For once, there was no council, no duel, no whispers of power.
Just the rhythm of city streets.
Eryndor walked beside Lyanna as they wound through Velastra’s quieter districts.
Here the noise of the market softened, replaced by the chatter of children chasing each other through narrow alleys, the clatter of pots from open windows, and the smell of fresh bread drifting from a small bakery.
Lyanna paused by the bakery’s stall, eyeing the loaves stacked neatly.
“Have you ever tried honey bread?” she asked.
Eryndor gave her a sideways look.
“No. Why?”
Her lips curved in a small, amused smile.
Moments later she handed Eryndor a warm piece, steam rising faintly as the crust cracked under his fingers.
He took a cautious bite.
Sweetness filled his mouth, soft and rich, nothing like the bland meals served in the estate halls.
He blinked, caught off guard.
“Well?” Lyanna pressed.
He chewed slowly, then allowed the faintest smirk.
“Not bad. Almost makes me forget my family’s constant scheming.”
She laughed softly, brushing her hair back.
“That’s the point. Even heirs need to remember life is more than duels and politics.”
They found a small bench by a fountain, the water glinting under the midday sun.
For a while, they sat in silence, listening to the city hum around them.
“When I was younger… back where I came from,” he started carefully, “I didn’t get moments like this. My life was training, surviving, moving forward. I never slowed down to… taste honey bread.”
Lyanna turned to him, her expression softening.
“And now?”
“Now,” he said, taking another bite, “I think I could get used to it.”
A small breeze stirred the fountain’s mist, brushing cool against their faces.
Lyanna didn’t press for more, and Eryndor didn’t explain further.
It was enough—for both of them.
For the first time since waking in this world, Eryndor didn’t feel like a pawn in someone else’s game.
Just a young man, sitting beside someone who saw him not as an heir, but simply… himself.