There's something strange about walking unseen.
The streets of Caerthrone hum with life—carts clatter over uneven stones, children dart through narrow lanes sun-reddened cheeks, and vendors shout prices over one another like songbirds battling for dominance.
I move through it with my hood pulled low and my cloak cinched tight. A maid's garb instead of velvet. No guards in sigils, only a few plain-dressed men keeping their distance. If I didn't know better, I might believe I was free.
I stop first at a flower cart. The vendor has dyed blooms—sky blue and lavender—and jars of herbs hanging from the sides like windchimes. She doesn't even glance at me.
Next, a baker's stall tucked between a smith and an apothecary. The scent wraps around me like an embrace: cinnamon, nutmeg, sweet orange peel.
"One of those," I murmur, pointing to a honeyed loaf.
"Two coppers," the woman replies, wrapping it in parchment. She doesn't recognize me. No one bows. No one watches.
I eat the loaf as I walk, tearing off pieces and letting the sweetness melt on my tongue.
It's so ordinary. And yet it's everything I've been denied.
I pass a cobbler's shop, where a man hums while shaping leather. A glassblower spins molten color into flutes. At a corner fountain, a group of children argue over who gets the biggest pebble to toss into the basin.
This is the Velmoria I never knew. The one that never bowed to me.
I'm halfway through the square when I hear my name—soft, cautious.
"Princess?"
I turn, and there he is.
Dr. Sievers.
His brown curls are tousled, his coat open and windblown. A satchel hangs across his chest, filled with neatly rolled papers and sprigs of dried herbs.
"Not today," I say with a shush. "No titles."
A flicker of amusement crosses his face. "Alright then… Nyriane."
We walk without speaking at first, slipping between carts and stalls.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he finally says.
"I needed air." I glance at him. "And a moment where no one expected me to rule or cry or hold my tongue."
He nods like he understands too well. "The city suits you."
I raise an eyebrow. "Does it?"
"You're breathing easier." He hesitates. "You looked—unwell, last I saw you."
A small laugh escapes me. "I imagine I was."
Another pause. He draws in a breath, fidgeting with the edge of his satchel.
"Listen," he says carefully, "I meant to tell you… after I treated you—shortly after—I was told I'd be transferred. To here, the town's clinic."
I stop walking. "You were transferred, as the royal physician?"
He nods once. "Not by choice."
I study his face, the lines of discomfort there. "You think Kaelen—" I stop myself, correcting. "The Lord Commander—had you reassigned?"
"I don't know," he says, but the words are heavy. "He didn't say as much. But I treated you, and days later I was summoned and given new orders. I've wondered if… I offended him."
"You didn't." I say it too quickly. Then again, slower. "You didn't."
He gives a tight smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Well. He's your husband now and obviously my Lord Commander. I didn't know that he had feelings for you then maybe I spoke too comfortably"
I lower my gaze. I remember that day —Kaelen's slight tic in his jaw, only I noticed.
"You were kind to me," I say softly. "That should never be something to apologize for."
He shrugs. "Still. If I overstepped… I'm sorry."
We walk a little farther, though the mood has shifted. He stops near a spice merchant's stand and sighs.
"I should go. Still have patients to see before the rain starts."
I look up—sure enough, the clouds have thickened.
"Be well, Dr. Sievers."
"You too, Nyriane." His gaze lingers. "Truly."
He disappears into the crowd, and for the first time today, I feel seen again. Not as a queen. Not as a symbol. As a woman caught between roles she never chose.
I sit on a bench near the fountain, nibbling the last of the bread. My fingers toy with the edge of the parchment wrapping, folding it into shapes and unfolding it again.
I don't notice him at first. But I feel him.
The air shifts, the warmth behind me unmistakable.
"You left without telling anyone."
Kaelen.
I look over my shoulder. He stands with his cloak half-unbuttoned, a hard line between his brows. He's trying not to look worried. Failing.
"I didn't realize I needed permission for a walk."
His jaw clenches. "You don't. But I couldn't find you. That's not a feeling I enjoy."
I should argue. Tell him I'm not his to track like a wayward dog. But the words falter.
Because I see it. The tension in his shoulders. The storm in his eyes.
And worse—I feel it.
That pull.
The one he warned me about. The one I've been pretending doesn't exist.
It's growing stronger. Louder. And more terrifying than any locked door or sword at my throat.
Because it's inside me.
And I don't know how much longer I can keep pretending I don't want to reach for it too.
He stands there for a moment, just watching me. Like he's not sure if he wants to scold me or sit beside me.
"I was gone an hour at most," I say, breaking the silence. "I wore plain clothes. I wasn't reckless."
"You didn't tell anyone," Kaelen replies. "That is reckless."
"I told Friya."
"She isn't your guard."
"She's the only one in that house who treats me like a person."
His eyes flick, sharp. "And I don't?"
I pause. "Not always."
He exhales, stepping forward. His boots scuff the stone near my bench, but he doesn't sit. Just towers over me, jaw tight.
"You're not just anyone anymore. You're not some girl sneaking out for bread and flowers. You're the queen—"
"I never asked to be that."
"But you are," he snaps, low. "And every person in this city sees you as such. If something had happened—"
I stand abruptly, nearly colliding with him. "You don't get to pretend this is about the city. You were afraid. Say it."
His mouth opens, but no words come out.
"Say it, Kaelen."
Silence. Then, too quietly:
"I couldn't find you."
The words hang between us. Raw. Undressed.
"I stepped outside the palace walls, and you vanished," he continues. "Every second that passed, I imagined worse. That someone had taken you. That I'd been a fool to think you were safe under my watch."
"I had guards—"
"They wouldn't have stopped me from tearing this city apart if something had happened to you."
That stills me.
He realizes it too late. His expression flickers with regret.
"I didn't mean—"
"You did." My voice is soft. "You meant all of it."
He looks away. The crowd moves behind him in a blur of shawls and satchels and voices, but here, it's just us. Still. Taut.
"You transfered Dr. Sievers" I murmur, "here to the town's clinic. Why?"
His eyes return to mine. Gray and storm-swept.
"I should've transferred him somewhere farther away." a storm brews in his eyes
"What did he ever do wrong?" I admit. "He's a perfectly good physician"
"He made you laugh" He doesn't move. Doesn't blink.
"And that's the reason you had him transfered?," I say his confession confusing me."But we weren't even married then?"
He simply shrugs as a reply
"He overstepped," he says roughly. "so I had him transfered."
I want to feel angry but his confession only makes me yearn for him even more. He felt something for me even before we were married?
I can't think straight. My chest suddenly tightens.
The space between us narrows—emotionally, if not physically. The things we want to say are louder than what we can say.
"I didn't come here to defy you," I finally say. "I came because I needed to see something real. Something mine. For a little while."
He nods slowly. "Next time, take me with you."
It surprises me. "Why?"
"So I don't lose my mind," he mutters. "And because… I want to see the world through your eyes."
There it is again. That thread between us. Tugging. Thinning.
I clutch the crumpled parchment in my hand, suddenly needing the solidness of it.
"You'll reinstate Dr. Sievers," I say, taking a step back. "Your Lord Commander and you shouldn't transfer competent people just because you feel insecure."
"Plus I'm perfectly capable of placing boundaries with people, I'm sure you're familiar?"
"I am" he says with a grin
"Then it's settled" I say as I walk back towards the carriage.
He doesn't stop me. Doesn't follow.
But he watches me the whole way, like if he dares to look away, I'll vanish again.
And as I walk, heart pounding in time with the thunder overhead, I know something with terrifying clarity:
The more I feel this pull…
The harder it will be to cut the thread.