We're just friends

The journey back to Windale was a quiet, hollow thing. The carriage that had once been filled with laughter and excited chatter on the way to the palace now carried only silence. The air inside was thick with exhaustion—some from wine-induced headaches, others from the weight of the night's revelations. Nysa sat beside Murda, her fingers absently tracing the frayed hem of the coat Lioren had draped over her shoulders the night before. The rich fabric still carried the faint scent of cedar and ink, a lingering reminder of his quiet kindness.

She hadn't spoken much since they left the capital. The grandeur of the palace, the whispers behind gloved hands, the way the nobles had looked at her—like she was something fragile, something broken—had settled into her bones like a sickness.

When the carriage finally rolled into Windale, the familiar sight of uneven rooftops and dusty streets should have been a comfort. Instead, it felt like stepping back into a cage. The carriage slowed to a stop near the market square, and Lioren was the first to move, offering his hand to help Nysa down. His fingers were warm against hers, steadying her as her shoes touched the ground.

"I'll walk you home," he said, his voice low.

Nysa didn't argue. She simply nodded, falling into step beside him as they left Murda and Sera behind. The midday sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows across the road. The market was alive with its usual clamor—vendors shouting prices, children darting between stalls, the scent of fresh bread and spiced meat thick in the air. It was as if the palace, with its glittering chandeliers and silk-draped halls, had never existed.

Lioren broke the silence first. "So… are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Nysa said, too quickly.

He gave her a sidelong glance, his dark eyes searching. "You've been quiet since we left."

"I didn't sleep much," she murmured, hoping that would be enough. In truth, sleep had never come to her in the palace.

Lioren exhaled softly, his gaze lingering on her before turning back to the road. "You did well," he said after a moment. "You looked… you looked beautiful last night. Even with the torn dress."

A faint smile touched Nysa's lips. "Thank you… for the coat."

They reached the weathered door of her uncle's house too soon. Nysa shrugged out of the coat, folding it carefully before holding it out to him. "Here. I didn't want to return it with any wine stains or crumbs."

Lioren took it with a soft chuckle. "It suits you better than it does me."

But his smile faded as the door behind her creaked open.

Uncle Jorren stood in the threshold, his massive frame filling the doorway, the dim light from the hall casting long, jagged shadows behind him. His thick arms were crossed over his broad chest, the muscles in his forearms taut with barely restrained fury.

"So," he said, his voice a low, rumbling growl, "you finally decided to return."

Nysa's breath hitched. Her fingers curled into her palms, nails biting into her skin hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents. The weight of his stare pressed down on her, making her shoulders tense.

"Uncle—"

"I thought this was a one-day thing," he interrupted, his voice slicing through the air like a whip. He stepped aside just enough for her to slip past him, but the space felt like a trap, not an invitation. "One day. Not two. What in Aeloria's name made you think you could stay the night?"

Her throat tightened, her pulse hammering so loudly she was sure he could hear it. "I—I didn't plan to. It got late, and they offered everyone rooms—"

"So you stayed?" His voice was sharp as a blade, each word enunciated with cold precision. "With whose permission?"

Lioren stepped forward, his posture straight but his tone carefully neutral. "Sir, there was no safe transport after dark. The roads were crawling with bandits—we were instructed—"

"I wasn't asking you, boy," Jorren snapped, his glare never leaving Nysa. He didn't even acknowledge Lioren's presence, as if he were nothing more than a gnat to be swatted away.

Lioren's jaw clenched, a muscle feathering in his cheek as he glanced at Nysa. She gave him the smallest nod, her eyes pleading for him to go. With a quiet sigh, he turned, his coat slung over his shoulder.

The moment the door clicked shut, Jorren's voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "I heard from some neighbors that you were seen with Rellen's son. Lioren."

Nysa swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "We're just friends."

"You think I don't know who his father is?" Jorren's voice was thick with bitterness, his eyes burning with accusation. "After all I've suffered in this town, trying to keep my business afloat? After you cost me that royal contract years ago—" His voice cracked with raw emotion. "And now you're cozying up to the son of the man who took everything from me?"

Her chest ached as if a fist had closed around her heart. "That wasn't my fault. I was just a child."

"But you're not now!" he roared, slamming his fist against the wall with a force that made the wooden beams shudder. The sound echoed through the house like a thunderclap. "You knew better this time. And yet here you are again, betraying me—your own blood—for him."

The words cut deeper than any knife, each syllable a fresh wound. Nysa lowered her gaze, her vision blurring with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Jorren scoffed, turning away as if the sight of her disgusted him. "You should be."

Nysa didn't reply. She turned on unsteady legs, her knees threatening to buckle, and moved down the hallway like a ghost, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. As she passed the kitchen, she caught Kaeli leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips like she'd been waiting for this moment.

"Well, well," Kaeli drawled, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Look who returned looking like a half-eaten pastry left out in the rain." She tilted her head. "Told you that dress was cursed."

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