The boy smiled hopefully despite the third princes scowl, his arms were full of colorful fabrics, neatly folded in varying shades and patterns, all made from soft, delicate materials that seemed to ripple like water in his hands.
"My lord," he called out breathlessly, bowing slightly as he stopped before them. "I have something to show you."
Oh so he wanted to talk to me. Alaric wondered.
Alaric looked down at the boy with mild curiosity. The lad was young, with hopeful eyes and an aura of sincere dedication in his gaze. "What have you got there?" Alaric asked, noticing the nervous flutter of the boy's hands as he gently spread out his goods.
"These are hand fans, my lord," the boy said proudly, unfurling one to show a fan made of a delicate cotton fabric stretched over a beautifully carved wooden handle. "I make them myself, you see. For ladies…so they can have something pretty to carry, for when it gets too warm in their heavy gowns."
Salviana leaned in eagerly, her eyes shining as she inspected one of the fans. The fabric was painted with graceful strokes, the colors soft yet vibrant, as if capturing a warm sunset or a fresh spring morning.
She could tell it was crafted with utmost care, each brushstroke thoughtful and lovingly placed. She looked back at Alaric, nodding with excitement, and he felt a swell of pride for the boy's dedication.
"These are beautiful," she said softly, admiring the intricate craftsmanship. She glanced at Alaric, who smiled, already understanding her unspoken wish. "We should take some with us. They would make wonderful gifts."
Alaric nodded, impressed by the boy's skill and the artistry he displayed. He picked up one of the fans, running his hand over the soft fabric and tracing the pattern. "You're very talented," he said warmly, meeting the boy's gaze. "You've done something remarkable here."
The boy's face lit up at Alaric's words, and he straightened his posture, clearly encouraged. "Thank you, my lord," he said, a hint of shyness coloring his cheeks. "I… I hope one day to have my own shop and make these for all the ladies in the kingdom. Perhaps even with a unique symbol, so they'll know it's from me—a mark of my work."
"A trademark," Alaric nodded, appreciating the boy's ambition. He placed a firm but gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You have the talent and the dedication. Don't let anything stop you."
With a smile, Alaric handed the fan to Salviana, who was practically glowing with joy as she took it.
But she wasn't finished. Her smile turned mischievous as she looked back at the boy's collection of fans. "We'll take them all," she declared, looking at Alaric with a raised eyebrow that dared him to disagree.
"All of them?" Alaric chuckled, amused by her enthusiasm.
She nodded firmly, her eyes gleaming. "They're too pretty to leave behind, and I know just who to share them with. Whenever we have guests, they'll have a fan to remember us by."
The boy's face broke into a grin, the gratitude in his eyes evident as he hastily folded up each fan, placing them carefully into a bundle before handing them over.
Alaric paid for the lot without a second thought, and the boy bowed deeply, his voice choked with gratitude as he thanked them.
With the fans in hand, Salviana breathed in the lively scent of the marketplace—fresh blooms, wooden carts, and warm bread from the baker nearby.
As they walked through the crowded streets, she held onto the fans as though they were small treasures, their colors and patterns inspiring her with thoughts of things she could paint, stories she could tell, and gifts she could give.
When she looked over at Alaric, her face beaming, he couldn't help but smile back, feeling warmed by her happiness.
But holding everything up by here self Alaric felt his wife was about to vanish under what they bought.
Alaric's brow furrowed slightly as he reached out to take the bundle of flower seeds and fans from Salviana, but she clutched them tightly to her chest, shaking her head with such fervor he had to chuckle.
"Are you sure you don't want me to carry it?" he asked, his tone teasing, but she was resolute.
Even as she nodded, her arms wrapped protectively around the basket, he noticed the way her steps grew slower, her shoulders weighed down with every block they crossed.
He kept a watchful eye on her, observing the way her eyes seemed to lose a bit of their usual sparkle as the afternoon wore on.
Realizing she might be tired—and perhaps even hungry—Alaric gently guided her toward a nearby restaurant.
The faint signboard over the entrance read, The Regal Hearth, its golden letters catching in the sunlight. Salviana read the name aloud softly as they entered, a touch of wonder in her voice as she looked around with her arms still full of her purchase.
The Regal Hearth was grand but tasteful, embodying the best of Wyfellon's refined style.
The floors were made of gleaming, dark mahogany, polished to perfection, and above them hung chandeliers of delicate crystal, each candle casting a warm, steady glow over the intimate seating arrangements.
Velvet-covered chairs, upholstered in rich emerald green, surrounded small, intricately carved tables, creating a sense of both elegance and comfort.
Salviana took in the gentle hum of conversation that filled the room, mixed with the soft clink of silverware on fine china.
"Your grace," a warden greeted with a bow, Salviana smiled while Alaric nodded, his eyes on his wife.
The warden came forward and asked to take the things in Salviana' arm for her, she glanced at Alaric before she finally released it.
As they were led to a cozy table near one of the arched windows, Alaric couldn't help but watch Salviana's reactions. She appeared impressed.
Her cheeks had gained a slight flush, likely from the chill of the walk and the excitement of the morning, and he smiled at her awe.