Chapter 31: A Reflex He Couldn’t Control

"My Lord, we have a tail, and he’s not one of ours."

Lioren didn’t turn his head. He kept his eyes fixed on a display of polished brass lanterns two stalls down, a grin remaining firmly plastered across his face.

"Ah, good," Lioren murmured. "I was beginning to wonder if those heavy boxes were cutting off the blood flow to your brain, Caldrin. Took you long enough to spot him."

Caldrin shot his master a flat look out of the corner of his eye. "I spotted him three streets ago near the cobbler, Your Grace. I was merely waiting to see if he was foolish enough to close the distance. Should I have the guard corner him in the alley behind the bakery?"

"No," Lioren replied instantly. "Not yet. I want to see how bold he gets. If he thinks we haven’t noticed, he might lead us right to whoever paid him to wander around the market behind us. Tell them to keep a loose perimeter. If he turns off toward the river, let two of our men trail him quietly, but don’t draw a crowd."

"Understood," Caldrin grunted, adjusting his grip on the packages. "They won’t lose him."

From two paces behind them, Evelia’s sharp eyes narrowed. She picked up her speed slightly.

"What are you two whispering about?" Evelia demanded. "Are you plotting to buy another six pairs of boots, Lioren? Because if you hand Caldrin one more box, I believe his spine is going to snap in half."

Lioren spun around with an exaggerated gasp. "Evelia! Please! Must you creep up on people like an assassin in broad daylight? I thought your magnificent, gossip-seeking ears were supposed to pick up every whisper within a three-mile radius. Are they failing you in your old age?"

"My ears are working perfectly well, little brother," Evelia hissed. "Which is precisely why I know you two are hiding something."

"I am merely discussing the leather’s supreme quality with my loyal captain!" Lioren declared loudly, taking two quick, strategic steps sideways to put Xavion’s tall frame safely between himself and his sister’s reaching hand.

Evelia glared at him across Xavion’s shoulder, blowing a stray lock of dark hair out of her face with a frustrated puff of air, but she didn’t press the matter further. She knew when Lioren was deflecting, just as she knew when his military instincts were actively humming beneath his foolish exterior.

Lioren turned his bright, brilliant smile back toward Xavion, neatly falling into step right beside the blue-haired prince.

"So, Your Highness!" Lioren chimed, gesturing airily toward the long row of glass-fronted shops lining the upper arcade. "Is there anything else your heart desires? A new sword belt? A velvet cloak for the theater? A set of silver hair pins?"

Xavion glanced sideways at the mountainous pile of packages currently balanced between Therin and Caldrin, then looked down at Lioren with his single violet eye. A tiny, almost invisible line of amusement tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I believe," Xavion said, his voice quiet, smooth, and dry, "that if we purchase a single additional item today, your captain will mutiny and your aide abandon his post. We have bought more than enough, Grand Duke."

"Nonsense! A few boxes never hurt anyone!" Lioren argued cheerfully, though he did slow his pace slightly, matching Xavion’s steady stride. "Besides, this is just the capital baseline. Wait until we get up to the main estate in the North. The craftsmen in the mountain valley make these incredible heavy wool traveling cloaks lined with silver-fox fur. We’ll have to get you at least three."

Xavion offered him a small, quiet smile, a tiny, genuine tilt of his mouth that didn’t carry any of his usual guarded, formal distance. "I shall look forward to it then."

Lioren’s heart did a strange, sudden, completely unnecessary little flip against his ribs.

He stared at Xavion’s face, his eyes wide, before violently pulling his gaze away and staring intensely at a passing fruit wagon. Okay. Keep it together, Lioren told himself frantically, his cheeks feeling suspiciously hot. You are an adult. You are a Grand Duke. You are supposed to be acting like a normal, composed betrothed, not a starstruck teenager who just received a personal blessing from the gods.

Beside them, Evelia caught the entire exchange. She looked at her brother’s stiffened posture, noted the bright, unnatural flush creeping up his neck, and slowly raised her silk fan to cover her mouth. She didn’t say a word, saving the merciless teasing for a far more effective moment later that evening, but the wicked, knowing sparkle in her eyes was loud enough to be heard across the province.

The group continued strolling down the wide avenue toward the edge of the open square, where the market began to blend into the city’s residential quarters. The crowd here was a little denser, filled with local townspeople, street vendors selling hot pastries, and children running between the stalls.

Xavion was watching a street performer balancing wooden plates on long poles near the corner when a sudden, dark blur darted out from the alleyway to his right.

"Watch out...!" a woman shouted from a fruit stall.

THUMP

A small boy, no older than six or seven, carrying a wooden toy sword, crashed straight into Xavion’s hip at full speed. The impact wasn’t heavy enough to knock Xavion off balance, but the child recoiled violently, his feet tangling in the oversized hem of his tunic, and tumbled backward onto the hard cobblestones with a loud, wooden clatter.

The boy let out a sharp "Oof!", sitting on the stone floor with his knees scraped and his toy sword rolling into the gutter.

Before Lioren or Caldrin could even react, Xavion was already moving.

With smooth, liquid speed, Xavion dropped down into a low crouch in front of the child. His dark gray cloak pooled around him on the flagstones as he reached out, steadying the boy by his small shoulders with remarkable gentleness.

"Are you hurt?" Xavion asked, his low voice instantly soft, calm, and entirely devoid of any royal arrogance.

The little boy blinked up at him, wiping a smear of dirt off his nose with the back of his sleeve. He shook his head slowly, his wide brown eyes staring at Xavion’s face. "N-no. I’m okay."

"Good," Xavion murmured, picking up the wooden sword from the gutter and placing it carefully back into the child’s small hands. "You should be more careful when turning corners at a run. The street is full of wagons."

The child didn’t look at the toy. His eyes were completely locked on the right side of Xavion’s face, specifically, on the smooth leather of the silk-bound eyepatch covering his right eye.

Children in the capital were used to seeing soldiers with scars, but Xavion’s striking blue hair, his pale skin, and the singular, brilliant violet eye looking down at him made him look less like a local guard and more like something out of an old mountain fairy tale.

"What’s that?" the boy asked bluntly, pointing a small, sticky finger straight at the leather patch. "Why have you got a thing cover over your eye?"

From two steps back, Lioren opened his mouth to step in, knowing how sensitive the topic of the injured eye was, but Xavion merely offered the boy a quiet, patient look.

"My eye was injured," Xavion explained calmly, his tone matter-of-fact and devoid of any bitterness. "It needs to remain covered."

"Can I see it?" the boy asked instantly, his voice bright with that utter, unfiltered childhood curiosity that knew nothing of court diplomacy or tragedy. "Is it red? Is there a hole?"

Xavion offered a tiny, gentle shake of his head. "No. It is better that you do not see it."

Unfortunately, six-year-olds in the capital market were not known for their deep respect for personal boundaries.

"Just a little bit?" the boy chirped, grinning as he suddenly reached his right hand straight up toward Xavion’s face, his small, dirt-smudged fingers reaching directly for the black silk strap near Xavion’s temple. "Just a tiny peek..."

Xavion didn’t think.

He didn’t make a conscious decision to act.

The moment those small fingers darted into his field of vision, reaching toward the ruined scarred flesh he had spent years hiding from the world, Xavion’s military instincts, honed by years of bloody battle and constant, watchful paranoia, exploded to the surface.

SNAP

Xavion’s head jerked back with lightning, unnatural speed. Before the child’s fingers could even touch the silk band, Xavion’s left hand shot out, his long, pale fingers clamping tightly around the boy’s small wrist mid-air, stopping the hand an inch from his face.

The air in the street seemed to instantly freeze.

Xavion went rigid, every muscle tensing at once. He stopped breathing for a moment, his single violet eye widening as instinctive fear and alarm took hold before he could stop them. For one brief, terrifying second, the noisy market hum, the smell of roasting nuts, the chatter of the shoppers, all of it faded into a cold, distant blur inside Xavion’s mind.

He wasn’t in the plaza anymore. He was back in the dark, back in the war, back in the cold palace corridors where every sudden reaching hand carried a poisoned blade or a cruel gesture.