Chapter 37: A Little Thing Called Gratitude

The tea shop near the edge of the market square smelled faintly of toasted nuts, scalded milk, and warm cardamom. It was a cozy, narrow establishment with dark timber beams and glass windows that looked straight out onto the cobblestone thoroughfare, where the evening crowd was beginning to thicken as merchants packed up their stalls.

Xavion took a seat at a small round table tucked into the alcove by the window. Across from him, Evelia looked entirely unbothered by the mountain of wrapped boxes Therin had spent the last five minutes piling neatly against the adjacent wall.

"We shall have the plum tarts," Evelia announced to the eager young waiter, without bothering to consult the menu board. "And a pot of spiced black tea. Oh, and bring two of those honeyed butter buns, the ones baked with nutmeg. Prince Xavion needs to see that Werestian bakers aren’t entirely primitive."

When the tray arrived, steam rising from the porcelain spouts, Evelia pushed a small gilded plate toward Xavion. "Please, eat. You’ve spent hours being dragged through tailors and cobblers by my brother. You need the sugar, if only to survive the carriage ride home."

Xavion took a small bite of the honeyed bun. The pastry was warm, flakey, and rich with spiced butter, melting almost instantly on his tongue. He swallowed, a faint, genuine softening breaking the usual stern line of his mouth.

"It is... remarkably good," Xavion admitted quietly. He picked up his tea cup, letting the warmth soak into his palms. "I must confess, Lady Evelia, I did not anticipate enjoying this afternoon quite so much. I expected... well. Something far more rigid."

Evelia smiled, a warm, genuine expression that reached her dark eyes, stripping away the sharp edge she usually kept as armor against court gossips.

"I am glad," she said simply, leaning back against her cushioned chair. "The capital can feel loud and greasy, especially if you aren’t used to crowds. But the North itself? Ah, it has its own charms. It’s colder, certainly, you’ll freeze your ears off if you forget your hood in winter, but the mountain passes are breathtaking. And the food at the duchy seat is nothing to scoff at either. Our cooks make a braised venison stew that could resurrect a dead man."

Xavion offered a small nod. "I look forward to seeing it for myself."

He paused, his gaze naturally drifting past the frosted glass of the window toward the busy street corner. The crowd tumbled past in a blur of coats and baskets, but there was no sign of a bright green head of hair or a broad-shouldered captain.

He set his tea cup back onto the saucer with a tiny, porcelain clink.

"He has been gone a long time," Xavion murmured, almost to himself.

Evelia followed his gaze toward the door, then let out a light, melodious laugh, waving her silk fan dismissively through the air. "Oh, please. Do not waste your energy worrying about Lioren. My brother is entirely capable of getting himself lost on a completely straight street if a pretty dog or an interesting blacksmith catches his attention."

She took a delicate sip of her tea, her eyes twinkling with familiar, long-suffering sibling affection. "If he’s somehow managed to lose his way between here and the alley, he’ll eventually stumble back. Or crawl home on his hands and knees if necessary, just to ensure he doesn’t miss dinner. He’s remarkably stubborn like that."

Xavion couldn’t help the small, bemused curve that touched his lips. "I see."

A few paces away, near the glass display case at the front counter, Therin was standing in absolute, motionless concentration. The steward was inspecting a tray of sugar-dusted almond chews with a level of intense, analytical scrutiny usually reserved for high-court tax ledgers or military supply manifests. He leaned in an inch closer, completely oblivious to the amused looks the head baker was giving him.

Watching Therin debate the structural integrity of an almond chew brought a light, comfortable silence to their table.

After a quiet moment, Evelia set her teacup down. Her playful demeanor softened, her dark eyebrows knitting together as she looked across the small table at Xavion with a thoughtful, far more serious expression.

"May I ask you something a bit personal, Prince Xavion?" she asked softly, dropping the formal titles for the first time that day. "You may tell me to mind my own business if you wish."

Xavion turned his focus back to her, adjusting his position slightly. "Ask, by all means."

"Did you... know my brother before the engagement was announced?" Evelia hesitated, her fingers tracing the silver rim of her saucer. "Before the victory banquet, I mean."

"No," Xavion replied plainly, his voice smooth and untroubled. "We had never spoken a single word to one another. We were total strangers until the night of the feast."

Evelia let out a slow, quiet breath, leaning her chin on her hand. "I thought as much. But I had to ask, because... well, it is entirely baffling to me."

Xavion tilted his head, curious. "Baffling?"

"Lioren has never shown the slightest bit of interest in romance," she explained. "Not in courtship, not in marriage, not in suitors, regardless of whether they were young ladies of the high court or noble lords from the border houses. Our father tried for three years to arrange matches for him, and Lioren evaded every single one of them with the skill of a seasoned scout. He simply didn’t care for it."

She shook her head, a faint, bewildered chuckle slipping past her lips. "And then, suddenly, he returns from the capital banquet and announces that he intends to marry a foreign prince he met. A prince who happened to lead the vanguard of our enemy’s army. You can imagine the shock it caused."

Xavion looked down at his folded hands, his pale knuckles catching the shadow of his charcoal sleeve.

"I was just as surprised as your, Lady Evelia," Xavion admitted quietly. "When he stepped forward to request the royal favor from King Ryzenion, I believed it was some form of elaborate political maneuver, a way to keep a dangerous captive under direct house arrest."

He paused, a tiny, almost wry smile touching the corner of his mouth. "As far as I have been able to gather since then... it might have something to do with the fact that I saved him from choking on a pastry during the banquet?"

Evelia blinked. She stared at Xavion for three full seconds, her jaw slightly slack, before she burst into a sudden, delighted laugh that made Therin glance over from the sweet counter in mild surprise.

"A pastry!" she gasped, pressing her hand over her chest as she quieted her giggles. "Oh, gods above. That is... that is so terribly, stupidly like him."

She wiped a tiny tear of mirth from the corner of her eye, her tone turning warm and reflective as she considered the words. "Though... if you saved his life, Prince Xavion, that actually explains a great deal."

"Does it?" Xavion asked gently.

"House Roscaire takes debts with absolute, terrifying seriousness," Evelia said, her expression growing earnest. "Especially debts that involve a life. My father raised us on a very strict mountain honor code: if someone pulls you from the river or shields you from steel, you owe them your hearth, your sword, and your protection until the debt is balanced."

She reached across the small table, her gloved hand resting lightly near Xavion’s wrist for a brief, reassuring second. "If Lioren believes he owes you his life, he wouldn’t just give you a bag of gold and a polite letter of thanks. He would drag you into his house, buy you thirty pairs of riding boots, and stand between you and the entire royal court. It doesn’t explain all of his bizarre, puppy-like behavior today, mind you, I think he’s simply taken a massive shine to you, but it explains why he insisted on taking you out of the palace vaults."

Evelia pulled her hand back, taking a final sip of her cooling tea as she offered him a bright, graceful smile.

"Besides," she added lightly, "having Xavion Astervan, the great general of Ostharia, join our household is hardly a misfortune. My brother might have acted on impulse, but he certainly didn’t make a poor choice."

Xavion felt a quiet, unexpected warmth spread through his chest. He lowered his gaze for a fraction of a second, clearing his throat quietly.

"I am... a former general, Lady Evelia," Xavion corrected smoothly, his voice dropping an octave. "My magic is gone. I hold no command, no titles, and no army."

"Oh, nonsense," Evelia dismissed the distinction with a sharp, elegant flick of her wrist. "Titles are just ink on parchment. I’ve met dozens of lords in the capital who hold magnificent titles and couldn’t command a pack of farm dogs through a gate. You carry yourself like a man who knows how to hold a line when the world is burning down around him. That doesn’t vanish just because some court physician told you your magic is gone."

Xavion looked up at her, genuinely touched by the blunt, unpretentious sincerity in her voice. In Ostharia, people either spoke to him in hushed, pitying tones or treated him like a disgraced monster. To hear the sister of the Grand Duke speak of his military past with straightforward, unvarnished respect was a rare, precious thing.

"Thank you," Xavion said, his tone carrying a deep, quiet gratitude that needed no grand speeches. "Your words are... remarkably kind."

"I am rarely kind," Evelia warned with a playful wink. "Don’t go spreading rumors, or my reputation in the North will be entirely ruined."

Their conversation drifted easily after that, touching on lighter topics, the strange taste of northern spiced ale, the ridiculous fashion trends of the capital’s high ladies, and how Therin had spent twenty minutes selecting a single box of candied chestnuts for the carriage ride back.

Yet, despite the pleasant atmosphere and the warm tea, Xavion’s attention gradually began to split.

Every time the brass bell above the shop’s front door chimed with a light ding-ling, Xavion’s head turned instinctively toward the entrance.

No green hair. No lopsided, foolish grin. No heavy-set captain following behind with a grumble.

Lioren had been gone for nearly forty minutes now.

Evelia had joked about him getting lost, and Xavion knew the Duke was more than capable of taking care of himself out there. Yet, a quiet, subtle knot of unease began to tighten at the base of Xavion’s neck.

He looked out into the street, his eye searching the crowded shadows near the distant alleyway.