Adelia had only meant to play the part of a lady knight. Keep close, offer protection, look the part of the dutiful knight escorting their royal charge and that had been the original plan. But..She hadn’t expected to care for Eliot. At least, not like this. Like they had known each other for years and somehow feelings were threatening to bubble. She had only known him for a short few hours! But watching Eliot struggle under the mountain of merchant gifts, watching him sheepishly apologize to the older woman with no free hand for her offering, something deep in her foreign and familiar all at once twinged at her heartstrings.

Maybe it was the role she was meant to play. Maybe it was just easier to fall into it than resist it now. She fell into step beside him without needing to think about it. Once, she’d walked beside him to maintain the illusion of protection. To keep appearances. But now it felt like muscle memory. It felt natural.

The path back to the castle stretched before them, winding like a ribbon of sunlight through the bustling market. Eliot’s laughter still lingered in the air, warm and genuine as he adjusted the bundle in his arms for the third or fourth time. She could hear the murmur of the crowd beginning to fade behind them, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant clatter of hooves on stone.

Adelia walked just half a step ahead of him, her gaze flitting over the edges of roofs and treetops. Ever the watchful knight—though more out of habit now than obligation. Her arms ached from the load, but she didn’t complain. This body was stronger than hers ever was. It carried the weight easily. It was a strange thing, how natural this all felt now. The weight of armor that no longer felt foreign. The rhythm of walking beside him, always matching his step. The way his voice had started to settle in her head like a tune she’d always known. “I hope I remember a little bit of this when I wake up,” she said suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could catch them.

Adelia laughed, brushing a lock of windblown hair behind her ear as if it were nothing. “Telling you I saw a Princess Eliot in my dream is going to make you laugh, I just know it.” She glanced away quickly, busying herself with adjusting the leather strap of the parcel slung over her shoulder. “Ah..Never mind. Ignore me,” she said with a breath of a laugh. “That sun’s baking my brain. I’m clearly hallucinating from too much charm and not enough water.” But honestly? She didn’t want to forget. Not the market, not the laughter, especially not the way his arm had hooked around hers when that noble had gotten too close. Was there a way to commit an entire dream to memory?