Crowned in confusion

The morning light crept through the small window, casting soft golden beams across the rustic wooden floor. Edeana stirred in bed, blinking against the light, her gaze sweeping across the unfamiliar room. For a moment, confusion wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, muffling her thoughts—then, as the scent of old wood smoke and the faint mustiness of aged linens settled in her nose, the haze began to lift, and the details of yesterday slowly found their way back to her.

Devlin was nowhere to be found, and judging from the cool touch on his side of the bed she assumed that he had been awake for a while now. The events of the night before weighing heavily on her mind, his words still lingered in the air, thick and unspoken. Granted she barely knew her husband, but that didn't mean his revelation last night hadn't turned her world on its head.

She dressed quickly, the motions automatic, and descended the stairs to find the innkeeper already bustling about, her expression markedly different from the previous night. Gone was the warmth of the earlier interaction; now, her face was flushed, eyes wide, and her hands moved faster than necessary as she prepared breakfast to feed a small army.

When she noticed Edeana, the innkeeper attempted a curtsy. "Good morning, your highness."

For a moment, Edeana just stared at her, the words barely registering. Her pulse skipped, and the weight of the title crashed over her in a tidal wave of discomfort. Your Highness. The phrase still felt foreign on her tongue, yet the soft tension in the innkeeper's voice made it seem all too real. Edeana took a step back, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to process it all.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, unsure what to do. She cleared her throat and forced herself to speak, the words coming out almost unsteady.

"Good morning," she replied, her voice harsher than she intended, then quickly moved toward the breakfast table in the corner, eager to escape the unwanted attention. It was only when she sat down that she noticed the room had filled with more guests than the night before—travelers, a few villagers, maybe a merchant or two.

Curiously, Edeana noted, though there seemed to be a considerable amount of people for such a small space, their conversations were hushed, almost as if in anticipation of something.

As if on cue, the door opened with a quiet creak.

Edeana didn't need to look to know what—or, more accurately, who—they were staring at. A silence fell over the dining hall, leaving a palpable stillness in its wake. Chairs stilled mid-scrape, voices faded to nothing, and even the clatter of plates seemed to hold its breath.

She turned her head just slightly—just enough to see Devlin step through the doorway, Captain Knightley close behind.

Devlin wasn't dressed in anything extravagant. There was no crown, no velvet cloak. Just a dark, travel-worn coat, gloves tucked in one hand, and that unmistakable bearing—the straight-backed stillness of someone who didn't need to declare his station for everyone in the room to feel it. It wasn't his attire that silenced the crowd—it was him. Word had spread fast and Edeana had assumed that everyone of the patrons in the inn's dining room knew exactly who Devlin was.

The Crown Prince.

Devlin appeared wholly indifferent to the attention he garnered—or perhaps, he chose not to acknowledge it. His gaze travelled slowly across the room, calm and inscrutable, before he inclined his head ever so slightly toward Knightley.

"You have truly outdone yourself," he murmured, his voice low yet perfectly audible in the hush. "Three alternate routes, blind checkpoints established, local scouts briefed and stationed well before first light. I would have expected no less of you, Captain. Most commendable, indeed."

Knightley gave a modest incline of his head. "I had help, sire."

"And you've utilized it wisely," Devlin replied, a faint thread of warmth in his otherwise level tone.

Devlin's eyes finally met hers across the room. The spell in the inn seemed to shatter in that moment. Conversation resumed in low murmurs, and people remembered their food. Still, some glanced sideways, whispering to one another as the prince crossed the room toward her.

Edeana straightened instinctively. She hated the feeling that all eyes were still on them, even if they now pretended not to stare.

"Good morning," Devlin said as he reached her table, taking a seat across from her, his voice filled with the same warmth it held night before. "I hope you had a restful night."

Edeana nodded, though she wasn't sure if it was to answer his question or simply to fill the silence between them. "Restful enough," she said quietly, wrapping her fingers around the mug of tea the innkeeper had set down moments before. It was still warm, but she hadn't touched it. "Though I suspect sleep came more easily to you."

Devlin's let out a small sheepish smile. "I've grown accustomed to sleeping in uncomfortable situations," he said. "Old habit."

They ate in silence for a moment, the quiet clink of cutlery and the resumed low murmur of nearby conversations wrapping around them like a strange cocoon—one that offered a layer of anonymity but did little to ease the tension between them. Edeana found herself stealing glances at Devlin as he attempted to keep the conversation going, noting the calm efficiency in his movements, the way he seemed composed despite everything. She couldn't decide if it reassured her or made her feel even more unmoored.

"By evening," Devlin said after a pause, his voice quiet, "what did you think—will that suffice?"

She blinked, caught off guard. The question hung between them for a beat, and she realized she hadn't truly heard it—she'd been too deep in her own head, watching the tension ripple beneath his still exterior.

"The innkeeper called me Your Highness," Edeana muttered, the words slipping out before she could weigh them.

Devlin's brows lifted, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Technically accurate."

She shot him a look and returned to her breakfast, stabbing a piece of bread a little more forcefully than necessary.

He didn't press, but his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, as if trying to read the answer she hadn't given. Edeana chewed slowly, her appetite fading under the weight of the title, the eyes, the future that had unfolded so suddenly before her.

Outside, a murmur drifted through the cracked window, followed by a distant shout. The hum of the dining hall had increased to a crescendo, voices rising just enough to betray the presence of something building beyond the inn's walls. Devlin turned his head slightly, his gaze drawn toward the sound. Shadows moved just beyond the glass—figures gathering.

Word had travelled faster than anyone had anticipated.

Captain Knightley, stationed near the door with arms folded, shifted uneasily. His sharp eyes scanned the room, then darted to the crowd swelling outside. The line of his jaw tightened as the din grew louder, more curious than hostile—but no less dangerous for it.

Devlin's expression didn't change, but his hand paused mid-reach for his tea. "How many?"

"Dozens," Knightley said grimly. "Maybe more. Not just locals anymore. We should move, sire. Now."

Devlin nodded once and rose. The chair scraped softly against the floor. Edeana, without thinking, stood as well, her instincts already tethered to him. She wasn't sure where they were going, or what came next, but she knew it wouldn't do for her to dally.

But before she could take a step, Knightley moved into her path.

"I believe your services are no longer required," he said smoothly.

Her brow furrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

He didn't elaborate. Instead, he reached out and pressed something into her palm—cool, heavy, unmistakably final. A gold coin.