The night had thickened like a heavy shroud over the restless city of Nevan. From the balcony of the aging inn, Kael stood still, arms resting on the rough wooden railing, eyes cast down upon the streets below.
The once bustling alleyways were now occupied by the rhythmic march of armored boots, the sharp glint of polished spears reflecting in the sparse lamplight. Guards prowled in clusters—so interrogating civilians, others checking house doors and corners like hounds hunting a scent. The occasional shout broke through the stillness, followed by the thudding of hurried footsteps and the rattling of gear.
From his vantage point, Kael could see the checkpoints forming at intersections, torches burning brightly as soldiers scanned each passerby with hostile suspicion. It was clear the city was in lockdown.
The nobility and commoners alike had retreated into their hos, peeking out from behind closed curtains, while fear lood like a ghost over every rooftop and shadow.
He watched a squad of guards stop a cloaked man near the fountain. They exchanged heated words before dragging him off, his protests echoing faintly upward. Kael’s brows furrowed. Nevan, the city of silver towers and perfud gardens, had turned into a pressure cooker of anxiety and suspicion. No longer was it the glittering heart of the north—it felt more like a beast thrashing in its own cage.
Kael exhaled a long, drawn breath, eyes narrowing.
"This is all because of that damn bitch," he muttered under his breath, his voice low, grating.
His thoughts ran like wolves across the wilderness of his mind. .
Adele’s foolish display had compromised everything. Now, they were dealing with the fallout... heightened security, increasing paranoia, and most dangerously, Martina’s sharp intuition.
As he watched two guards light another pyre to brighten the eastern square, a movent at the edge of his vision caught his attention.
He didn’t flinch.
From the shadows near the stairwell, a graceful figure erged. Cloaked in midnight-blue velvet, she stepped lightly, each motion fluid and poised. The breeze stirred her hair gently, brushing it across her shoulder as she approached.
Kael turned his head, eting her eyes with a complicated expression.
"Your Highness," he greeted softly, voice laced with wary respect.
Martina gave a curt nod, then ca to stand beside him. Without a word, she leaned against the railing, crossing her arms over her chest. The moonlight fell on her profile, casting half her face in silver and half in shadow. Her eyes didn’t waver from his.
Kael shifted slightly under the weight of her gaze.
"...Why are you looking at like that?" he asked after a beat, his tone edged with discomfort, though he kept it light.
Martina’s lips tugged into a faint, teasing smile. "Now that I’ve taken a proper look... you’re surprisingly handso. There’s a noble bearing about you."
Kael blinked.
The air, once tense, had shifted to sothing more ambiguous, a subtle warmth replacing the previous edge.
"...Thanks for the praise, but I’m really not that handso," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck, his ears slightly tinged red.
"No need for false modesty," Martina said, her voice smooth, her eyes twinkling with amusent.
"I’ve seen many nobles. Most are soft, spoiled, or too polished. You, on the other hand, have the kind of face that’s shaped by experience. There’s fire in your eyes and strength in how you carry yourself. I’m not saying you’re the best..."—her smile deepened—"...but you’re certainly among the best."
Kael looked away, the night air suddenly feeling warr against his skin. He cleared his throat and muttered, "Even with the mask, huh..."
"Anyone with discerning eyes can see through that thin layer of concealnt," she replied, the wind lifting a few strands of her hair.
"Uhmm... thanks..." Kael scratched at his hair again, bashful now, though inwardly alert. This wasn’t just idle flirtation. Martina never spoke without intent.
Then her tone dropped. The temperature in the air seed to dip with it.
"Do you know that woman?"
Kael stiffened.
His stomach sank like a stone tossed into a river. So this was where she’d been leading. He forced a blank expression onto his face, taking a long breath as he looked out toward the skyline.
"I don’t know," he said flatly, after a pause.
Martina’s lips curled, not quite in a smile. She leaned her head slightly and glanced out at the rooftops. "She’s a noble. A duke’s heir, in fact."
"Oh? Is that so?" Kael raised his brows and tried to play along, his voice laced with mock surprise.
He knew. Of course he knew. Adele’s attack, especially her use of wind magic—was too distinct. Anyone who has knowledge of nobility knew that Veydrin had blessings of storms and would know that wasn’t just coincidence.
Martina didn’t press further. She only gave a slow nod and said, "She was strong."
Kael tilted his head. "Yeah. She was."
"She should be," Martina murmured. "She was raised by the best after all."
That confird it. She’d figured it out. Maybe not entirely, but enough to draw the lines. Kael stayed silent, gazing at the sky above, pretending to be lost in thought.
A mont passed in silence before Martina spoke again.
"That demoness girl... she’s your maid, right?"
Kael froze.
His eyes flicked to her face, surprised. She had hit another target right on the mark. After a long pause, he nodded.
"Yes," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Martina turned her head, eyes glinting with quiet curiosity. "How did you encounter her?"
Kael hesitated.
The silence stretched as he scrambled for a plausible lie. His lips parted, but no words ca imdiately.
’Damn,’ he thought, irritated at himself. ’It’s been too long since I had to act hesitant...’
He gave her a half-smile and shrugged. "That’s a long story..."
Martina didn’t push.
She simply watched him, the shadows casting subtle patterns on her expression. Though her gaze was sharp, there was no hostility—only curiosity, perhaps laced with subtle suspicion.
The city beyond them remained restless. The torches burned bright in the distance, smoke rising from the watchtowers. Dogs barked sowhere far below. But up here, between them, silence lingered—filled with tension, amusent, and sothing unspoken that flickered just beneath the surface.
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