“Pardon him, Your Majesty!” she cried, her back bent in a hurried bow. Her arms reached for him, but the boy slipped from her grasp and vanished into the throng, paying us no mind.
I chuckled, content. These were my people—their familiarity with me, even their disregard, spoke volumes. They were safe. Protected.
“Peace,” I said, my voice carrying above the market’s murmur.
She looked up, her eyes wide with relief. Her dress, frayed at the hem and patched over the knee, expressed long days and harder nights. The bonnet perched on her head, once white, bore streaks of earth and toil. She was of the working class, a woman whose son would one day inherit her burdens, just as surely as the sun would rise.
Greaves reined in his horse beside me, his keen gaze sweeping the crowd. The tension in his shoulders mirrored the weight pressing on my own.
I’d given so much—my blood, my peace, my very sense of self—to protect these people. And still, the sacrifice continued. Would they cower in fear when dragons darkened their skies? Or would they trust this decision? That it would keep them alive, ensure food for their tables?
“Elohios bless you,” a woman called, her voice rising above the murmurs as I rode past.
“Blessed of Elohios,” the chant swelled, spreading like a wave through the gathered masses.
My lips curved into a smile, but the sound twisted something deep within me.
The Radaanian people were faithful to their core. Survival had forged that bond. I’d led them through the war’s fire, into this fragile peace. Many witnessed the Velli rip through our ranks. Others carried stories of that horror passed down by their dead. And then there was me—alive when I shouldn’t be, rising again and again from wounds meant to end me, the light of Elohios blazing through my sunlit skin as proof of his favor.
I owed everything to my god. His wisdom lit my path. His strength bore the weight I could not carry alone. In return, I gave him all of myself—honesty, integrity, and the unwavering resolve demanded by my people and the god who chose me.
Yet, being placed on a pedestal under Elohios was an unease I could never shake.
The gold chains draped over my shoulders and chest felt heavier than their weight suggested, biting into my skin as if to remind me of the nation resting on my reputation.
We continued through the streets of Reem, the clamor of the marketplace blending with the steady clop of hooves on cobblestones. The mingled scents of baking bread and livestock filled the air. Greaves rode at my side, his ever-watchful eyes scanning the crowd, though the city patrol had been tripled.
I allowed the streets to guide the way, letting instinct and faith intertwine as I searched my heart for Elohios’ subtle leading.
As I rounded the corner onto the broad avenue, a prickle of unease crept up my spine. My eyes swept the square, noting its familiar rhythm—the wary merchants haggling, workers lingering in the shade, little ones darting between stalls. But two women stood out. Their posture, too rigid, too controlled—something about them didn’t belong.
They weren’t Radaanian.
Children clustered around the pair, giggling as they tossed dice into a chalk circle. The usual murmurs of blessings faded under the noise of the street, blending with the rhythmic hoofbeats of my stallion.
The women’s fine cloaks caught my eye, too pristine against the dust and heat. Torn at the edges, the fabric still clung to a quality of wealth. Their hoods were pulled back, revealing hair—brown and blonde—that looked too clean for the working class.
One woman shook a die in her hand, her fingers caressing the smooth surface as she blew on it, a motion practiced like a gambler’s ritual. She tossed the die with a flourish, and a cry of dismay escaped her when it landed.
The children’s laughter erupted around us, their high-pitched voices ringing through the air. They clutched their bellies, some collapsing onto the ground, kicking their feet in the dirt as if her misfortune were the greatest joke they’d ever heard.
Greaves pulled up beside me, and with a single glance, I knew he understood. What noblewoman would be caught on the filthy streets playing with children?
The woman’s golden hair tumbled forward as her shoulders slumped, defeated. She struggled to rise, letting out an ungraceful groan, fumbling with the clasp of her cloak. Around her, the young ones bounced to their feet, their energy unrestrained as they crowded closer, laughing in wild circles.
Who was this woman, to draw my people’s attention away from their king? The crowd’s focus shifted, yet no one seemed bothered for long. They shrugged it off and returned to their routines.
She tugged at her cloak, undone and falling loose, and handed it to her companion. I caught a glimpse of her cheeks flushed with the midday heat.
“Sun above.” The curse slipped from my lips before I could stop it.
Greaves made a strangled noise, his gaze darting over the crowd again, searching in vain for any guards who might be accompanying them.
I spurred my stallion into a brisk trot. The horse snorted at the sudden shift, its hooves striking the cobblestones with force as it surged forward. The woman’s eyes flicked to me, sharp with surprise.
Her gaze, the color of the deepest sea, locked onto mine. Shock flashed across her face as her lips parted in surprise.
The woman beside her—a stranger—ripped the cloak from her shoulders with a laugh, then turned toward me. “Balls!”
