Chapter 59
Chapter 59
Lila
The sun filtered through the slats of the carriage window, turning the cobbled road outside into gold–dappled ribbons. An officist break from palaka walls, a sanctioned “cultural immersion” outing for the Luna candidates.
The irony was that most of us spent the ride rehearsing how not to look out of place in public.
Emma sat beside me, her head resting lightly against the wooden frame, watching the changing scenery with a soft smile. She hadn’t said much since I’d returned, but she had forgiven me, and her presence was a tether I didn’t realize I’d needed.
We arrived in the main market square at the capital’s outer ring. Vendors called out in soft baritones, offering silk wraps and hand–painted journals, jars of honey and potion–glazed charms. The air smelled of crushed mint, roasted figs, and freshly turned soil from a nearby flower stall.
I stuck close to Emma, fingers curled in the folds of my cloak. The last time I’d felt any sense of calm had been beside my mother’s bed, holding her hand and lying through my teeth about how everything would be okay.
“You’ve been different since you came back,” Emma said suddenly.
I glanced at her. “Different how?”
“Quieter. Sharper around the edges.” She reached for a honey stick from a vendor and handed one to me. “Not worse,” she rushed to clarify, “Still you, but… I don’t‘ know. Different.”
I answered with a non–committal grunt. Because I wasn’t sure how to respond to that since she wasn’t wrong.
We wandered a bit further, passing through stalls of glass–blown rings and tiny clay wolves meant to ward off bad dreams. Emma stopped to admire a rack of embroidered scarves, her eyes lighting up at one with indigo moon–thread woven through it.
My eyes caught on a male across the square, beneath the shade of a flowering terrace. He stood tall, sharp–jawed, dressed in navy with gold trim. He was laughing.
A woman I didn’t recognize leaned close to him, her fingers grazing his forearm. He didn’t move away. His body tilted toward her instead, smile soft, eyes. warm. Then he reached up, brushing a lock of her hair off her shoulder with the ease of someone who’d done it countless times before.
A pang of jealousy sunk into my stomach and I forced my eyes away
It shouldn’t have bothered me. But it did. It was the kind of affection that felt private. The way his hand had lingered, the way he’d looked at her like she was a story he already knew the ending to.
And I wished someone looked at me like that. Like there was no doubt. Like I was already his.
I hated that I even cared. But jealousy was a sneaky, coiling thing. It didn’t wait for logic. It just bloomed. And right now, it bloomed in the place where everything still ached from Damon’s distance.
Emma straightened quickly, smoothing her hair with one hand. Her cheeks flushed.
“He’s coming this way,” she whispered.
“Who’s coming this way?” I said carefully, trying to keep my voice even. Not sure if she meant Damon, Asher, or someone else.
I followed Emma’s gaze to the navy–dressed nople. He turned at that exact moment, spotted us, and smiled like the woman he had just been shamelessly flirting with, and touching was a distant memory.
And I, frozen between truth and comfort, didn’t know what to say..
Emma smoothed the hem of her cloak, brushing invisible wrinkles with trembling fingers. I could feel her excitement radiating off her in waves–too
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bright, too vulnerable,
I wanted to reach out, to pull her behind me and shield her from what I’d just seen. But I stood still, Because I didn’t know how to say He touched another. woman just now, are you sure this is the same male you’re crushing on?
The man reached us in a few long strides, all easy confidence and noble polish. He was handsome, I’d give him that classic profile, wind–strept dark hair, eyes the color of expensive tea. Polished. Disarming.
“Lady Elena,” he said first, bowing with an easy grace that struck,a sour chord in my gut. “A pleasure. I’ve heard of you?
He turned to Emma, and his smile shifted into a softer one, more genuine. “And you, my Lady. I was hoping to see you again.”
Emma beamed, blush rising deeper at her cheeks. “Lord Larian, this is Lady Elena Ashford. Elena, this is Lord Larian Hartford, of the southern territory”
I nodded, holding his gaze a second longer than was polite. “We’ve met,” I said evenly.
“Not officially,” Lars replied, lips quirking. “But I feel like I know you. Your name comes up often.”
I wondered whose lips it came from. Vanessa’s? The same noblewoman I’d just seen him brushing hair from her face?
Emma tucked a strand of hair behind her ear mirroring the tender moment she had missed, practically glowing under his attention. I watched her closely -how her shoulders relaxed, how her voice softened. She liked him. A lot.
I should’ve said something.
Instead, I said, “You’ve just come from the flower terrace, haven’t you?”
Larian blinked, surprised. “Ah. Yes, I stopped to admire the view.”
“It’s a popular spot.” I kept my voice light, even. “Hard to ignore something lovely in bloom.”
His smile didn’t falter, but I saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes, catching on that I saw him with the other woman.
Emma didn’t catch it. Or she didn’t want to.
“I was telling Elena about the scarf vendor,” she said quickly, her voice too bright. “We were just about to go look again.”
“May I walk with you?” Larian offered, stepping slightly closer to her.
Emma nodded, ducking her head to hide her grin. “Of course.”
He walked beside Emma, his pace leisurely, his attention mostly on her. I stayed half a step behind them, watching from the corner of my eye.
Larian was charming, I had no doubt. But charm wasn’t the same as substance. It was something you could rehearse, something you could offer to one girl while carrying the scent of another on your sleeve.
I kept waiting for him to slip. To touch Emma the same way. But he didn’t. He stayed just far enough to be appropriate, just close enough to make her pulse race.
When we reached the scarf stall, Emma began sifting through the new selections. Larian leaned in to help, murmuring a quiet compliment I couldn’t
catch. Her smile bloomed wide, soft.
I folded my arms, heart aching with the weight of indecision.
He’s not hers, Ruby said gently in the back of my mind. Not yet anyway.
No, I agreed. But does she need to know that now? don’t‘ want Emma getting hurt.
Would telling her do anything except hurt her? Would it change what she saw when she looked at him–what she wanted to believe?
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Chapter 59
Emma turned to me, holding up two scarves. “Which one?” she asked. “The silver or the indigo?”
“Silver,” I said without hesitation. “It suits you.”
She smiled again and turned back to the vendor, Larian following her like he belonged at her side.
I stepped away from the stall, letting the voices blur around me. The wind picked up slightly, tugging at the edges of my cloak. I stared across the market. toward the flower terrace, where petals begged to be plucked.
I should have told Emma what I saw.
But I didn’t.
And I didn’t know, yet, if that made me kind or cowardly.
