touching me like that? Why does this feel… like it means something?

My heart started doing this weird thing in my chest, like stumbling, then rushing to catch up.

He leaned in a little closer, eyes flicking between mine and my mouth. My breath hitched. My lips parted just slightly.

Wait… why is he staring?

His hand brushed along my jaw now, thumb hovering just beneath my cheek. Our noses were almost touching.

I didn’t stop him. I didn’t know what to do.

But then, my chest tightened. No. Not yet. I don’t even know what I’m doing.

I pulled back. Just a bit.

Barely even an inch. But he noticed. And he stilled.

His expression didn’t shift, didn’t fall. He just smiled a little, like he understood.

And then, instead of pushing further, he leaned forward again, slower this time, and kissed my cheek softly and it was warm.

I swear my whole face burned.

I turned away slightly, trying to hide the blush, but he chuckled under his breath.

Like he was seeing something good.

When we reached the palace, he helped me down again by my waist.

"Sleep well, Lady Cessalie," he said, with that smile that made my knees feel like paper.

Then he turned and walked away in the carriage. And I just stood there, like some clueless girl holding a stupid glass animal in her hand… grinning like an idiot.

What the hell was that.

Why do I want it to happen again.

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