Lady Ixora POV
The market square buzzed with the familiar din of clanging metals, haggling voices, and the scent of burning wood. Ixora moved through it like a shadow, her cloak pulled just enough to shield her face. She wasn't here for pleasantries, she had come to buy spices to make soup for her father, something she used to prepare for him when she was younger and her mother was still alive.
She paused by a stall displaying finely crafted quills and parchment, running her fingers over the edge of a scroll when she saw him.
The man.
The one who had made her stumble the other week, lanky, reckless, and entirely too smug. He stood by a stall of bronze buckles and hunting daggers, joking with the blacksmith like he belonged to the place.
Her grip tightened on her basket.
He turned, and their eyes met.
A flicker of recognition lit in his gaze… then a slow, maddening smirk.
"Careful, my lady," he said, stepping closer, voice smooth as worn leather. "These cobbles are tricky. Wouldn't want you falling for someone again."
Ixora's jaw set. The nerve.
But her pulse? It betrayed her, just slightly.
Ixora didn't flinch. She stepped forward, her chin tilting just enough to meet him eye to eye.
"I don't fall," she said coolly, "especially not for insolent men who speak as if wit were their only virtue."
He laughed, not insulted. "Ah, but you remember me. That's a start."
"I remember a clumsy brute who couldn't watch where he was going."
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Wounded. You wound me, my lady."
She narrowed her eyes, unamused. "Speak plainly. What do you want?"
"Nothing," he said with a shrug. "Merely admiring the fine wares. And perhaps… the company."
Ixora's lips curved into a dry smile. "Then admire from a distance."
She turned, basket in hand, but paused just long enough to add, "Next time, try not to block the entire road. You're large enough as it is."
She walked off, her cloak sweeping behind her. And though she didn't look back, she felt his grin follow her like a shadow.
As Asahel watched Ixora walk away, alone once more, a frown crept across his face. Where are her guards?. What is Hugh thinking letting her leave alone? he wondered, irritation flickering in his eyes. Proud, no doubt, she was a noble, and Asahel despised nobles with a quiet fire. Yet, there was something about her defiance that caught his attention.
Turning to the blacksmith nearby, he lowered his voice. "Have you noticed anything unusual around here lately?"
Asahel's eyes narrowed as he glanced at the blacksmith. "I mean anything out of the ordinary. Strange faces, new arrivals, or whispers that don't belong."
The blacksmith wiped his hands on his apron, glancing around cautiously. "There's been talk of traders showing up after dark, strange shipments coming through the docks. But nothing you wouldn't expect in a town this size."
Asahel's jaw tightened. "Keep your ears open. If anything suspicious crosses your path, I want to know."
He turned back toward the fading figure of Ixora, a flicker of conflicted respect in his gaze. Proud and untouchable, just how he liked them, yet just how dangerous they could be.
***
Albert stood stiffly in the marbled hall, the folds of his dark cloak gathered in his gloved hands as a servant passed without sparing him a glance. For a week, he'd waited, fed, housed, and ignored. He was no common merchant, yet the Hivites treated him like dust on their polished floors.
He approached Agnes again, the king's ever-watchful eunuch, bowing just enough to keep civility.
"I request audience with His Majesty," Albert said, his voice tight. "I carry a letter from King Kai himself. I've waited long enough."
Agnes, draped in layers of deep violet silk, gave him a pointed look and offered a thin, perfumed smile. "His Majesty is aware. In the meantime, enjoy the food. Our cook is not easily replaced, it took a great deal of effort to acquire him. A rare taste for a rare guest."
Albert muttered under his breath, "I have food in my own manor."
But Agnes's hearing, like a serpent's sense, missed nothing. His eyes sharpened. "You are not pleased with the service Hivites has to offer?" he said slowly, voice as smooth as ice.
Albert straightened, instantly wary.
Agnes didn't blink. "Then you shall see the king, and be on your way."
The heavy doors creaked open on Agnes command and Albert stepped into the grand receiving chambers of Hivities, Austere, Cold with towering stone pillars, At the far end sat King Isis, leaning slightly on the arm of his throne. He wore no crown, no garish display of wealth, only dark, fitted robes and the weight of silence. His gaze was sharp as a drawn blade, fixed on Albert without blinking.
Albert gave a deep bow, voice oily with flattery.
"Your Majesty," he began, "you truly are generous. Your halls, your hospitality, it is unmatched. Creedom appreciates your grace and strength."
He straightened, flashing a tight smile, then motioned to the eunuch.
"I bring a letter from King Kai."
A servant stepped forward, taking the letter to the king. King Isis didn't even glance at it. With a flick of his hand, the letter was tossed aside onto a silver tray as though it were a napkin.
"You've done your duty," Isis said, already looking away. "You may go."
Albert froze. He cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders. "Your Majesty… before I take my leave, if I may—" he hesitated, lips curling into a practiced smile—"I would like to propose a private exchange. A personal venture. With your permission, I wish to establish a foreign exchange with your merchants. Clean profits, fair dealings."
Isis turned his head slowly, lips curling into a mocking sneer.
"Private, you say?" He let the word drip with disdain. "Is your king aware of this… personal ambition?"
Albert faltered. "Well, not directly, but—"
"So it is treachery wrapped in commerce?" Isis's voice was smooth, but there was steel behind it.
Albert swallowed, his smile fading. "No, Your Majesty, it's merely business—"
"Then take it elsewhere." Isis leaned forward, his golden circlet catching the firelight. "Hivites has no interest in the schemes of little men chasing coins while their crowns sleep."
Albert stood frozen, color rising to his ears.
Isis waved a hand. "Leave. Before you mistake our patience for indulgence."
Agnes stepped forward again, expression blank, but his eyes gleamed with quiet triumph.
Albert gave a stiff bow, fury simmering beneath his skin, and turned to leave the great hall in silence.
Isis's voice echoed behind him, low and final.
"Tell your king… we are not his market."