Lysandra gathered her belongings with deliberate care, her mind still churning over Alaric's unexpected invitation. She adjusted the dagger at her hip and tucked a smaller blade into her boot. Even at a festival, she wasn't about to leave herself unarmed. A quick glance in the small mirror near the washbasin confirmed she looked as presentable as someone who spent their days in leather armor could manage. Satisfied, she slung her cloak over her shoulders and headed out the door.
The common room of The Hound's Rest was lively, filled with the chatter of travelers and locals alike, but it didn't take long for her to spot Alaric. He stood near the entrance, dressed in the same leather armor he'd been wearing earlier, though he'd added a dark cloak that gave him a more subdued appearance. He caught sight of her almost immediately, a faint smile tugging at his lips as she approached.
"Ready?" he asked, his tone casual but carrying that unmistakable warmth she wasn't quite used to.
"As I'll ever be," Lysandra replied, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Alaric chuckled softly, stepping aside to hold the door open for her. She gave him a wary look but walked past him into the cool evening air. The streets were alive with activity, lanterns strung between buildings casting a warm glow over the cobblestones. The faint sound of music drifted through the air, accompanied by the enticing scents of roasted meat, spiced cider, and baked goods.
The festival was already in full swing.
Crowds filled the town square, moving between brightly lit stalls offering everything from jewelry to handmade trinkets. Children darted between the legs of adults, their laughter mingling with the hum of conversation. Performers in colorful costumes juggled flaming torches while musicians played lively tunes on a makeshift stage near the center of the square.
Lysandra's eyes darted over the crowd, instinctively scanning for any signs of danger. Old habits died hard, and she wasn't about to let herself relax completely—not in a place this crowded. Still, there was something almost disarming about the atmosphere. It was… normal.
Alaric walked beside her, his presence steady but unobtrusive. "It's impressive, isn't it?" he said, gesturing toward the bustling square. "So much life packed into one place."
"It's loud," Lysandra muttered, though her tone lacked its usual bite.
He laughed, the sound genuine and easy. "You don't strike me as the festival type."
"I'm not," she replied flatly, though the corners of her lips twitched in a faint smirk.
As they wove their way through the bustling crowd, passing stalls brimming with colorful wares and enticing scents, Lysandra's sharp eyes caught the glint of something in the torchlight. She stopped mid-step, her attention drawn to a merchant's stall displaying an array of finely crafted jewelry. Among the polished silver rings and intricate bracelets, a single necklace stood out—a simple chain adorned with a small, smooth stone pendant.
The stone was deep green, flecked with gold, and its craftsmanship was understated but elegant. It reminded her of something she couldn't quite place, tugging faintly at the edges of her memory. Her fingers brushed absently at the pendant she already wore beneath her cloak, her expression momentarily softening.
"See something you like?" Alaric's voice broke through her thoughts, light and teasing.
Lysandra blinked, her hand dropping to her side as she turned away from the jewelry stall. "No," she said curtly, resuming her pace. "Let's keep moving."
Alaric tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "Alright," he replied, though there was a note of amusement in his voice. As Lysandra moved ahead, weaving through the crowd, Alaric lingered at the stall.
His eyes fell on the necklace that had caught hers—a simple yet striking piece with a green stone flecked with gold. Without hesitation, he gestured to the merchant, a sly smile on his lips as he made the purchase and quickly tucked the necklace into a small pouch at his belt. Satisfied, he turned and slipped back into the throng of festival-goers, following after Lysandra.
She had already reached another stall, this one surrounded by a warm glow and the hum of laughter. A wooden sign above it read Honeyflow Meadery, and the air was rich with the sweet scent of honey and spices. The jovial merchant behind the counter was pouring frothy golden mead into wooden cups, the liquid catching the light like liquid sunlight.
Alaric caught up just as Lysandra paused near the stall, her sharp gaze scanning the lively scene. "Fancy a drink?" he asked, stepping beside her with his usual easy charm.
She glanced at him, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. "If you're buying."
Alaric chuckled and gestured to the merchant. "Two, please."
The man handed them each a wooden cup, frothy with fresh mead. Lysandra took a small sip, the sweetness mingling with the warmth of spices as it spread across her tongue. It was good—better than she'd expected.
"Thoughts?" Alaric asked, his tone casual but amused.
She gave him a sideways glance, her smirk widening slightly. "Not bad. Though I still think you're trying too hard to make me enjoy myself."
"Guilty," he replied, lifting his cup in a mock toast. "But it's worth it if it gets you to relax for five minutes."
Lysandra snorted softly, taking another sip of her mead as they continued walking. The crowd pressed in around them, the noise and energy of the festival growing more vibrant with each step.
As they wandered together through the festival, their empty mead cups swayed lightly in their hands as the energy of the crowd carried them from one lively corner to the next. The warm glow of lanterns illuminated the colorful stalls, and the faint sound of music and laughter filled the air. For the first time in what felt like ages, Lysandra found herself enjoying the simplicity of the moment.
Alaric's laugh was warm and unguarded, and though she wouldn't admit it aloud, it was infectious.
As they finished their cups, Lysandra slowed her pace, glancing at the empty vessel in her hand. "Looks like we're out," she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Not bad for festival mead."
Alaric opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, familiar voices cut through the festival noise. "Look who we found!"
Donall and Kellan emerged from the crowd, grinning broadly. Kellan, the more mischievous of the two, held up a flask gleaming in the lantern light, while Donall raised his cup in a mock toast.
"You two look like you're having way too much of a tame time," Kellan said, his grin widening as he stepped closer. "Thought we'd fix that."
Before either of them could protest, Kellan grabbed Lysandra's cup and poured a generous amount of clear liquid into it from the flask. The sharp, unmistakable smell of moonshine hit her nose immediately. Donall did the same for Alaric, his grin more subdued but no less amused.
"Come on, loosen up a bit!" Kellan said, nudging Lysandra with his elbow. "It's a festival, not a military briefing."
Alaric chuckled, swirling the contents of his cup and raising it slightly in mock resignation. "Far be it from me to refuse such hospitality."
Lysandra arched an eyebrow at the two Shadow Blades, her smirk deepening. "You do realize if this kills me, I'm coming back to haunt you."
Kellan laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "If it kills you, it'll be worth the story!"
Donall raised his own cup in a silent toast, the glimmer of mischief in his eyes matching Kellan's energy. "Drink up. You'll thank us later."
Lysandra glanced at Alaric, who was already taking a cautious sip. With a resigned sigh, she followed suit, the sharp burn of the moonshine hitting her tongue and warming her chest immediately. She coughed slightly, earning a laugh from Kellan, but found herself smiling despite the sting.
"Happy now?" she said dryly, shaking her head.
"Delighted," Kellan replied, raising his flask in triumph. "Let's see if the prince can handle it as well as you can."
Alaric raised his cup with a slight grin, locking eyes with Kellan. "Let's see," he said smoothly before tipping the cup back and taking a hearty drink of the moonshine. His expression didn't falter as he swallowed, the burn evident but handled with impressive ease. He lowered the cup, his posture still calm, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Kellan let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Well, would you look at that? The prince has a spine after all."
Donall chuckled, giving Alaric a nod of approval. "Didn't think you had it in you. Maybe you're not as soft as you look."
Alaric laughed, a warm, unguarded sound, and gestured toward his cup. "Pour me another if you're so curious."
"Oh, we will," Kellan said with a mischievous grin, already tipping his flask to refill both Alaric's and Lysandra's cups. Donall followed suit, ensuring neither of them went without.
Lysandra raised a hand in protest, shaking her head. "Alright, that's enough. I'm not looking to be carried back to my room tonight."
But Kellan waved her off with a dramatic flourish, practically shoving her cup back into her hand. "Carried? Please. You could outdrink us all and still walk in a straight line."
"She's just scared of beating us too easily," Donall added, his tone teasing as he leaned against the edge of the stall. "Go on, Lysandra. Show the prince what real endurance looks like."
Lysandra narrowed her eyes at them, her smirk laced with exasperation. "You two are impossible, you know that?"
Kellan grinned wider. "We've been told. Now, drink."
Alaric glanced at her, amusement flickering in his eyes as he raised his freshly refilled cup. "I suppose it's only fair," he said lightly. "You did save me from an arrow. The least I can do is keep up with you."
Lysandra sighed, but her resolve cracked under the weight of their goading. "Fine," she muttered, lifting her cup. "But if you two don't keep up, don't come crying to me when I leave you in the dirt."
"That's the spirit!" Kellan cheered, lifting his flask in triumph.
The four of them wandered through the festival, the warm glow of lanterns and the hum of lively music surrounding them like a cocoon of cheer. Kellan and Donall passed the flask between them, ensuring both Lysandra and Alaric's cups stayed full as they moved through the bustling square.
Kellan took a long swig from the flask before looking at Alaric with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, Your Highness," he began, his tone dripping with mock seriousness, "did Lysandra ever tell you about the time she got stuck in a tree during a job?"
Lysandra groaned audibly, rolling her eyes. "Here we go."
Donall grinned, clearly delighted by the memory. "Oh, it wasn't just any tree. It was the tallest, thinnest pine I've ever seen. She thought she'd be clever and climb it to scout for us."
"And then the branch snapped," Kellan chimed in, his grin widening. "Left her dangling there, holding on for dear life, with her boots swinging and everything."
"She did manage to stay quiet, though," Donall admitted, smirking. "Which is impressive, considering we were surrounded by enemy scouts at the time."
"I wasn't stuck," Lysandra cut in, glaring at them both. "I was *positioned strategically.*
Kellan burst out laughing, nearly spilling the flask. "Positioned strategically? Is that what you call dangling by one arm while cursing under your breath?"
Lysandra pointed a finger at him, her eyes narrowing. "You two are blowing this completely out of proportion."
"I don't know," Alaric said, his tone teasing as he sipped his moonshine. "I think I'd like to hear more."
Kellan clapped him on the shoulder, his grin practically splitting his face. "See? The prince gets it. Anyway, she finally let go and fell right into a thorn bush. Got up like nothing happened, covered in scratches, and said, 'I planned that.'"
Alaric laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. "Did you really say that?"
"Of course not!" Lysandra snapped, though her lips twitched as if she was fighting a smile. "These two couldn't tell a straight story if their lives depended on it."
"You said it," Donall insisted, chuckling. "And then you limped the rest of the way back to camp like a hero who just survived a war."
Lysandra groaned again, shaking her head as she took a long sip from her cup. "I swear, I don't know why I put up with you two."
"Because we're fun," Kellan said, grinning. "And because you know we'd drag you out of any thorn bush, no matter how ridiculous you looked."
"Maybe," she muttered, though the faint smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her irritation.
As they passed a stall selling small, colorful pastries, Alaric paused and plucked one up, examining it with mild curiosity. "What's this?" he asked the vendor, who eagerly explained its honeyed filling and delicate spice.
Kellan leaned over, already chewing on one he'd snatched without asking. "It's good. Just eat it."
Alaric arched a brow but took a bite, his expression shifting to one of pleasant surprise. "Not bad."
Lysandra watched the exchange with amusement, taking another sip from her cup. The sharp burn of the moonshine had softened into a comfortable warmth in her chest. She caught Alaric's gaze as he offered her one of the pastries, the corners of his lips quirking upward. "Want one?"
"I'm good," she replied, though her eyes betrayed her interest.
He stepped closer, holding it out insistently. "Come on. I won't take 'no' for an answer."
"Careful, Lys," Kellan called from behind her. "If you let the prince feed you..."
"Shut up, Kellan," she muttered, snatching the pastry from Alaric's hand. She took a bite, and the delicate sweetness melted on her tongue. It was good—damn good—but she'd rather stab herself than admit it outright. "Its good," she said begrudgingly,
Alaric chuckled softly. "High praise coming from you."
The faint sound of laughter and lively music drifted through the air, growing louder as they moved away from the stalls. Lysandra slowed her pace, her sharp eyes scanning ahead, until the four of them turned a corner and entered a wide open square. Lanterns were strung high between the buildings, casting a warm glow over the cobblestones, where a small crowd had gathered to dance. A group of musicians played a cheerful tune, their instruments blending into a melody that seemed to lift the spirits of everyone nearby.
Donall and Kellan immediately perked up, their earlier mischief rekindling at the sight of the dancers. "Well, well," Kellan said, nudging Donall. "Looks like the night just got a lot more interesting."
Donall chuckled, already scanning the crowd. "Wouldn't hurt to stretch our legs a bit. What do you think, Lysandra? Care to join us?"
"Pass," Lysandra replied flatly, though there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
"Suit yourself," Kellan said, already stepping toward the nearest cluster of women with a confident grin. He held out his hand to one of them, bowing dramatically. "Care for a dance, my lady?"
Donall followed close behind, his approach quieter but no less charming as he struck up a conversation with another woman. Before long, both of them were spinning their partners around the square, their laughter mingling with the music.
Lysandra stood at the edge of the square, her arms crossed as she watched them. Despite herself, she felt a small flicker of amusement at the sight of Kellan's exaggerated moves and Donall's surprising grace.
"They're not half bad," Alaric said beside her, his tone light.
"They're ridiculous," she replied, though her voice lacked its usual edge.
Alaric smiled, his gaze shifting to the dancers before returning to her. The music changed to a slower, more melodic tune, and the energy in the square softened. Without a word, Alaric stepped forward, turning to face her fully.
He held out his hand, his expression open and warm. "Dance with me."