The carriage wheels hummed steadily over the cobbled road, the rhythmic creak of wood and jingle of harnesses filling the silence inside.
Alexander sat with his usual composure, gaze fixed on the passing scenery beyond the glass. The sunlight caught the hard line of his jaw, the silver clasp at his throat glinting faintly each time the carriage rocked.
Opposite him, Sophia mirrored his quiet posture, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her dark lashes lowered. But every so often, her eyes betrayed her resolve, lifting to steal a glance at the man across from her.
The first time, his gaze remained fixed outside, as though she were nothing more than another piece of furniture.
The second time, she dared a longer look, but he still gave no sign of noticing. His calm indifference was maddening, like staring at a wall of stone.
On the third attempt, however, she found storm-gray eyes meeting her own—sharp, unwavering, as though he had been waiting for her to dare again.
Her breath caught. Neither looked away.
For a long moment, the world outside faded. The rattle of wheels, the distant murmur of guards, even the flickering torchlight seemed muted beneath the weight of their locked gazes.
Sophia's pulse thrummed in her ears. And then, with a faint curve of her lips, she broke the silence.
"I should apologize in advance, Your Highness," she said softly, "for the welcome awaiting us. My maiden family is skilled in politeness, but… warmth is another matter. You will find many smiles today, but most will not reach the eyes."
Alexander tilted his head slightly, his brow lifting in the faintest show of amusement. "You speak as though you wear no such mask yourself."
Her lips curved wryly. "Oh, I wear one. We all do. But I would not insult you by pretending otherwise."
That caught him. His amusement deepened, a low chuckle escaping—dry, yet genuine. "So the Valehart daughter warns her own husband of deceit within her father's halls? How refreshing."
Sophia hesitated, then let her gaze drift to the window. The countryside blurred past, but her thoughts were fixed within.
"They do not think highly of us," she said at last, her voice low. "Not of you, for the ailment that shadows your body. Not of me, for the tantrums and defiance that shadowed my girlhood. Together, we are dismissed—useless, unthreatening, unworthy of attention."
The admission hung in the air, stark and unadorned.
Alexander's eyes narrowed, the faint curve of his lips faltering. "And yet you tell me this so calmly. Do you agree with them?"
Her head turned then, dark hair spilling over her shoulder as her gaze locked with his once more.
"No," she said, clear and unwavering. "I do not. I know better."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched, filled only by the steady creak of the carriage wheels.
Alexander studied her, suspicion warring with something unspoken in his gaze. And though he said nothing, the faintest flicker of respect glimmered in his storm-gray eyes before he looked away once more.
Sophia leaned back into her seat, her heart steady, her mask intact. She had shown him a piece of truth, not the whole, but enough. Enough to plant a seed.
Outside, the gates of her father's estate began to rise in the distance, tall and foreboding against the sky.