The party departed from the inn early the next morning, setting out on their journey to the great city of Magnus. Azrya rode in the carriage beside her husband, who—after the recent incident—insisted she remain close to him, where he could ensure her safety.
As they neared the city gates, the sound of music and singing floated through the air, mingling with the sweet aromas of roasted meat, spices, and fresh pastries. Curious, Azrya leaned her head out the window, her eyes lighting up at the colourful chaos just beyond the gates.
"What's going on?" she asked Akio, her voice laced with wonder.
"The Festival of the Fortis Bellator," he replied flatly, offering little more.
"Fortis Bellator?" she echoed, brow raised as she studied him.
He sighed, casting her a sideways glance. "It means The Brave Warrior."
Azrya paused, considering, and then smiled. "It's a festival in your honour, isn't it? To celebrate your victory in the Great War."
Akio didn't answer. Instead, a faint flush crept up his cheeks. He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the recognition. Azrya's smile widened at his rare display of modesty—another unexpected side of her husband she hadn't seen before.
As the gates creaked open, a wave of colour and life greeted them. Banners of rich purples and golds fluttered in the wind, wildflowers were strewn across the cobblestone streets, and the air buzzed with laughter and celebration. The people of Magnus had gathered to welcome their ruler and his new bride, smiles lighting every face.
The vanguard knights led the procession, through the crowds on horseback. The carriage following closely behind with the rear guard closing in tight. Children ran alongside the carriage, waving enthusiastically, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new Lady Halen. Azrya waved back with a warm, gracious smile.
Then, one little girl tripped in her excitement, scraping her knee as she stumbled onto the stone road. Azrya immediately leaned forward.
"Stop the carriage!" she called out.
The entire procession screeched to a halt. Akio whipped his head toward her, eyes cold.
"What in the hell are you—"
"Just wait," Azrya interrupted calmly. "Two seconds."
Before he could protest, she snatched the coin pouch from his belt and leapt out of the carriage.
Akio blinked, stunned by her sudden impulse.
Azrya ran toward the fallen girl, crouching on the ground without a second thought. Her fine dress picked up dirt and dust, but she didn't care.
"There, there," she murmured gently, brushing away the girl's tears and straightening her dress. The blonde-haired child reminded her so much of Iris, her youngest sister, that her heart softened instantly.
"My, what a beautiful princess you are. There's no need for tears, Your Highness," she said playfully, drawing a small giggle from the girl.
"There's only one thing missing," Azrya continued with a smile. "All princesses need a crown."
She turned to a nearby vendor—an older teen girl selling flower crowns and wooden toy swords.
"Your prettiest crown for the prettiest princess, please," Azrya said, placing a silver coin in the girl's hand.
The vendor lit up. "Yes, of course, m'lady!"
She selected a delicate crown woven with purple orchids and pink blossoms and handed it over with a quick curtsy.
Azrya carefully placed it on the little girl's head, who beamed and immediately wrapped her arms around Azrya's waist in a tight hug.
Watching from a short distance, Akio had followed after her like a loyal hound—expression unreadable, yet something in his eyes softened. Her warmth, her kindness... it made him want to shield her from every cruelty the world had to offer. He doted on her silently, though the trauma etched into him kept his heart tightly locked.
"Lady Halen! Lady Halen!" more high-pitched voices called out.
Azrya turned to find a growing group of children gathering behind her. One small girl tugged on her dress.
"Can we be princesses too?" she asked shyly.
A boy beside her puffed out his chest. "Not me! I wanna be a knight!" He waved a makeshift sword branch in the air.
Azrya laughed softly. "Of course. You can all be princesses—or knights—or whoever you want to be."
She turned to the vendor and handed over the entire coin pouch.
"Your most majestic crowns and finest swords for all the children, please."
The vendor's jaw dropped, but quickly she beckoned over two other girls to help distribute the goods. A chorus of cheers erupted from the children.
Akio stood still, observing the scene as Azrya was swarmed by grateful, giggling children. He'd never seen her like this before—so free, so radiant. In that moment, he imagined a future with her. One filled with laughter... and maybe, one day, children of their own.
He finally approached, his voice quiet.
"It's time to return to the carriage."
Azrya turned toward him, a mischievous glint in her eye.
What a killjoy, she thought, then batted her long white lashes and took his hand in hers.
"Oh, please, Sir Halen," she cooed sweetly. "Mightn't we enjoy the festival a little while? It is in your honour, after all. It would be awfully rude not to."
Akio's cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink. He ran a hand through his hair, the blue strands shimmering in the sun.
"Fine," he muttered. "But stay by my side at all times."
"Of course! Whatever you say," Azrya grinned, tugging him into the crowd.
They wandered the festival stalls together, Azrya wide-eyed and brimming with excitement. She led them eagerly from booth to booth, tasting exotic treats, sampling perfumes dabbed along her arms, and allowing merchants to pin elaborate clips and ribbons into her hair.
The moment the townsfolk realized who she was, they vied for her attention, presenting her with their finest goods. Akio quietly paid each one, not even blinking.
By the end, her cheeks were painted with tiny flowers, her wrists jingled with braided bracelets, and her hair was a tapestry of colour and charms.
From one stall, she picked out a bracelet woven in blue and silver, and without a word, gently tied it around Akio's large wrist, her fingers light as feathers.
Akio stared at the bracelet for a long moment. His hand moved instinctively to the worn thread necklace hidden beneath his tunic, the small silver pendant still resting against his heart—the first gift she'd ever given him, all those years ago.
She didn't remember. But he had never forgotten.
Still touching the bracelet, he looked up—and smiled at her.
Azrya blinked, surprised. It was the first time she'd seen him truly smile.
Time seemed to still. For a heartbeat, they just gazed at each other.
For that moment in time, everything was right and perfect in the world, but how long would this bliss last?