Alric
The sun rose pale and cold over Viremont, veiling the estate in morning mist. Alric rose early, as he always did — a habit formed not from discipline, but restlessness. Sleep hadn't come easily since the wedding.
Not because of her presence.
Because of her absence — even when she was near.
The east garden was silent at this hour. A single servant had set out warm bread and fig preserves at the stone table beneath the elm. Alric was halfway through his tea when he heard the light crunch of footsteps on gravel.
He looked up.
She had come.
Saren — wrapped in a thick blue cloak, hair loosely braided, eyes unreadable. She sat opposite him without a word. Not cold. Not warm. Simply... present.
"You wake early," he said.
"I don't sleep well."
"Nor do I."
A pause. The wind shifted. Somewhere in the trees, a dove cooed.
She broke a piece of bread and buttered it with careful precision, then asked, as if testing the weight of the words, "Do you ride, Your Grace?"
He blinked. "I do. Every morning."
Her gaze didn't meet his. "Then perhaps tomorrow, you'll ride with me."
It was not a request. Nor a kindness.
It felt more like a... decision.
"I would be honored, Your Highness," he said.
Something flickered in her eyes. Not approval. Not fondness.
Just the faintest softening.
The rest of breakfast passed in silence, but not the kind that crushed. It was... tolerable. Familiar, even.
When she stood to leave, she didn't say goodbye. She simply looked at him, held his gaze for a breath too long, and turned.
And in that moment, Alric felt it — something he couldn't name, couldn't chase, but couldn't ignore either.
Not love. Not yet.
But something that made his pulse betray him.
.....to be continued...
Author's Note:
Not love. Not yet. But something stirring in the silence.
Thank you for feeling it with them.
—your author