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~Lisa’s POV
The palace gates creaked open, and I felt my chest tighten with a rush of emotions I could hardly na. The palanquin swayed gently as the bearers lifted it, their rhythmic steps carrying us away from the suffocating walls I had long thought might swallow whole. I sat inside, surrounded by soft cushions embroidered with gold threads, but my eyes were fixed on the small window slit, where I could glimpse the world beyond.
The air that filtered in carried with it the faint scent of pine and earth, so different from the heavy perfus and incense of the palace halls. My hands clenched and unclenched in my lap, nerves pricking at , but beneath the nervousness was sothing else: relief. Freedom. A taste of life outside the golden cage.
I turned my head slightly, and there he was, Damon. He rode beside the palanquin, not inside it, his dark cloak fluttering in the breeze, his posture upright and commanding. His hand rested lightly on the reins of his horse, but his eyes never strayed far from . Always watchful. Always protective. Always him.
And though I knew he was my guardian, my jailer, and at tis the very source of my frustrations, I could not deny the strange warmth that crept into my chest as I watched him.
The palanquin rocked forward again, and my thoughts scattered. Outside, villagers paused in their work to bow or look on curiously. Their simple tunics, earth-stained hands, and sun-ward faces seed like sothing from another world compared to my silks and jewels. A pang struck , jealousy, perhaps? Or longing? To live without so many chains, even if it ant hardship.
After what felt like hours, the palanquin slowed, and Damon lifted a hand, signaling the guards. We had reached a quiet stretch of adow, just beyond a grove of tall oaks. The grass was high and soft, swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze, and the air slled sweet, with wildflowers, damp soil, and the faintest trace of honey.
When Damon opened the palanquin door, I hesitated only a mont before stepping out. My slippers sank into the earth, cool and uneven, nothing like the polished marble floors of the palace. The sensation startled , and then soothed .
"Here," Damon said, his voice low but steady, as if he had prepared this place for all along.
The guards, under his instruction, quickly laid out a fine, woven blanket. Upon it, they arranged what had been packed: fresh bread, still warm from the palace ovens; a wheel of soft cheese wrapped in cloth; ripe grapes glistening like jewels; dried figs; roasted lamb, fragrant with herbs; and a pitcher of watered wine cooled in clay. It was not the extravagant feast of a banquet, yet it felt richer than any golden platter I had ever been served.
I sank slowly to the blanket, smoothing my gown beneath . The open sky stretched endlessly above, and for the first ti in what felt like years, I breathed without weight pressing on my chest.
Damon lowered himself across from , his broad fra folding gracefully to the ground. He poured wine with his own hand, not once allowing a guard to intrude. That small gesture alone made my throat tighten.
"Does it feel different?" he asked, watching closely.
I nodded, fingers trembling as I lifted the cup. "It feels... real. The air, the earth, the quiet." My voice wavered as I tried to find words. "In the palace, everything is too polished, too staged. Here, even the wind feels alive."
His lips curved faintly, that half-smile that always seed to both tease and reassure . "And you...you look alive out here, Lisa. More alive than I have ever seen you behind those walls."
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I looked down quickly, busying myself with breaking off a piece of bread. But his words lingered, curling inside like a fla I dared not touch.
We ate quietly at first. I chewed slowly, savoring the taste of simple food, the texture of bread against my tongue, the sweetness of grapes bursting in my mouth.
At one point, Damon leaned forward, tearing off a strip of roasted lamb and holding it out toward . "Try this," he said, almost casually, but his gaze lingered on my lips as if the act was anything but casual.
I hesitated, then leaned forward, taking the bite from his hand. My heart thudded wildly, and the air between us seed to spark. His eyes darkened for a brief second, and I quickly busied myself with pouring more wine, though my hands trembled.
"See?" he murmured. "Not so hard to take what is offered to you."
I lifted my chin, stubbornness rising to shield from the flush in my cheeks. "You say that as if I am always timid."
He smirked, leaning back on one arm. "You are timid. Until you’re not. And when you’re not..." His eyes lingered on in a way that made my breath falter. "It’s dangerous. And beautiful."
The words stole sothing from , my pride, perhaps, or my defenses. My chest felt too tight, my hands restless. And when his gaze softened, just slightly, I had to look away, pretending to admire the horizon.
The adow stretched endlessly, bathed in the golden glow of sunset. The grass danced with the breeze, and a few birds wheeled overhead. Yet all I could feel was him, his nearness, his presence, his steady watchfulness.
I reached down, plucking a wildflower from the grass beside . I twirled it between my fingers, staring at it as if it held the answer to my restless heart. "Do you ever wish you were not bound by duty, Damon? That you could just... be a man, and not an Alpha, not a commander?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it. My voice cracked slightly at the end.
His expression shifted, surprise first, then sothing deeper. He leaned forward, his voice low, almost rough. "Every day."
My breath caught. The flower trembled in my hand, and before I could think, he reached out, plucking it from my fingers. He turned it once in his hand, then tucked it gently behind my ear.
The touch burned through , though it was light as air. My chest ached, my lips parted as if to speak, but no words ca.
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