For once, Lysandra didn't pull away. Her fingers hesitated, brushing against his before settling lightly over his hand. The gesture was uncharacteristically soft, and she hated how natural it felt. She told herself it was just the ale—or maybe the warmth of the festival atmosphere—but deep down, she knew better.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Alaric's hand remained steady beneath hers, his thumb brushing faintly against her knuckles. His gaze was calm, steady, and for once, she didn't feel the need to hide behind her sharp tongue or deflect with sarcasm.
Then, as if on cue, a familiar voice broke through the fragile silence.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" Kellan's tone was thick with amusement as he strolled up to their table, Donall right behind him. "Did we interrupt something?"
Lysandra stiffened, immediately letting go of Alaric's hand as if burned. She shot Kellan a glare, her cheeks flushing. "Don't you two have better things to do than stick your noses where they don't belong?"
Donall crossed his arms, smirking knowingly. "Not when it's this entertaining."
Kellan plopped down into the chair beside her, leaning his elbow on the table and grinning at Alaric. "So, Your Highness, what's the story here? Were you two just about to profess your undying love, or did I misread the situation?"
Lysandra groaned, rubbing her temples as if warding off a headache.
Alaric, to his credit, seemed unbothered by the intrusion. He leaned back in his chair, his lips curling into a faint smile as he met Kellan's gaze. "If I were, would you blame me?"
Kellan let out a low whistle, his grin widening. "Bold words, Prince."
Lysandra rolled her eyes, reaching for her cup and draining the last of her ale in one long gulp. "You're both insufferable," she muttered, slamming the cup down harder than necessary.
Donall chuckled, taking the seat across from her. "Come on, Lys. Don't be like that. We're just looking out for you."
"By making my life miserable?" she shot back, though the faint smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her irritation.
"Exactly," Kellan said, clapping her on the shoulder. "It's what friends are for."
Lysandra winced, the sharp pain from her shoulder radiating through her arm. She instinctively reached up to rub the spot, her jaw tightening. The soreness from the arrow wound she'd taken almost five days ago still hadn't subsided.
Kellan's grin faltered as he noticed her reaction. "Oops, sorry, Lys," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
Lysandra shot him a glare, her tone laced with irritation. "Don't you two have local ladies to bother?"
Kellan, ever the charmer, gave her an exaggerated bow. "You wound me, Lys. But since you mention it…" He turned, scanning the crowd, his grin returning as his eyes landed on a group of women near the dancers.
Donall chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the table. "She's not wrong, Kellan. You're overdue for embarrassing yourself."
Kellan straightened, giving Donall a mock punch to the arm. "Speak for yourself. Watch and learn, my friend." He turned back to Lysandra, wagging a finger at her. "Try not to miss me too much, Lys."
"I'll manage," she replied dryly, rolling her eyes.
With that, Kellan sauntered off toward the group of women, leaving Donall behind. The latter lingered for a moment, his gaze flicking between Alaric and Lysandra, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
"I'll leave you two to… whatever this is," Donall said, gesturing vaguely at the table.
Lysandra waved him off with a dismissive gesture. "Go on, then. Get lost."
Donall chuckled, shaking his head as he followed Kellan, leaving Alaric and Lysandra alone at the table once more.
The brief interruption seemed to have broken the tension, and Lysandra leaned back, letting out a quiet sigh as she adjusted her shoulder. Alaric's eyes lingered on her for a moment before he spoke.
"That arrow wound," he said, his voice calm but laced with concern. "It's still bothering you, isn't it?"
She shot him a look, her brow furrowing. "Don't start," she warned, her tone sharp enough to signal she wasn't in the mood for a lecture.
Alaric held her gaze for a moment, as if weighing whether to push further, but then he leaned back in his chair, offering a faint smile instead. "Alright," he said simply, his voice calm. "I won't."
Lysandra blinked, caught off guard by his restraint. She had expected him to argue or insist, but instead, he shifted the tone entirely.
"How about we walk around the festival some more?" he asked, gesturing toward the lively square with a subtle nod. "Unless, of course, you'd rather sit here and fend off Kellan when he comes back."
The corners of her lips twitched as she fought the urge to smile. "Tempting as that sounds, I'd rather avoid another lecture about my charming personality."
Alaric chuckled softly, standing and extending a hand to her. "Then let's go."
Lysandra pushed herself up from the chair, but as she stood, a wave of dizziness hit her. She stumbled slightly, her balance faltering. Before she could fully register it, Alaric's arm was around her, steadying her.
She blinked in surprise, then let out a rare laugh, light and unguarded. "Guess I wasn't as ready to move as I thought," she said, brushing her hair back from her face.
Alaric's grin softened as he held her for a moment longer than necessary. "Careful there," he said, his voice low and amused. "Wouldn't want you to fall and give Kellan and Donall another reason to tease you."
She smirked, shaking her head as she straightened herself. "That would be unbearable," she muttered, glancing up at him. "Thanks, though. For not letting me faceplant in front of everyone."
"My pleasure," he replied with a faint smile, finally releasing her once he was sure she was steady. "Are you sure you're good to go?"
"Don't start fussing," she said, her tone carrying more playfulness than annoyance. "I'm fine."
"If you say so," he replied, stepping aside and gesturing toward the bustling square. "Shall we?"
Alaric kept her hand in his, his grip steady yet gentle. At first, she had tensed at the contact, but now, as they moved through the throng of festival-goers, her fingers relaxed, curling lightly around his. It felt… natural, even comforting, she allowed herself to simply enjoy the moment, her sharp edges dulled by the warmth of the festival and his quiet presence.
They stopped at a stall where a vendor was offering small, hand-carved wooden charms. Lysandra picked up a tiny figurine of a fox, turning it over in her hands with a soft smile.
"A fox suits you," Alaric remarked, his voice low and amused. "Clever, quick, and far too cunning for her own good."
She smirked, glancing up at him. "And what about you, Your Highness? What charm would suit you? A lion, perhaps? Bold and dramatic?"
Alaric chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Bold, perhaps. Dramatic, never. How about this one?" He reached for a carving of a stag, holding it up for her to see. "Strong, steady, and surprisingly graceful."
Lysandra rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small laugh. "Graceful? I've seen you trip over your own boots."
"That was once," he protested, mock indignation in his voice. "And it was because someone—" he gave her a pointed look, "—thought it would be funny to leave their sword in the middle of the path."
She grinned, placing the fox figurine back on the stall and moving to the next table. "Admit it, you deserved it."
As they wandered further, Lysandra felt a lightness she hadn't felt in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel joy. The walls she had spent so long building around her heart began to crack—not enough to crumble, but enough to let Alaric slip through.