Familiar face

"I wasn't trying to..." Before she could finish, he interrupted.

"It's okay. You should inquire about my disappearances if you weren't informed. That's what a wife does," Zyran said, a faintly amused smile playing on his lips as he observed her blush with embarrassment.

"Come with me," he quietly urged Amira to accompany him.

Amira let out a weary sigh as she glanced around the room. It felt like every time he spoke, it was to give her instructions.

She found it surprising that he could tease her – it was something he had never done before.

As they entered a quaint shoemaker shop, a warm and courteous sales representative greeted them.

"Good day, Your Highness. What a delightful surprise to have you grace us with your presence today," the shop owner said, approaching the prince whom he hadn't seen in about a decade.

"I'm surprised you can still recognize me, Mr. Lawrence. You have aged a lot since my last visit," Zyran remarked.

The man chuckled.

"You stand out sorely from the rest. It would be a sin not to recognize you," Mr. Lawrence said.

"Hmm," Zyran hummed.

The man then turned his gaze to Amira, who stood beside him. Her eyes sparkled like that of a child as she took in the collections before her.

Zyran noticed the man's intense gaze and turned to look at Amira, who appeared to be lost in her world, grinning like a child in a toy shop.

Mr Lawrence peering through his glasses, inquired about Amira.

"She's ??"

Zyran introduced her.

"Meet my wife, Princess Amira Zyran Silverwood."

Amira, feeling the weight of their attention, shied away, seeking comfort by moving closer to Zyran, who ironically was the one person from whom she should not seek solace.

"Such lovely wife you got yourself Zyran, too bad I wasn't invited to the wedding.

The man, attempting to compliment Amira, unintentionally startled her, causing Zyran to shoot him a disapproving glare.

Mr Lawrence cleared his throat and swiftly redirected the conversation back to business.

"Bring me the best shoes Available" Zyran said dismissing the man.

Zyran guided Amira to a couch, while the man scurried to fetch the best shoes available, as per Zyran's request.

He knelt down and gently grasped Amira's foot. Startled, she quickly retracted it, tucking it beneath her gown, her cheeks turning crimson.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes widening with confusion.

"Your leg needs attention, or the bruise will only get worse," he explained, his expression casual.

"Let me?" he asked.

She nervously nibbled on her inner cheek before reluctantly offering him her foot.

With ease, he removed her shoes and noticed streaks of blood on the soles of her heels.

He carefully retrieved the sachet he had acquired earlier and gently placed it on her heels, applying pressure so that she could feel the cooling effect that brought relief to her pain. A contented sigh escaped her lips.

Zyran assisted her in removing her shoes and discarded them in the trash without hesitation.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Why did you do that?" she inquired.

"Old things should be disposed of instead of being kept around when a new pair is acquired," he explained, settling down beside her on the couch and taking a leisurely sip from the cold drink that had been offered to him by the workers.

Amira quietly settled back into her seat, her lips parting wordlessly.

She struggled to find the right words to describe him. Zyran was an enigma, oscillating between hot and cold, making it difficult for Amira to anticipate his next move.

Regretfully, she glanced down at her worn-out shoes, a gift from someone special on her sixteenth birthday.

Despite their well-worn appearance, they held sentimental value as the only source of warmth in her otherwise tormenting life at her father's opulent mansion.

They arrived back at the castle Zyran made his way to the left wing while she occupied the right, they didn't share a space like normal couples.

She wondered if Zyran ever looked at her as a woman if he was simply doing all this dutifully.

Finally settled in bed, Amira stared at the flicker of the burning wood from the fireplace that put her to sleep.

She drifted off, standing amidst the snow and coldness of the land was dead bodies lying about on the ground.

Amira gazed down at her dishevelled appearance, her clothes torn and tattered. In the distance, she spotted a lone figure standing, and a sense of recognition washed over her as she called out in a voice filled with desperation.

"Mother?"

She felt a hand fall on her shoulder, she turned to see a ghastly figure resembling her mother, covered in cuts and blood. Her mouth opened, and in a silent whisper filled with terror, she accused saying,

"You caused this, it was all your fault."

Amira shook her head falling to the cold floor she heard a squinching sound and she looked down to see herself sitting in the pool of her mother's blood with her mother lying in it.

"Nooo!!!"

With a piercing scream, she was awoken from her nightmare...

The sound of her breathing echoed through the pitch-black room as she blinked rapidly, her eyes fixed on the shadowy walls. The fire had long since burned out, leaving the room engulfed in an impenetrable darkness reminiscent of the night itself.

As the sun began to rise, she could see the first light of dawn peeking through the small gap in the curtains.

Amira found herself sitting in the practice room of the castle, where she was learning the art of needlework alongside Novalie and Katia. As she struggled with the task at hand, she winced in frustration each time she pricked her finger.

"This is so hard," she muttered under her breath, letting out an exasperated sigh.

Katia, with condescension in her voice, scoffed and retorted,

"Well, you've only just started today. You're the last person who should be complaining. Considering your humble background, it's only fitting for you to stick to mundane tasks like cooking and cleaning."

Amira paid her little heed, her focus elsewhere.

"You don't have to continue if you don't want to. Embroidery isn't a crucial skill, and not everyone is naturally talented at it," Novalie chimed in, offering Amira some much-needed encouragement.

As Katia's words echoed through the room, her eyes sparkled with determination.

"I will tell Queen Miranda about what you said," she declared.

With a nonchalant air, Novalie responded, "Suit yourself, Katia. I pay her little mind; most times I simply ignore her."

Upon completing their embroidery class, the girls departed, and Amira wandered the halls alone.

As she made her way through the bustling corridor, the busy maids respectfully bowed in acknowledgement of her presence. Amira, however, turned left, straying from the path leading to her chamber. Her steps guided her toward the stables.

Arriving at the wooden gates, she observed the horses grazing in the distance. The stable boy, noticing her arrival, approached with a nod.

His face bore the sun-kissed glow of someone who spent long hours labouring under the open sky. His curly red hair, tousled by the day's work, framed a genuine smile.

"Ahh, don't bother yourself with me. I was just taking a look around," Amira replied.

"It's okay, princess. You are not holding me up," he assured her.

She nodded with a warm smile.

"The horses look healthy. You're doing a commendable job of taking care of them. They must be quite fond of you," Amira observed.

"I have been here for three weeks, I guess they are growing on me" he replied, and Amira arched her brow in curiosity.

"Have you been deployed recently? What were you doing before this?" she asked.

"I used to work at my master's stable before I was taken as a captive of war," he explained.

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't realize. You must miss home," she said looking at the boy with concern.

"Yes, Rooth Hallow used to be my home, but I have no relatives there. It's just me against the world," he said casually.

"Rooth Hallow?" Amira asked, surprised to hear that they were from the same kingdom.

"Yes, princess. I worked at Lord Barbarossa's mansion," he replied.

Amira's eyes widened in astonishment. He had worked for her father. What a coincidence!

"Did you work for my father?" The boy chuckled. Judging from his looks, he appeared to be about her age or older.

"Hello Amira, it's nice to see a familiar face again. I'm Marion Richard," he introduced himself.

Unable to contain her joy, a wide smile spread across her face.

"I'm surprised you know me," she said.

Truly, she hadn't expected anyone to recognize her. She mostly spent her days in the attic, waking up, eating, and sleeping there, never engaging in the daily activities like the rest of her siblings.