The cobblestone floor of the shop echoed softly as Nerine followed Kael further inside, the faint scent of polished leather and oil filling the air. Shelves upon shelves of neatly arranged boots, slippers, and finely stitched sandals lined the walls, each pair glowing faintly under the golden light of hanging lanterns. The air felt warmer here, quieter than the bustle of Hollowood's market just outside.
The shopkeeper, an older man with graying hair tied at the back, bowed deeply when he saw Kael. "My lord Blackthorn, an honor. What may I prepare for you this evening?"
Kael, standing tall with one hand still resting lightly on Nerine's waist, let his crimson eyes drift over the display. His tone was measured, but it carried the weight of command. "I require a pair of shoes for my wife-to-be. For the wedding."
