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[color=808080][color=943131][b]#943131[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/Zmy5avq][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [color=10636f][b]#10636f[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/1aStJpQ][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]on the banks of the bramble weave[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Late afternoon light slanted over the Bramble Weave in shivering gold, turning the river’s skin to threads of fire. The sun pressed down like a hand, warm enough to bead sweat at the base of Emil’s throat even in the shadow of the ship. The water glittered fiercely beneath it—no soft, winter-worn silver like the rivers back home, but a bright, molten gold that made him squint every time it caught the light. Summer lived here with its whole chest bared, heavy and humming, and Emil still hadn’t grown used to the heat after two days moored along the riverbank.

He stepped along the shore of the river, and let the breeze, what little of it there was, brush damp strands of hair from his forehead. The banks were thick with greenery, nothing like the stunted, stubborn flora of Ironcrag. Here, everything grew bold and unashamed, crowding toward the sun as if eager to be seen. It was too warm for comfort, but warmth had never frightened him. It reminded him of gentler things, like his mother, his sisters. He wandered along the edge, letting his fingers drift over the blooms at his knees. Some he recognized only through stories, others he’d never seen at all.

He knelt beside a cluster of [i]Sunweave Blossoms,[/i] pale orange petals spiraling outward like a spinning wheel. Their scent was thick—sweet and a little sharp, like fruit left to ripen on a windowsill. They thrived along hot riverbeds, his mother once told him. Further along, he spotted [i]Ribbonfern Lilies,[/i] long white petals streaked with thin red threads that looked painted by hand. They drooped in the heat, but when he touched one, the petal was cool as clay. Travelers used them to soothe sunburns, his sister had told him about these. A little farther still, a patch of [i]Summer’s Breath Mint,[/i] a wild herb with bright green leaves and tiny white flowers. When he crushed a leaf between his fingers, a burst of cold sweetness bloomed in the air, unexpected and wildly welcome. 

He gathered multiples of these flowers carefully, bunching them slowly, mindful not to bend the stems. Even in the oppressive heat, surrounded by all this foreign abundance, his mind tugged homeward.

Ironcrag’s ‘summer’ crops would be coming in soon.

The [i]emberroot beds[/i] he’d helped seed in the brief week of thaw, should be ready for pulling any day now. The [i]whitegrain terraces[/i] would need tending before the next thaw, and it was quickly approaching. Someone would have to check the cliffside [i]stoneberry vines,[/i] coaxing their fragile fruits free before mountain winds stripped them bare. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist.

Normally, he would be there, working the terraces at dawn, sleeves rolled to his elbows despite the biting chill, laughing with the farmers while the cold stung their cheeks pink. He would be the one running remedies from village to village for his sister, making sure the sick had enough, making sure the lonely weren’t left to swallow their grief in silence. He’d sit on creaking wooden steps and listen to old stories, letting his presence be the comfort people couldn’t always put into words. Now he was here, waiting to be summoned. Waiting to smile and bow and play the part his family needed him to play.

[color=943131]“Just for now,”[/color] he whispered to the flowers, their colors too bright for his eyes, their scents too heavy in the heat. [color=943131]“And then I’ll go home, back where I am needed. Just a little while longer.”[/color]

He hoped the people of Ironcrag understood why he’d vanished on them. That his absence was not neglect, but duty. That his heart, soft, stubborn thing that it was, was still rooted in those rugged mountains. The river chattered beside him, bright and warm and endlessly alive. The breeze shifted, carrying distant shouts from the docks and the thick scent of sun-warmed pine.

Soon, they would be called up to the castle. Soon, he would tuck away this piece of himself and step into a place carved by ceremony and expectation. But for now he stood by the water, gathering flowers that did not belong to him, breathing heat that clung to his ribs, trying to steady the quiet ache of missing home before the world demanded something else of him. He drifted along the riverbank in slow, thoughtful steps, a quiet figure moving through the shimmer of summer. Nothing about this land was gentle. Nothing whispered. Everything shone. Everything demanded to be seen. He wondered if it would ever feel like something other than a temporary stage he was meant to walk across and leave behind.

He paused when a sliver of shade from a bent old willow offered itself, ducking beneath the curtain of its branches with a muted sigh of gratitude. The heat eased only slightly here, but the respite felt profound all the same. A dragonfly skimmed across the river’s surface, wings catching the sunlight in fractured bursts of blue and green, like shards of stained glass turned loose on the wind. It hovered, darted, doubled back—alive with a kind of freedom that made something in his chest both loosen and ache, reminding him of Soleil. He watched it without blinking, letting its erratic dance pull him out of himself for a moment, letting the river’s warm murmur fill the silence that followed wherever he went these days.

Marriage drifted to the forefront of his thoughts, as unwelcome as a burr clinging to wool. His father had mentioned it in that clipped, definitive tone that pretended to be casual but carried the weight of command. The royals would be considering alliances. Emil was expected to be… useful. Eligible. Presentable. Yet he felt no pull toward that life, no thread of interest knotted to his heart. His devotion had already been given, quietly and entirely, to the people of Ironcrag, the farmers who carved hope from stubborn soil, the families who weathered harsh winters and harsher rulers, the children who tugged at his sleeves for stories or herbs or simply reassurance that the world was not only made of cold things. He loved them with a steadiness that felt older than he was, a loyalty that grew in him the way roots grow in earth. What room, then, was left for marriage? For strangers in gilded halls? For alliances spun from duty rather than affection? 

When the royals saw him, his softness, his awkward sincerity, the way he blushed too easily and spoke too plainly, they would likely dismiss him long before he could dismiss them. He prayed they would. He prayed to any of the Gods that were listening that it would be clean and quiet, allowing him to return to the fleet waiting in the bay without ceremony, return to the mountains without delay, return to the people who were his truest calling.

But as the thought of dismissal soothed one ache, another surged up, sharper, deeper, impossibly familiar as the dragonfly flitted about. His youngest sister. Nearly a year had passed since she disappeared into the night, leaving behind only a scrap of hope and the echo of her determination. He had searched for her in everything, in the frost on morning windows, in the shape of passing clouds, in the way the mountains seemed to hold their breath on certain days—as though waiting for her return. Now, beneath this blazing summer sky, he found himself looking upward again, between the branches of the old willow, wondering if she stood beneath the same blue expanse or if she had followed her hunger for freedom far beyond the borders of anything he could imagine. 

The missing of her lived in him like a hollowed-out place, a cavern carved clean through his chest; sometimes it felt like a sharp, echoing ache, and other times like an absence so complete it frightened him. It hung from his shoulders like an unworn cloak—heavy, persistent, impossible to shrug off, no matter how he tried. Yet beneath all that grief was a fierce and steady glow of pride. [i]She had escaped.[/i] She had been brave enough to walk away from their father’s cruelty, from the unyielding expectations that smothered them both, from a future that demanded she be small. She had chosen a life that belonged only to her. He hoped she was somewhere bright. He hoped she was safe. He hoped she was [i]free.[/i]

The wind shifted, lifting the willow’s curtain of leaves, brushing warm fingers against his face as if urging him to rise. He straightened slowly, gathering the flowers with the same gentleness he treated everything he loved, casting one last look at the dragonfly now perched on a slick stone midstream. In the distance, muffled by heat and river-sound, came the faint stirrings from the ship, footsteps, shouted names, preparations for their approach to the castle. Soon, he would be expected to step into a world that had never been shaped for him, a world where softness was met with sharp smiles and kindness mistaken for naivety. Soon, he would be measured, weighed, and, he hoped, quietly excused.

But for now Emil walked back toward the docks, the sun heavy on his shoulders, the river warm at his side, and the wide summer sky stretched above him in an endless blue sweep—vast enough, perhaps, to hold both his longing for home and the fragile hope that somewhere beneath this same sky, his sister walked unafraid into whatever future she had chosen for herself. In the distance, the sound of racing horses drew a smile to his lips. 

The pounding of hooves hit the end of the trail where it manifested at the edge of the forest. Dirt stirred and patches of grass uprooted with every gallop. A whirlwind of snow white, turquoise and crimson charged through the trees like an untouchable fury. The black shadow followed, mirroring and following, but never gaining. The expanse between them grew, as it always did, muffling the disgruntled curses that could not reach her. For that powerful, yet fleeting moment, Rhea was free… [i]weightless[/i], one leap from taking flight and leaving the Vale behind. 

She had been barred from horseback riding for months, kept far from the stables, and her horse, Lily. Her mother—[i]the Queen[/i]—feared she would run, feared she would not fail to disgrace the family if given a chance. Rhea had to barter for this moment, agree to sever ties [i]for this moment.[/i] She was swift on horseback… untouchable on horseback. She would only be caught if she deemed it so. Could she make it to the Fist? …Further? Tendrils of thoughts weaved across her mind, falling into place. Freedom was at her fingertips. All she had to do was reach out… and seize it.

The fluttering white mane brushed Rhea’s chin, beckoning her to break free as she leaned forward and tightened her grip on the reins. She kicked her heels back into the horse’s haunches but once, giving a commanding, [color=10636f]"[i]Ya![/i]"[/color] Lily heeded, fast and obedient. She snorted, not out of frustration, but determination. Her head dipped and her gallop hastened, hooves digging deeper into the earth, pushing harder than she ever had before like she knew… this was their chance. 

Rhea spared a glance back over her shoulder where Coren tried desperately to keep pace... and failed, disappearing into a blur of a shadow lost beneath the trees. A laugh, lighter than air fell from her lips and sang on the breeze as it found its way back to him. There was a part of her that felt guilt for what would become of him if she got away. But he was loyal and steadfast. Perhaps he’d follow. Perhaps he’d join her. [i]Perhaps—[/i]

A rogue branch caught the tail of her braid, tearing the ribbon from her hair causing a crimson waterfall to slip over her shoulders and fall into her face. Lily whinnied and Rhea’s attention turned forward. A man leisurely walked along the trail in front of them, his back to her, flowers in hand, not a care in the world. Rhea’s hand instinctively tightened on the reins, pulling them backwards with a hard jerk and a shout. [color=10636f]"[i]Woah![/i]"[/color] The horse reared, hooves flailing in the air dangerously close to the man’s head. 

Rhea’s thighs tightened around the horse’s chest, hands clenching the bit of leather in her palms like a tether, desperate to remain seated. But she was caught off guard. She didn’t lean forward in preparation to counterbalance the pull of the earth tugging her backwards. Time slowed, hovering in that tentative parity until her boots slipped from the stirrups and her weight carried her backwards, tumbling from the horse’s back toward the ground below with a gasp.

For a suspended heartbeat, the world was nothing but sunlight and rhythm, the distant hammering of hooves against the earth, the pulse of warmth against his skin, the sudden surge of wind that lifted his hair and brought with it the scent of dust and summer and wild, reckless motion. Emil had turned at first with a simple, curious smile, expecting travelers, perhaps a messenger from the docks, but the smile faltered, froze, and bled into startled disbelief as a blur of white and turquoise exploded from the tree line. 

The horse was a streak of lightning tearing through the trail, its mane a fluttering banner of pale silk, its rider a streak of color clinging to it like a desperate, exultant star. For a breath, it didn’t feel real, a heat haze conjured into life, but the scream of reins and the sharp, panicked rear of the animal shattered that illusion. The horse rose, hooves carving the air above his head, slicing so close he felt the wind of them graze his cheek. Instinct, older than thought, faster than fear, seized him. His body twisted, weight shifting, feet digging into the sun-baked dirt as he lurched sideways, arms half-raised not in defense but in some wild, impossible reflex to catch falling life. 

He didn’t see her face, only motion, only the flash of limbs and hair and the tremor of her breath as air and earth worked as one to claim her. He moved toward her instead of away, a choice made without reason, without time, as if some quiet part of him had always been waiting for this exact moment. Her body collided with his chest, the impact sharp enough to knock the air from his lungs and send him pitching backward. The world tilted, sky, branches, sunlight, and then the ground rose up fast and unforgiving. His back slammed against it with a jolt that rattled his teeth, pain reverberating up his spine in a hot, blunt wave. The bundle of flowers slipped from his fingers and fell together to the ground, held only in place by the thin piece of twine he’d wound around their stems. His palms hit the road hard, rocks biting into his callouses, forcing a hiss of breath between his teeth as grit tore into skin already roughened by years of labor. Heat surged through him, heat from the earth, the sun, the rush of panic still clawing at his ribs, and for a moment he lay stunned, blinking up at the endless blue sky that suddenly seemed far too bright, far too vast. 

Lily neighed and huffed in aggravation at the unknown man that interrupted her run and unseated her rider. The navy blue, Storvane caparison was askew across her back, threatening to fall to the earth. She shook her head, tousling her mane and rattling her reins about as she bounced and stamped her front hooves. The horse was uneasy, eyes darting back and forth. Restless and confused, with every move the man made she took a step back getting frighteningly close to Rhea and the stranger.

The weight across his chest was slight, trembling, human. A breath, hers, fluttered against his collarbone, uneven and startled, smelling faintly of wind and sweat and impossible speed. The horses hooves struck the earth nearby in agitated bursts, her snorts sharp and frantic as she danced clumsily backward, the jangle of tack echoing like a warning bell through the trees. Emil’s instinct pulled him up before his mind could catch up, his hand darted out, fingers splayed, anchoring her rider before she could roll into the danger of the horse’s restless steps. 

Pain lanced up his arm where grit had ground into his skin, but he held steady, guiding her closer to his side, away from the wild churn of hooves. His breath came shallow and rough, chest still reeling from the impact, but beneath the ache was a strange, humming clarity, the awareness of life narrowly spared, of bodies intersecting at the fragile seam between ruin and rescue. The world was no longer quiet, nor distant, nor gently shimmering. It was immediate, thunderous, alive. And Emil, pressed into the dirt with another’s fall cushioned against his own bones, felt the moment settle around him with the weight of something he could not yet name. 

Rhea had been waiting for the collision of her body upon the ground or a hoof against her side. She had seen it happen time and time again, the dangers of a frightened horse. Her recklessness had to eventually run its course and her time had come. In that fraction of a second that stretched for eternity as she fell from Lily’s back, there was a dark silent relief knowing she’d soon join Gareth and be rid of her mother’s barber tendrils once and for all. But the death never came. Where she had braced for the pain of the unforgiving earth, she was met with frantic arms fumbling with the weight and force of her body. They both toppled over like flowers in a gust of wind, where the stranger broke her fall like a plush field of grass, cushioning her from pain.

The flash of a moment passed in a whirlwind, leaving her dizzy and confused. Angered stomping of hooves treacherously close drew Rhea’s attention before anything else, not the man beneath her nor the approaching sounds of Coren’s horse. Her eyes widened and arms raised to shield her face from the inevitable. She instinctively turned away and into the unknown man seeking safety as he pulled her out of harm’s way. Everything went still like the wind before a storm. Her pulse thrummed and roared like rapids through her ears, muffling the strangled pants that fell hot from her lips across the man’s chest. 

He opened his mouth, planning to ask her if she was spared the pain of the fall, but all that escaped him was an inelegant wheeze. Emil took in a few shuddering breaths, trying to remember how to breathe properly was odd, nothing he’d ever experienced quite before, but after a moment he managed. [color=943131]"Are you injured?"[/color] His voice was soft, strained, equal parts perplexed and concerned. He hadn’t realized this was a riders trail, not until the crash landing. 


Rhea only lifted her head when she felt the man’s voice rumble in his chest beneath her where his words were unable to cut through her panic. Long crimson hair fell wild and free, blown across her face by the warm breeze and tickling along the edge of the man’s jaw. Her hazel eyes remained wide, stunned like an animal caught in a trap. As their predicament slowly dawned on her, a flush that rivaled her hair crept up her neck and bloomed across her cheeks. She quickly attempted to get up and separate herself from her savior… [i]or victim[/i] depending on perspective. With their legs still entangled, her weight only shifted, body slipping off of his to land softly on the ground beside him.

A second set of hooves approached, followed by a loud thud of boots hitting the dirt, not waiting for the horse to stop before dismounting. [color=d6d6d6]"Princess!"[/color] A familiar voice called out from behind her. One minute Rhea was dazed upon the earth, then a strong arm curved around her waist, pulling her away from the stranger and lifting her to her feet. He kept her close, arm tightly woven around her, with her back pressed against his chest protectively. The knight already had his steel drown, metal glinting in the light of the sun with the tip pointed down at the man splayed upon the ground.

The Princess was hardly given time to process what transpired before she was swept up into another whirlwind. In a matter of seconds she was thrown from her horse and dragged into the arms of two different men. If word got to her mother—[i]Oh, Gods[/i]. Rhea quickly reached out, placing her hand upon Coren’s forearm in hopes to get him to lower his weapon. [color=10636f]"It was my fault. I nearly trampled him… He saved me from the fall."[/color] Her chest still heaved, having not had the chance to calm herself. 

Whether or not her guard wished to free her, she pried herself from his grasp and hurried over to her frightened horse before she could run away. Rhea approached the mare with outstretched hands and quiet [i]shh[/i]’s. When she got close enough, she gently stroked Lily’s man with one hand while gathering up her reins in the other. [color=10636f]"I am sorry, sweet Lily,"[/color] she whispered while coaxing the horse over to a tree and tethered her in place. 

Coren hesitated where Rhea left him, looking back and forth between his charge and the startled man on the ground at the end of his blade. Against his better judgement, he sheathed his sword and took a step forward, holding out a hand to help the man up. [color=d6d6d6]"Apologies."[/color]

For a moment Emil could do nothing but stare, flat on his back, dust clinging to his shoulders, the world still tilting at the edges from the force of their collision. The shape leaning over him resolved slowly, as though the sun itself were carving her into focus. Long crimson hair tangled by the wind, cheeks flushed as though lit from within, wide hazel eyes still shimmering with the ghost of fear. And then, like a stone dropped into still water, the word [i]princess[/i] struck him. 

Princess.

The sound echoed through his skull with a kind of dreadful clarity, louder than the pounding of his pulse, louder than the ringing left over from the fall. Princess. God’s preserve him. Of all the riders on all the cursed trails in the heat-shimmering reaches of this hold, he had managed to nearly die beneath a royal, and then catch her like some ridiculous, winded shield. His father would flay him alive for the embarrassment alone. And the King’s Guard, well, they hardly needed a reason to finish the job. 

He lay there helpless, hands splayed against the packed earth as though pinned by the sheer weight of his own fate, blinking hard to clear the sun stabbing white-hot at the corners of his vision. The guard loomed above him, sword a silver stroke against the sky, and for a heartbeat Emil could only squint up at him, half-blinded, half-expecting cold steel to introduce itself to his throat. But then the blade dipped, vanished into its sheath, and the air loosened around him. He let out a breath he didn’t remember holding, chest aching from both relief and impact. When the man offered his hand, Emil took it, though the movement sent a jolt of protest up his side. He masked the wince as best he could. Dusting himself off was futile, but he tried anyway, pushing his hair back from his face in a gesture that felt both pointless and painfully human. 

[color=943131]“My apologies,”[/color] he managed, voice roughened by the fall and the panic still lingering like smoke in his lungs. He bowed, first to the guard, then deeper to the princess, each movement stiff with soreness but precise in form. [color=943131]“To both of you. I meant no harm. The fault is mine for not seeing this was a rider’s trail sooner.”[/color] He lifted his gaze just enough to meet hers, and the sight of her, alive, upright, flushed but unharmed, sent something strangely warm through the hollow ache in his ribs. It was self preservation, it was knowing that he’d helped, and that was what Emil had always been best at.

[color=d6d6d6]"It is not a rider’s trail,"[/color] Coren clarified as his stance relaxed. His weight shifted to one leg as his hands rested lazily upon the pommel of his sword, in an attempt to calm the unease in his breaths. [color=d6d6d6]"The Princess is merely audacious."[/color]

Rhea tugged the reins taut around a narrow tree trunk and gave Lily another calming stroke of her mane, trying to ease her horse’s and her own nerves. She scoffed at her knight’s jest, sparing him a sidelong glance of silent judgement. [color=10636f]"You are only displeased because I was winning."[/color] There was more to it, which was evident in the furrowing of Coren’s brow, but she dared not speak it in the presence of unknown company. So she left it at his bruised pride and nothing more.

Subtle movement from the corner of her eyes pulled her attention toward the man as he bowed to her guard and then herself. The corner of her lips tugged, tight and uncomfortable, existing in the fragile balance somewhere between a smile and a frown. But she did not stop him, she couldn’t. Men have been killed for less than failing to bow in the presence of royalty… Not even within the safety of the forest. Everything was watching… listening, as Coren stated.

[color=943131]“I am… grateful you were not injured,”[/color] he added softer, sincerity threading through the formality. Then, because dread still knotted low in his stomach, he straightened carefully, hands clasped behind him in the posture of a man desperately trying not to look like someone who had just nearly gotten royalty trampled.

Grateful [i]she[/i] was not injured. No doubt to save his own neck from whatever hell her mother would unleash upon a man that frightened her horse and injured her, regardless if it was her fault to begin with. The guilt churned like the rapids that rushed with life beyond the treeline. She nearly killed this man, but he was thankful she was unharmed. He should be cursing the ground she walked on, not praising her safety. Rhea swallowed and looked back over her shoulder in time to see the man straighten as if they were standing across from one another in court rather than nearly escaping death at her hands. Her face tensed and contorted as she took a step toward him without a thought, holding out her hands as if to steady a spoked animal. 

[color=10636f]"Please…"[/color] Her voice was timid, uncertain, and easily lost in the wind. They were not in the citadel, or at court, or before other Lords. After nearly being trampled by her horse, the last thing the man needed to do was act on ceremony around her. [color=10636f]"Are [i]you[/i] injured?"[/color] she asked, more concerned about his own well-being rather than if he treated her with the proper respect. The weight of her misdeeds were plain across her face, evident in her subtle frown, the soft way her brows tugged together, and how her hazel eyes searched his face for signs of pain or unease. [color=10636f]"Forgive my insolence,"[/color] she practically begged as her gaze fell to the disturbed dirt that rested at her feet.

Emil blinked at her outstretched hands, delicate, trembling faintly, held as though he were some wounded creature she feared might bolt. The earnestness in her eyes struck him harder than the fall had, it sifted through the dread still clinging to his ribs and softened it into something almost warm. He let his posture loosen, shoulders unspooling from their rigid brace, and a slow, rueful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth despite the throb blossoming down his spine.

[color=943131]“There is nothing to forgive, Your Grace,”[/color] he said gently, and for once his voice came easy, unstrangled by fear or formality. He shifted his weight, careful not to hiss when his ribs protested, and managed a lopsided, almost boyish grin. [color=943131]“Truly. I’ve fared far worse back home in Ironcrag. This is hardly a bruise.”[/color]

The memory surfaced, unbidden but welcome, and he let out a soft laugh, airy and bright as though he weren’t currently pretending his lungs weren’t full of broken glass. [color=943131]“Once, when I was helping a merchant right his overturned carriage, his horse, this monstrous, stubborn brute, decided he’d had enough chaos for one day. Nearly kicked my head clear off.”[/color] He mimed the trajectory with a crooked hand, shaking his head. [color=943131]“I swear I felt the wind off its hoof. My father said if I were any slower—”[/color] his smile dimmed, and he shifted uncomfortably. [color=943131]“He—he was pleased I lived to tell the tale.[/color] It was a lie, but it sounded better than what his father had [i]actually[/i] said.

The smile returned though, and it was earnest, sunlit, disarming, even if it trembled faintly at the edges from pain. [color=943131]“Compared to that, your fall was a gentle nudge. I promise you, Princess. I am more dusted than damaged.”[/color]

He hesitated, letting the warm hush settle around them, then dipped his head, not in bowing, but in reassurance, hoping she’d take it for what it was. [color=943131]“You needn’t lower your gaze for my sake. I’m standing. You’re standing. And your horse didn’t send either of us to the healers. By my measure, that makes it a fortunate day.”[/color]

Regardless of the reassurances the man tried to give her, Rhea slowly circled him like a hawk, crunching dry earth and pebbles beneath her boots. Her eyes searched him for any injuries he might have been hiding, no matter his protests. [color=10636f]"You do not know my mother,"[/color] she commented softly, more a whisper to herself rather than an open thought. [color=10636f]"I am certain word of this is making its way to her. It would ease my conscience and give my argument legs to stand upon if I knew you were unharmed."[/color]


Emil let out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold, the kind that slipped from between clenched teeth when a truth could no longer be politely tucked away. His shoulders softened first, slumping, surrendering to the ache blooming deep beneath his ribs, and he pressed a hand lightly to his side as though that small gesture might coax the pain into behaving. It didn’t, but he offered her a faint, wry smile all the same.

[color=943131]“I suppose,”[/color] he murmured, voice quieter now, threaded with a reluctant honesty, [color=943131]“My side does hurt… quite a bit.”[/color] His thumb brushed the edge of the bruise he could already feel forming beneath his shirt. [color=943131]“But I promise you, Princess, I’ve had worse. Ironcrag isn’t gentle with its sons.”[/color] There was no bravado in the words—only a simple, worn truth, spoken like someone accustomed to carrying discomfort without complaint.

She came into view around the man’s other side, her leather gloved fingers fiddled uneasily as her gaze fell to where his hand cradled his ribs. [color=10636f]"I apologize, but I must be certain nothing is broken."[/color] Rhea took a tentative step forward, stirring the loose dirt at their feet into a small cloud. She pinched the tip of her right middle finger, slipping the dove skin glove from her hand in a single fluid motion. The small bit of leather remained clutched in her left palm as she used that same hand to gently lift the side of his tunic revealing his toned muscles that gleamed from the sweat that clung to his skin. In other circumstances she might have flushed at the predicament, but this was beyond her honor or what was proper. Her bare hand raised to sweep her long red hair back over her shoulder and out of her way. 

[color=10636f]"My brother Dorian once instigated a fight with my other brother,"[/color] Rhea began to recount her own tale in hope to distract them both as she checked the severity of his injury. [color=10636f]"It did not end in his favor,"[/color] she continued while pressing the flat of her palm against the rich blues and violets that blossomed along his side. Her touch was tender and warm, but searching as the tips of her fingers slowly traced the curve of every rib with a gentle pressure. [color=10636f]"He had a black eye and two—no [i]three[/i] broken ribs. He made quite the fuss and would not let anyone assist him besides me. [i]‘They were too rough.’[/i] he claimed."[/color] Her brows furrowed as she shifted to stand before him, checking along his sternum to his other side methodically. [color=10636f]"To my misfortune, I grew familiar with how a broken bone felt."[/color] 

After finishing her thorough examination, Rhea released his shirt letting the fabric fall back down to cover his chest before she took a few steps away. Without a word, Coren approached her holding out the spare bit of cloth from earlier. She did not make a show of wiping off her hand nor was she bothered. The heat of summer was cruel and unforgiving leaving anyone within the valley glistening with sweat no matter how much they kept to the shade. [color=10636f]"Nothing appears to be broken… But I am no medic,"[/color] she clarified. [color=10636f]"However I know of no remedy for sore muscles or bruising."[/color] She offered him a sympathetic, albeit guilty smile.

[color=d6d6d6]"Time, Princess,"[/color] Coren offered as he took back the cloth and went back to his place as a silent sentinel along the treeline.

Emil stood as still as any man could stand while royalty lifted the hem of his tunic and laid a bare hand to his ribs. For all his attempts at composure, a sharp breath escaped him the moment her palm found the tender bloom of bruising—nothing loud, nothing dramatic, just the quick, involuntary catch of air between his teeth. He forced himself to ease it out slowly, as though exhaling might steady the world that had abruptly narrowed to the warmth of her touch and the scent of wildflowers still clinging faintly to her hair.

He kept his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder, out toward the flickering line where the forest met the sky, doing everything in his power to remain respectful, unmoving, and, gods willing, behaving like a man who knew how to act in the presence of a princess and not like someone suddenly aware of every inch of his own skin. He had to be uninteresting, just bland enough to be sent home. He did not need princesses touching him.

Her story helped. Her voice, quiet and intent, threaded through the heat between them like a breeze through summer curtains. Emil found himself smiling despite the tenderness of her prodding fingers, imagining two princely brothers thrashing about while their sister adjudicated the ruins. When she stepped back and released him from the spell of her closeness, he let the fabric fall naturally into place and drew a careful breath, testing the ache. Nothing snapped or splintered inside him, a mercy he silently thanked every god for.

He shifted his weight, offering her a smile that was soft at the edges, threaded with both gratitude and an earnestness he made no attempt to hide. [color=943131]“Your examination was kinder than any I’ve ever known,”[/color] he said quietly. [color=943131]“Back home, my sister is the one who patches the rest of us up. Brothers, cousins, everyone, really. She has a clever way of knowing what hurts before we admit it.”[/color] A fond warmth slipped into his voice, almost reverent. [color=943131]“She keeps a pouch of salve she swears by. Says it chases bruises away faster than time alone. Smells like pine and frostbite,”[/color] he added with a faint laugh. [color=943131]“I never asked what she puts in it. I suspect she’d lie just to keep the secret.”[/color] He winced, barely, but the smile remained, bright as a shard of light off river water. His hand hovered briefly near his ribs, then dropped again, as though refusing to make more of his discomfort than the day already had. [color=943131]“Thank you for your concern, princess.”[/color]

[color=10636f]"My uncle taught me,"[/color] the Princess commented quietly as she pulled back on her glove for a second time, finding the leather less cooperative as her fingers grew warm and faintly swollen from the heat. She grimaced but eventually, with some tugging and wiggling, it settled into place. [color=10636f]"Let us then pray your sister joined you from Ironcrag along with her miraculous salve."[/color] A small smile formed across her lips but it did not reach her eyes which were still heavy with guilt and the impending weight of what her actions would unfurl. [color=10636f]"I imagine without it you may be sore for quite some time."[/color]

Rhea finally took a moment to look at the man rather than examine him like an animal wounded by her own hand. Wide hazel eyes studied his face from beneath a wild veil of crimson hair, trying to see if his visage ignited any memory. He had a strong jaw dusted with the shadow of facial hair that had grown since morning, softened by his gentle, compassionate smile. Kind blue eyes looked down at her from beneath the shade of his brow, framed by wind blown red locks of his own. A soft sigh fell from her lips, lost in the warmth of the air around them. [color=10636f]"Might I at least know the name of the man I nearly killed?"[/color] She took a small step back, creating a more appropriate amount of space between them as if just her proximity was a threat to his safety. [color=10636f]"I feel as if my introduction is fruitless, but I am Rhea, for what that is worth."[/color]

He straightened slowly, carefully, drawing himself up not in formality but in courtesy, and dipped into another bow, deeper this time, despite the way his ribs protested the motion. [color=943131]“It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Rhea,”[/color] he said, lifting his gaze to hers with a sincerity that felt almost too earnest for the sun-dappled dust between them. He paused, gathering a small breath, letting it settle in his chest before offering it into the open warmth of the air. [color=943131]“Emil Járnbjørn,”[/color] he said at last, the syllables soft but steady, and what he said next sounded close to rehearsed. [color=943131]“Second son of Lord Einarr. My family and I arrived not long ago. We are set to arrive to the Black Citadel quite soon, I believe.”[/color]

The words hung there, warm and heavy, like the heat rolling off the earth beneath their feet. He didn’t elaborate, not on why they’d come, he was certain that Rhea already knew why, but something in his eyes flickered, a brief ember of longing or weariness or both. And then, with a slight tilt of his head, he softened the truth with a gentler smile. [color=943131]“I did not imagine my first meeting with royalty would involve nearly being trampled,”[/color] he added lightly. [color=943131]“But… I’m glad to have made your acquaintance—alive, and mostly in one piece.”[/color]

A weight sunk in Rhea’s chest like a rock thrown into the Weave, knocking the wind from her lungs while causing her heart to race faster than Lily could ever hope of running. [color=10636f]"[i]Gods preserve me,[/i]"[/color] the words fell from her mouth like a suffocated wheeze, strangled, and desperate for air like the first breath after breaking the water’s surface. 

[color=d6d6d6]"[i]Princess?[/i]"[/color] Coren broke his silence, concern knitting his brows as he took a step toward her with hands extended prepared to catch or coddle or whatever else was required of him.

[color=10636f]"I nearly killed one of the Lords sent to this damned valley to try and marry me."[/color] The words slipped out like a frantic plea for it all to be not but a nightmare, an abhorrent nightmare that should rouse her from her slumber at any moment and leave her restless for what remained of the night. But the heat lingered, Lily snorted out of sight, and the weight in the pit of her stomach only grew with every labored breath. Her eyes went wide, one hand gripping her side while the other held her forehead as if trying to keep her head from spinning. [color=10636f]"My mother is—"[/color] The air was stolen from her lungs a second time. [color=10636f]"[i]By the nine, my mother…[/i]"[/color] She met Coren’s gaze and while he remained stoic and poised, hovering on the precipice of jumping into action should she grow faint, his expression mirrored a fraction of her worries.

Emil’s breath was still uneven, his ribs protesting every shift, but the princess’s spiraling panic eclipsed even the ache in his side. Her words, terrified, disbelieving, hung between them like an arrow suspended mid-flight, and something in him lunged to fill the crushing silence before it swallowed her whole. [color=943131]“I—gods—Princess, I have no desire to marry you.”[/color] The sentence burst out of him with all the grace of a kicked beehive. Too loud. Too fast. Too honest. His eyes flew wide as if he could snatch the words back out of the air. Heat flared up his neck, panic licking at his composure just as hers broke apart before him.

[color=943131]“I mean—not that—not because—”[/color] He inhaled sharply, wincing at the stab in his ribs. [color=943131]“What I meant is I’ve no desire to marry [i]anyone.[/i] At all.”[/color] His voice pitched tight, hurried, every word tripping over the next in desperate damage control. [color=943131]“My mother wants it, my father insists on it, and I—”[/color] He scrubbed a hand over his face. [color=943131]“I was honestly hoping to be quietly dismissed from consideration before anyone of importance remembered I exist.”[/color]

He let out a short, strangled laugh, thin as a fraying thread. Only then did he see how she swayed, how her breath came sharp and uneven, how fear hollowed her eyes. The humor drained from him, chased out by a deeper instinct.

[color=943131]“Princess,”[/color] he said softly, steadier now, the frantic edge gone. [color=943131]“You didn’t harm me. Not truly. And my father’s likely to kill me long before your mother even hears of this.”[/color] A tight, almost rueful smile curled at his mouth. [color=943131]“Truly. He’ll probably lecture me for weeks about getting in the way of royalty like some wandering fool.”[/color]

The Lord’s words fell on deaf ears. Rhea heard bits and pieces: something about him not wishing to marry her, dismissal, and a father that sounded nearly as terrible as her mother. But while the sounds rattled around in her head, the roar of her pulse rolled over everything like the furious rapids of the weave, trampling all other thoughts beneath the current to be beaten against rocks rather than given air. Her hand reached out as if an intangible subconscious tether within her drew Coren near, and he would offer his support before she had a moment to flail around for something to steady herself. Delicate trembling fingers wove tightly around his arm while his other hand waited in the air mere inches from her back, prepared to support her further if needed. 

After a few moments of labored breaths and forceful blinks to push past her mental haze that stirred like a storm, Rhea righted herself, taking a step back from both men. This was not the time nor place for her panic, not in the open, not before a Lord… not ever—if she had the strength to control her emotions in such a way. [color=10636f]"I appreciate your words but where your father is cruel, so is my mother… And she has eyes and ears all over this valley."[/color] She raised her hands to tuck her wild and loose hair behind her ears. [color=10636f]"I… I must go."[/color]

Rhea turned around and took a step forward. It was only then that she saw a bundle of flowers, discarded upon the ground and wrapped in twine. She couldn’t recall if she noticed Lord Emil with them or not, she approached far too fast to notice anything beyond nearly crushing him beneath Lily’s hooves. But they were far too orderly, too neat. Some of the flowers were nearby, shadowed beneath a bush or hugging a tree, but others had to be gathered near the water or in direct sunlight. There was thought behind them, intention. Gloved fingers gently scooped up the bouquet of wildflowers and turned back toward the bewildered Lord. She did not wait for him to take them, instead all but shoving them into his hand to avoid further conversation, guilt, or reassurances. [color=10636f]"Please forgive me."[/color] The words slipped out, breathy, quick, and all nerves.

Before he could say anything or try and convince her to stay, she spun back around, loose dust swirling in her wake as she hurried over to her tethered horse. Rhea did not wait for Coren’s assistance, quickly unknotting the reins and mounting the white mare by the time the knight reached her. Without sparing either of them another glance, she sped off down the trail towards the Citadel in a familiar blur of white and turquoise. The guardsman gave Lord Emil a quick bow before mounting his horse with the same amount of haste, but lacking the Princess’s finesse. With one final nod, he followed after her like a shadow trying to catch the light, fast… but never quite fast enough.

For a long, breath-stilled moment Emil could only watch her go—first the flash of her eyes, wide and wounded, then the frantic whirl of turquoise skirts and white mare as she fled as though chased by specters only she could see. Coren thundered after her with the dutiful panic of a man who knew the consequences of letting a princess slip from his grasp, though even his horse seemed resigned to the truth: no one quite caught Rhea once she decided to run. 

Dust bloomed in her wake, a pale curtain rising, swirling, and then drifting lazily back down to earth. By the time it settled, she was gone. The distant echo of hooves faded into the valley, replaced only by the familiar hum of insects and the lapping of the river against stone, mundane sounds that felt laughably at odds with the chaos she’d left him standing in. Emil blinked, once, twice, as though the scene might reorder itself into something comprehensible if he reset his vision. But when he glanced down, the world only grew stranger.

In his right hand—still poised awkwardly between himself and the empty road, lay the bouquet she had thrust at him. A few petals bent, a few stems bruised, but the colors still clung bravely to life. The absurdity of it all was too much, the fall, her panic, his own stumbling words, her retreat like a startled doe, the bouquet pressed into his hand as though it were a token of guilt she needed to rid herself of. A soft, bewildered sound escaped him, half groan, half laugh.

[color=943131]“By the gods,”[/color] he murmured under his breath. [color=943131]“Women.”[/color] He said it without bitterness, more like a man who had grown up with sisters he’d never fully understood. For another heartbeat he lingered, watching the dust settle into the grooves of the path she raced down. Then, with a slow exhale that tugged uncomfortably at his ribs, he tore his gaze away and turned toward the docks below, toward the ship that had carried him unwillingly into this furnace of a valley. His steps were careful, each one reminding him of the bruise blooming beneath his tunic, but he did not rush.

He let out a slow sigh and adjusted his grip on the blooms, holding them as though they might bruise further if handled with anything less than care. And with the quiet resignation of a man marching toward both duty and disaster, Emil followed the path back toward his family.[/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

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