Token of undying friendship

The market square was alive. Lanterns of every shade hung from cords strung across the square. Stalls lined the cobblestone streets, bursting with trinkets, food, and laughter.

The air was thick with the scents of roasted chestnuts, cinnamon pastries, and sizzling meat skewers. Children darted between the crowds, giggling as they chased one another with sparklers in hand.

Marcella strolled alongside Anthony; her hands loosely clasped in front of her. The gown hugged her womanly figure, one made of deep charcoal gray fabric with subtle embroidery at the hem. A delicate belt of black silk sat at her waist. Her silver hair was loosely pinned up, a few strands framing her face.

"You know," Anthony said, breaking the silence between them, "for someone who didn't want to come, you're looking surprisingly at ease."

Marcella pulled up a smirk, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "Don't mistake my calm for enthusiasm, Anthony. I'm merely tolerating this chaos for your sake."

Anthony grinned, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. "Well, I'll take what I can get. But I'll make a believer out of you by the end of the night. Trust me, you'll be thanking me for dragging you out of that manor."

Marcella let out a dry laugh, adjusting the folds of her gown as she stepped around a puddle on the cobblestones. "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. These festivals usually end in tears, and not the happy kind."

"Spoken like a true pessimist," Anthony teased, giving her an exaggeratedly disapproving look. "One of these days, Marcella, I'm going to teach you how to enjoy yourself."

Marcella arched a brow. "Enjoy myself? With this crowd? Hardly."

She gestured subtly toward a group of noble daughters gathered near a jewelry stall. Their pastel gowns glittered in the lantern light, and their voices —sharp, gossipy tones that made it clear they were bitching about someone.

Marcella swept her gaze over them with disinterest. She wasn't acquainted with most of the noble families present, and she doubted she wanted to be.

"Not exactly my idea of stimulating company," Marcella said flatly.

Anthony followed her gaze and let out a low chuckle. "Jealous, are we?"

Marcella shot him a sharp look, "Hardly."

They stopped briefly at a stall selling glass trinkets and carved figurines. Her fingers brushed lightly over the smooth surface of a small, delicate wolf carved from black stone.

"You like it?" Anthony asked, watching her with a curious tilt of his head.

Marcella hesitated, then gave a small nod. "It's simple. Unassuming. I like that."

Anthony grinned and reached into his pocket, pulling out a coin. "Then it's yours. Consider it a token of our undying friendship."

Marcella blinked, her surprise flickering for only a moment. "Undying friendship? That sounds dramatic even for you, Anthony."

"Call it whatever you like, but you're stuck with me," he said with a wink.

Marcella allowed herself a small smile, tucking the little wolf into her pouch. "Fine. Then you're getting one too."

She picked up a small glass figure shaped like a sparrow, its translucent wings catching the light of the lanterns. After handing it to the stall owner and paying for it, she turned to Anthony, holding the sparrow out with mock seriousness. "For your bravery in tolerating my company,"

Anthony laughed, taking the sparrow and holding it up as though it were a priceless artifact. "A gift from the infamous Marcella Valemont herself? I'll treasure it forever."

"See that you do," she replied, shaking her head with mock exasperation.

They continued strolling through the market, weaving through the lively crowd.

Anthony chatted animatedly, pointing out interesting stalls and nudging Marcella toward anything he thought might amuse her. Despite her initial reluctance, she found herself relaxing—just a little.

But as they approached the central square where the fire dance was about to begin, her shoulders tensed.

Anthony, of course, was practically bouncing with excitement. "This is it!" he said, clapping his hands together. "The fire dance. You've got to admit, it's impressive. You're going to love it."

Her gaze flicked toward the growing crowd. She recognized a few faces among the nobles—Lady Camilla's, unfortunately, among them. The Marquess's daughter stood at the edge of the square, surrounded by a small group of admirers, her laughter ringing through the noise.

She clenched her jaw, her fingers brushing over the fabric of her gown. Of course she's here, she thought bitterly.

"I don't know about this," she murmured, her voice low.

Anthony shot her a curious look. "What? Don't tell me you're nervous about a little fire dance."

"It's not the fire I'm worried about," Marcella muttered, glancing once more toward Camilla.

Anthony grinned, clapping her lightly on the shoulder. "Come on, let's find a good spot before it gets crowded."

They moved closer to the front of the square, where the performers were gathering.

~~~~~~~

The firelight glowed across the square as performers spun their flaming batons in mesmerizing patterns. The crowd was clapping and gasping in awe. Marcella, however, was barely watching. Her eyes scanned the shifting sea of faces.

Anthony had left her only moments ago, swept away by the arrival of some old friends. He'd promised to return quickly, but Marcela knows that he was the kind of person who could lose hours in conversation without realizing it.

And now, here she stood—alone, in the middle of a crowded square, surrounded by noble families whose judgmental stares she could practically feel seeping into her skin. The noble daughters, especially, gathered in tight clusters, their pastel gowns glowing faintly in the lantern light. They whispered behind their lace fans.

It was suffocating.

Marcella moved toward the edge of the square, away from the crowd, intending to find a quiet spot to wait for Anthony. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

"Ah, Lady Marcella."

The honeyed voice stopped her in her tracks.