Deborah's POV
Barron and I had chosen a modest, unassuming restaurant—one of the so-called "commoner" eateries in the skies of Tairngire.
Its charm lay in its simplicity, an intentional departure from the opulence of Thorne Manor.
Here, there were no grand chandeliers or gilded furnishings, just warm wooden tables, neatly aligned chairs, and an inviting aroma of freshly baked bread mingling with the sharp scent of brewed coffee.
It was obvious why Barron brought me here.
Unlike the family's regular haunts, this place lacked the omnipresent eyes and ears of his parents and siblings.
There would be no curious stares, no whispered gossip at the edges of my hearing.
It offered a reprieve, a space where he could let down his guard, and perhaps where I could learn more about the truth behind this family and its secrets.
As we reached the entrance, I slowed my pace and turned to Chad, who trailed us with his characteristic silent vigilance.
He stood just a step behind me, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the cobbled street. "Don't come inside," I said, my tone carrying an edge of authority.
Chad's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.
He didn't answer immediately, and for a moment, I thought he might object. But then, as if suppressing whatever thoughts had surfaced, he gave a curt nod and stepped back, his boots clicking softly against the pavement as he took up position by the door.
I glanced at Barron, who raised an eyebrow in silent curiosity, but he said nothing as he held the door open for me.
Together, we entered the restaurant, leaving Chad behind in the biting cold of the Tairngire winter.
The warmth inside felt immediate and comforting.
Dim lanterns hung from wooden beams overhead, casting a soft amber glow that reflected off the polished tables.
The hum of quiet conversations filled the space, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the occasional hiss of steam from the kitchen.
It was unpretentious, cozy, and completely unlike the imposing grandeur I'd grown accustomed to in the Edwards household.
We chose a table near the window, where a faint layer of frost began to form at the edges of the glass. A server appeared promptly, handing us menus before retreating with a polite bow. I watched Barron as he studied the offerings, his expression intent yet relaxed. He had a natural ease about him, a boyish charm that softened his aristocratic bearing.
"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "I actually ate quite a bit during breakfast with your family." I smiled wryly. "I didn't let their words bother me."
Barron looked up, his lips curving into a faint grin. "You're stronger than I am, then. I could barely get through a few bites."
His candor caught me off guard, and I found myself chuckling softly. It was rare to encounter someone so willing to admit vulnerability, especially in a world where power and pretense were everything.
The server returned, and we placed our orders. I chose a pot of tea and a slice of tiramisu, while Barron's selections were more substantial: biscuits, peach yogurt, eggs, and toasted bread.
As he spoke with the server, I couldn't help but notice how his choices mirrored my own preferences—small details that hinted at a shared simplicity in taste.
Once the server departed, we began to talk. Our conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by occasional laughter.
Barron's demeanor was open and unguarded, a stark contrast to the calculated exchanges I was used to.
He listened intently, his gaze steady, and his questions thoughtful rather than probing.
Occasionally, my eyes flicked toward the window.
Through the frost-glazed glass, I saw Chad standing by the door, his silhouette sharp against the dimming light.
His posture was as rigid as ever, shoulders squared and hands clasped behind his back.
The wind tugged at the hem of his coat, but he didn't flinch, didn't shift—a sentinel bound by duty.
"Is he your personal guard?" Barron's question drew my attention back to the table. He nodded toward the window, where Chad's figure was still visible.
"Not exactly," I replied, setting down my teacup. "He's more of my father's man than mine."
Barron tilted his head thoughtfully. "He seems very loyal to you."
"With my father around, loyalty to me is hardly a choice," I said lightly, the corners of my mouth curling into a faint smile.
He leaned back and crossed his arms as he regarded me with a knowing look. "That's not what I meant."
I arched an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Oh? And what did you mean?"
"I mean he might be loyal to you for reasons beyond your father." There was a teasing edge to his tone, but his gaze was sharp, searching.
I met his eyes evenly, allowing my smile to widen just enough to convey amusement. "And I mean that my father inspires loyalty in ways most people can't refuse."
Barron laughed, shaking his head. "Fair enough."
A comfortable silence settled between us before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "But you're really going to leave him out there? It's freezing."
His concern surprised me. The stark hierarchies of the skies had bred an indifference in most people, a belief that those below them were little more than tools. Yet here was Barron, genuinely concerned about someone he barely knew.
I shrugged, my tone deliberately indifferent. "You're welcome to invite him in."
To my astonishment, Barron took my words at face value. Rising from his seat, he grabbed his coat and headed toward the door.
I watched, curious, as he stepped outside and approached Chad.
Through the window, I saw him speaking briefly, gesturing toward the warmth of the restaurant.
Chad hesitated, his expression unreadable, before finally nodding and following Barron inside.
The change in temperature was immediately evident on Chad's face.
His cheeks and nose flushed red from the cold, and a faint sheen of frost clung to the edges of his coat.
Despite this, his posture remained impeccably straight, and his expression betrayed nothing beyond his usual stoicism.
Barron returned to his seat, casting me a smile that was both warm and self-assured.
Moments later, a server brought a steaming cup of coffee and a small plate of food to the table behind us.
It didn't take long for me to realize what had happened.
Barron not only invited Chad inside but also ordered him something to eat.
The gesture was quiet, unassuming, and entirely characteristic of him. It was the kind of kindness that didn't demand recognition, the kind that stemmed from genuine thoughtfulness.
Chad inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, his voice low as he murmured, "Thank you." Then he took his seat at the adjacent table, his movements as measured and deliberate as ever.
I turned back to Barron, meeting his gaze. "That was unexpected," I said, my tone light but tinged with sincerity.
"He looked like he needed it," Barron replied simply, as if his actions required no further explanation.
For a moment, I said nothing, studying him in silence.
There was an openness to him, a quiet decency that felt almost foreign in a place like this.
In the cold, calculating world of the skies, Barron was an anomaly—a rare, gentle presence that neither sought to dominate nor manipulate.
As our conversation resumed, I found myself steering the topic toward my experiences on the ground.
I spoke of the strange, mutated creatures I'd encountered, their grotesque forms and dangerous behaviors.
Barron listened intently, his questions thoughtful and his fascination evident.
"You've really seen these things?" he asked, his voice tinged with awe. "Half-human frogs? Creatures that hunt in packs?"
I nodded, a faint smile playing on my lips. "They're more cunning than you'd expect. And more dangerous."
"And you survived all that?"
"Barely," I admitted, my tone deliberately casual. "But you learn to adapt. You have to."
His admiration was unspoken but palpable, and I could see the spark of curiosity in his eyes.
It wasn't the idle interest of someone looking for entertainment; it was the genuine wonder of someone eager to understand a world beyond their own.
Time slipped away unnoticed as we talked.
Barron's enthusiasm was infectious, his presence unassuming yet deeply engaging.
With him, there was no pretense, no hidden agenda—just an honest exchange of thoughts and stories.
It wasn't until Chad's voice broke through the haze of our conversation that I realized how much time had passed.
"Miss Edwards," he said, his tone polite but firm. "It's getting late. We should head back."
I glanced toward the window, surprised to see the sky already darkening.
The faint glow of streetlamps illuminated the frosted streets, casting long shadows that danced in the cold evening air.
Winter nights in the skies fell quickly, and this one was no exception.
"I hadn't realized," I murmured, turning back to Barron. He looked equally surprised, his brow furrowing slightly as he checked the time.
"It's true," he said with a small sigh. "The day went by faster than I thought."