The next morning dawned clear, the snow crisp underfoot and the sky a startling blue after days of storm. The keep was restless with gossip; servants whispered of Nevara's beacon, and guards eyed her with a mixture of awe and unease. Nevara herself tried to ignore the weight of it, though she could feel the stares like a second cloak.
The cubs, oblivious to politics, tugged at her hands. "Mama Neva, can we go to the market? Please?" Aurelia begged, her golden eyes bright. Thoren chimed in, "We'll be good! We promise!"
Orren, hearing this over breakfast, gave them a long, brooding look. "The market is crowded. Too many eyes."
"They need some joy after the storm," Nevara countered softly, smoothing Aurelia's hair.
"And so do the villagers. Let them see your children laughing, not just lords and councilors squabbling."
His golden gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than usual before he sighed. Always finding words that cut through my caution, he thought. "Very well. But I'm coming too."
The market square bustled with life despite the snow. Stalls overflowed with root vegetables, woven scarves, and steaming pastries. The cubs darted from stand to stand, Aurelia exclaiming over ribbons, Thoren nearly toppling a barrel of apples. Nevara laughed, darting after them, her cheeks flushed with color. The sound drew Orren's attention despite himself; her laughter carried more warmth than any fire, and he realized he was listening for it.
She bought honey cakes, breaking them into sticky halves and crouching to share with the cubs. "See? Worth the trip," she murmured with a grin as Aurelia smeared honey across her cheek.
Orren shadowed them, silent as always, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk when Nevara dabbed Aurelia's face with her sleeve. He told himself it was only vigilance, yet the sight of her tending to his children eased something tight in his chest.
Nevara felt his gaze linger and, against her will, a quiet reassurance stole through her. Even here, with all these eyes, he doesn't look away. He stands between us and the world.
But not all eyes in the market were friendly. Councilor Malrec stood near a spice stall, watching with a calculating gaze. He leaned toward a merchant at his side, his words too low to catch but his expression sharp. Nevara felt the prickle at the back of her neck, a warning she couldn't ignore. She glanced toward Orren and saw him standing, watchful and steady, but forced herself to look back at the cubs. Better to keep her attention on their small hands and bright faces, rather than the weight of politics gathering in the corners of the square. She crouched to tie Aurelia's ribbon and smoothed Thoren's sleeve, drawing a smile from both.
For a few precious minutes she focused on them, guiding them to a stall of carved toys, laughing when Aurelia compared a wooden leopard to her brother. She sensed Orren's gaze a few steps away, steady and protective, but pushed the thought aside to keep the cubs' excitement alive.
Only later did the mood shift. A commotion broke out near the square's edge. A cloaked man barreled through the crowd, knocking over baskets, his hand brushing the hilt of a concealed blade. The cubs froze, Aurelia clutching Nevara's skirts. Orren moved instantly, interposing himself between them and the threat, his presence radiating danger.
"Stop him!" a guard shouted. "Thief!"
But the man's eyes were not on the goods he had stolen—they were fixed on Nevara.
The air around her chilled instinctively, frost creeping along the stones. The cubs huddled close, but she lifted her chin, voice calm despite her racing heart. "You picked the wrong day."
The thief lunged, but before he could reach them, Orren slammed him to the ground with a speed that left the crowd gasping. The man writhed, ice crawling up his arm where Nevara's glance had frozen his sleeve to the cobblestones. His blade clattered uselessly away.
"Who sent you?" Orren growled, his voice carrying through the market like thunder.
The man spat, refusing to answer. Nevara's eyes narrowed, and the air plummeted—each breath from the crowd now visible, their teeth chattering as if winter itself had stepped into the square. Frost crackled along the cobblestones, creeping outward like a living thing, and a thin sheen of ice glazed the man's jaw until he gasped in pain. "No one touches my babies," she whispered, voice low and deceptively gentle, yet so merciless that even the guards flinched and villagers stepped back in fear.
The thief paled. "Malrec… he said—he said she was dangerous…"
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Councilor Malrec stepped forward at once, feigning outrage. "Lies! He's delirious—do not trust the words of a cutpurse!" But the seed was planted, whispers spreading through the market like wildfire.
Orren hauled the man to his feet and shoved him toward the guards. "Lock him away. I'll question him myself." His golden eyes flicked to Malrec, unblinking, promising reckoning. As he moved back to Nevara's side, he noticed her steadying the cubs, the frost in her eyes giving way to tenderness. Dangerous and gentle in the same breath, he thought, and felt a warmth he could not name.
That evening, back at the keep, Nevara sat with the cubs curled in her lap, still trembling from the scare. She rocked them gently, whispering soft words from a past life she barely remembered—lullabies of warmth against the cold. Aurelia murmured, "You're not dangerous, Mama Neva. You're wonderful."
Her throat tightened. "Thank you, sweet one. I'll always protect you."
From the doorway, Orren watched them, arms folded. His eyes softened, though shadows lingered beneath. He had seen the thief's fear, heard his words, and noted the way Malrec deflected too quickly. This was no coincidence. Yet more than that, he could not shake the image of Nevara's laughter at the market, how it lingered even now. The keep feels different with her here. Lighter. And heavier, too, because I find myself unwilling to lose it.