Lucian approached with the ease of a man walking willingly into a storm.
"Lysette," he greeted, voice smooth as silk drawn over steel. "You grace the market with winter's own beauty."
Her eyes, ice catching sunlight, slid to him, and the smile that curved her lips was colder than mountain snow."And you," she said lightly, "manage to turn even the simplest errand into a spectacle. I almost mistook the shouting for a festival… until I saw you haggling over ribbons."
Lucian smiled, unbothered. "For someone worth more than gold, no price is too high."
"Spare me the poetry, Ashthorn," she replied, adjusting the white rose in her hand. "It doesn't make you any less… loud."
"I don't need to be quiet when my heart already whispers your name," he said softly, tone smooth as velvet steel.
Her lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite disdain. "You practice these lines in the mirror, don't you?"
"I'd carve them into the stars if you'd only look up," Lucian returned without missing a beat.
Before Lysette could summon another barb, a tiny voice cut through the frost.
"Stop being mean to Luci!"
Elinor barreled into the space between them, curls bouncing, hands planted on her hips with the authority of a queen. "He bought those ribbons for me!"
Lysette glanced down, and the frost bent under a single sunbeam. "Did he now?"
"Yes!" Elinor puffed out her chest. "Because he promised. And promises are serious. Mama says so."
"How noble," Lysette murmured, eyes sliding back to Lucian. "Spending all his coin on ribbons instead of sense."
Elinor stomped a lace-shod foot. "You're being mean again!"
"Oh?" Lysette crouched slightly, her voice dipping into honey laced with frost. "And what will you do if I am?"
"I'll…" Elinor paused, cheeks puffing like a squirrel's, then declared, "I'll tell Mama!"
Lucian bit back a laugh. Lysette's lips curved into something almost like amusement. She reached into her satchel and drew out a white ribbon embroidered with silver thorns—delicate, elegant, and worth more than the market stall behind them.
"For you," she said softly, holding it out. "A peace offering."
Elinor's eyes went round as moons. She snatched the ribbon, grinning so brightly it nearly outshone the sun. "Thank you! But Mama says husbands and wives should handle things by themselves." She wagged a tiny finger between them. "So you two figure it out!"
Lucian choked on air. Lysette froze for half a heartbeat—then straightened, porcelain composure restored with a snap.
"Charming," she said flatly.
Elinor skipped away to terrorize another stall, leaving Lucian and Lysette in the hum of the square.
"You're good with her," Lucian murmured, stepping closer. "Almost… warmly."
Her eyes flicked to him, colder than steel in moonlight. "Don't mistake civility for affection, Lucian."
He smiled, unbothered. "Then allow me the privilege of mistaking it for hope."
For a fraction of a second, her gaze faltered. Then, with the grace of a rose cutting through frost, she turned. "Behave yourself, Ashthorn," she said, and walked away, emerald skirts whispering against cobblestone.
Lucian watched her go, the market noise surging back like a tide. And then the air shifted.
A ripple ran through Veyra Square. Chatter dulled. Heads turned. Whispers curled like smoke.
Through the parting crowd strode a man dressed in crimson and gold, his grin sharp as a gambler's dagger. Sunlight spilled over hair the color of burnished copper, and mischief danced in eyes too bright to trust.
Dorian Velcor. The golden heir. The scandal dressed as royalty.
"Well, well," Dorian drawled, voice rich with amusement, cutting through the hush. "What fortune. I was wondering where I might find the future son-in-law of House Veyra."
Lucian shifted slightly, hand resting on Elinor's shoulder as she scampered back to his side.
Dorian's grin widened. "Tell me, Ashthorn. How does it feel to wear a title you can't wield? Why don't we let the good people of Veyra Square decide if you're worthy of her?"
The challenge hung like a drawn blade. The market held its breath.
Lucian's lips curved, not with fear, but with something far sharper.