The morning dawned bright, with sunlight streaming through the tall windows of the palace, gilding the marble floors and warming the cool air with its golden touch. Sophia sat across from the prince at breakfast, her posture composed, her eyes lowered politely.
"There is to be a ball tomorrow night," Alexander said evenly, his voice carrying neither warmth nor coldness. "It is held in honor of the army's victorious return from the northern border. As my consort, you will attend at my side."
Sophia inclined her head, a soft nod. "I will prepare, Your Highness."
Later that morning, she set out for the capital's grand market accompanied by two handmaidens and a small escort of knights. The streets stirred with life—hawkers calling their wares, carts rolling over uneven stones, the mingled aromas of roasted nuts, leather, and spice. Sunlight flashed against vibrant silks draped high above stalls, while jewelers lifted gemstones that caught the light like trapped fire.
To any onlooker, Sophia walked like a lady born to command attention. Her gown of pale lavender moved like flowing water around her feet, her chin lifted in regal poise. Yet inside, her chest tightened with every step. For she could hear them, the thoughts beneath the polite bows and painted smiles.
"The arrogant lady… has she come to waste coin again?"
"Why would His Highness keep her at his side? She'll bring nothing but shame."
"She dares to walk here, as if she's fit to be queen…"
Each wordless lash struck sharper than a whip. The handmaidens at her back saw none of it; to them, the stares were only stares. But Sophia bore the whispers that no one else could hear, and still she smiled faintly as she passed, her fingers brushing fabrics with practiced interest.
At a stall of silks, she paused, running her hand gently over a bolt of shimmering sapphire cloth. The merchant bowed low, his face courteous, but his mind hissed venom.
"Let her touch it, though she will ruin it with her greedy hands."
Sophia's lashes lowered, her face serene. "It is fine work," she said softly. "You have my thanks for showing it." And she moved on, leaving the man blinking at her unshaken composure.
Another stall offered delicate silver-threaded lace. A young noblewoman there sneered behind her fan, her thoughts bitter:
"So the fallen jewel plays at being gracious? How laughable."
Sophia only inclined her head slightly, choosing a roll of lace without acknowledging the scorn.
But then a tug at her skirts pulled her from the venomous tide. A street child, barefoot and dirt-streaked, gazed up at her with wide eyes. His thoughts were wordless, filled with hunger and awe. Sophia knelt slightly, ignoring the gasps of her attendants, and pressed a coin into his tiny palm.
"Buy yourself bread," she murmured, her voice gentle as spring rain.
The child's eyes shone, and he scurried away. The knights exchanged brief glances, faint surprise flickering across hardened faces.
Through it all, Sophia endured. Every sneer, every silent curse, every whisper of contempt scraped against her heart, but she wore her dignity like armor. Her steps never faltered, her voice never rose, her smile though faint never broke.
By late afternoon, she returned with her chosen gown: a deep sapphire dress threaded subtly with silver, the color of twilight skies. She looked upon it not as a weapon to impress but as a shield to endure.
That night, after dinner, one of Alexander's knights stood before him in the quiet of his study.
"Your Highness," the knight reported, "Consort Princess conducted herself with grace during her visit to the markets. She greeted every merchant courteously, carried herself with dignity, and even offered kindness to a street child. Whatever pressures surrounded her, she bore them with composure and did not falter."
Alexander, leaning against the carved armrest of his chair, stilled. His storm-gray eyes darkened.
Grace, despite the crowds? Kindness, despite disdain?
For one heartbeat, the thought flickered unbidden—she truly is not the same as before. Could her soul…?
He crushed the idea, condemning himself at once for such folly. Impossible. Such things belonged in myths, not reality. And yet, as the fire crackled in the hearth, sparks leaping and dying in the silence, Alexander found no peace.
Sophia's image lingered in his mind, her composure, her quiet smile, her strange, unnerving change.
And though he tried to bury the thought, it refused to die