Bright, fluffy clouds dotted the azure sky as Naomi walked quietly along the quartz path of Calypsa Castle’s side gardens, her ivory sundress barely flowing above the ground. Her eyes were downcast and her cheek throbbed with a stinging pain administered by the Duchess, her mother.

  Stupid to even ask, Naomi thought to herself as her hand softly cradled her skin.

  The common citizens of Tudor held many exceptional festivities every evening during the Accord talks, and everyone staying at Calypsa was welcome to join. That is except for Naomi, as the Duchess believed it would be unbecoming of a Rosenthorn to assemble among the common people, forbidding her from entering the main part of the capital. Naomi had asked once before in the previous year only to be met with stern eyes and a disapproving rejection; but this year, her mother had struck her as punishment for asking again. Naomi blamed herself in the end - after all, she knew that once mother’s mind was made, there was no changing it. Asking, begging, negotiating, were not behaviors that the Duchess was accepting of.

  Even then, she could not help but feel the disappointment of knowing she’d miss another year of festivities. There was really only one she wanted to join anyway, which was the lantern festival held at night. But Naomi kept her quiet bitterness tucked away under a mask of neutrality as she continued along the garden, grateful at least that it was empty. The gardens were vast and elaborate, with winding paths leading through lush greenery and colorful flower beds. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming roses and the gentle sea breeze. Lost in thought, Naomi almost didn't notice when she rounded a corner, spotting a young girl and boy walking perpendicular to her. She quickly ducked backwards before they had a chance to spot her, peering sneakily around the corner.

  The girl - delicate with dark brown curls, with a nervous flutter to her clasped fingers - glanced up at the boy beside her with open admiration. She recognized her as Lady Ysonna Archfeld, a daughter of a Marquis in the North. She must’ve been close to Naomi’s age, maybe a year older, though her sweet appearance was unexpected of a Northern lady. Her voice was soft, barely audible above the rustling leaves, and she kept stealing shy looks at him as if this very stroll was something out of her dreams. Naomi could see why immediately - she was walking alongside Cassien Rivain, who had somehow grown even taller and wide-shouldered since the last year she saw him briefly in the chambers. Naomi hated that she couldn’t help but admire his appearance.

  The heir of Rivain walked with measured steps, hands tucked neatly behind his back, his gaze trained ahead. There was no warmth in his posture, no eagerness in his expression, and every word was a calculated tone. He offered her his arm with the expected courtesy and nodded when she spoke, but otherwise moved like a soldier on patrol rather than a young man enjoying company. It was like a shadow of duty clung to him, borne of political arrangement.

  Naomi watched, hidden behind the curve of a flowering trellis as Ysonna laughed breathlessly at something he’d responded with, playfully swatting his arm. Cassien offered the faintest smile that vanished as quickly as it came, keeping his body a polite distance between the two.

  “Look, my lord,” Ysonna said as she moved ahead, picking up a yellow flower from the ground that had loosened from its stem. “A marigold.”

  Cassien simply nodded. “They are quite common in Tudor.”

  Ysonna continued, oblivious to his reaction as she quickly made her way back towards him. “I wish that these would grow in the Nor-”

  The brown-haired girl stumbled forward as her foot awkwardly twisted, her hands reaching out to shield herself from the fall. With a speed that surprised Naomi, Cassien rushed forward and caught her by her arms, not even a strand of hair out of place. His expression remained as impassive as ever as Ysonna’s face bloomed with pink, laughing softly as she pulled back.

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  “Forgive me for my clumsiness,” she said with wide eyes. “I should’ve been more careful.”

  Cassien nodded curtly as he took a step back, but not before Ysonna staggered again. “Oh, I think I shifted my weight onto my ankle.”

  Cassien's brow furrowed slightly as he assessed the situation. "Can you walk?" he asked.

  Ysonna bit her lip, testing her weight on the injured ankle before wincing. "I don't think so," she admitted, looking up at Cassien with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry to be a bother."

  Cassien hesitated for a moment, glancing around the garden as if searching for a solution. Naomi kept her body pressed tightly against the tellus, eager to watch the scene unfold. Gossip and spectating was a southern pastime, after all.

  "I can carry you to the bench," he offered quietly.

  Ysonna's eyes widened in surprise. “Only if you are okay with it, my lord!”

  He didn’t respond, bending down to scoop Ysonna up into his arms effortlessly. He carried her the short distance to a nearby bench and gently set her down, making sure she was comfortable before straightening up again.

  "I will fetch a healer," he said, turning to leave.

  Ysonna reached out a hand. “Ahh, wait my lord… I don’t wish to bother them.”

  “But you can’t walk.”

  She bit her lip, hands flat on her lap. “Umm, that is true…”

  Cassien paused as his eyes flicked down to her ankle, which was already beginning to swell. He knew he could ease her pain with his frost magic, but he hesitated. He barely knew this girl, and using his powers on her felt like an intimate gesture. Yet, leaving her in pain didn't sit well with him either.

  "I can ease the swelling," he said finally, his voice low. "If you wish."

  Ysonna beamed with such delight that Naomi almost rolled her eyes. "You...you can?"

  Cassien nodded curtly. "It is a small gesture if it would help ease your discomfort."

  He knelt down in front of her, waiting for her consent before gently taking her injured ankle in his hands. Ysonna sucked in a breath, her lips pressed in a thin line of pain. Cassien focused his magic, feeling the familiar chill spread from his core to his fingertips. While he did not object to helping a fellow Northerner, this was not what he had in mind when his father asked him to escort the young lady to kill time.

  The frost spread from his hands, seeping around her skin and muscle, dulling the pain and reducing the swelling. He was very careful to keep his use of power measured and controlled. Ysonna watched in awe, having never witnessed magic up close before. After a few moments, Cassien released her ankle and stood up.

  "The pain should be manageable now," he said. "But you should still have it looked at by a healer."

  Ysonna nodded, her cheeks rosy with infatuation as she tested flexing her foot. "Thank you, my lord. You are too kind."

  Naomi watched motionless from behind the flora as the young girl continued to make small talk with the indifferent heir. Her own cheek still ached from earlier, where her mother’s slap had bloomed hot and angry against her skin. The memory of it pulsed now, made sharper somehow by the tenderness she saw before her.

  How would it feel for his touch to cool this ache?

  The thought came unbidden, and it startled her. Heat bloomed anew, not from pain this time, but embarrassment. She turned away sharply, as if even lingering on the image might expose her. A Southern lady daydreaming about a Northern brute? Unthinkable. Shameful. Her mother would slap her double for even thinking of such nonsense. And yet… Even as she escaped quietly down the path, leaving Cassien and the girl behind, the fantasy lingered in her mind like a shadowed corner of a room that could never be revealed.

  He had barely spoken, barely smiled, and clearly would’ve preferred to have been elsewhere. But his silence had been kind, and that was a danger all on its own.