The carriage rider sat upright, his face blank, not even blinking.
"My lady," he said gently.
There was no answer.
Then, the carriage door opened.
A man stepped out — tall, young, and calm. His black hair was tied behind his head, and a short beard lined his jaw. He wore a simple red dress, loose at the sleeves. A sword hung at his side, tied casually at his hip.
He raised both hands over his head and stretched, yawning slightly, as if just waking from a nap.
Then he began walking toward the crowd. Not fast. Not slow. Just steady.
He stopped near a young woman standing frozen near the edge of the group. Her eyes were wide.
"Hey, beauty," he said, smiling. "What's your name?"
She didn't answer at first. Her hands shook slightly.
"Hey, relax," he added. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just want your name."
"…Avani," she whispered.
"Avani," he repeated. "Nice. It suits you."
She stayed tense, her eyes still filled with fear.
"Where are you from?"
"Varahi," she said.
He raised an eyebrow. "That legendary city? Quite far from here. I wonder what brings you so far?"
"I came to see the Majesty… one last time."
The man nodded, slowly. "We came for the same reason. But the guards wouldn't let us through. We kept it peaceful. They started the fight, and we defended ourselves. That gatekeeper even called our king… a cockroach." He looked at her. "What do you think I should do?"
Avani's expression didn't change. Her voice was firmer this time.
"I'm from Varahi. We're not easily swayed by sweet words or pretty eyes. I know who you people are. I even know why you came."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face.
"I like your courage," he said. "I like women like you. Will you come with me? I'll treat you like a queen."
"No."
He sighed dramatically and raised both hands to the sky.
"Why, God? I'm twenty-two. Still single. Where's my queen?"
Avani turned slightly, clearly ready to leave, but Nivaan wasn't done.
"Wait," he called, his voice easy, unbothered. He took a few casual steps after her. "You said you're not swayed by sweet words or pretty eyes, right?"
She didn't answer, but her pace slowed.
He caught up to her, matching her stride. "That's good," he said. "Means you've met enough men who try too hard."
"I've met enough men who think they're clever," she replied, voice dry.
"Oof," he winced, clutching his chest dramatically. "That one stung. You wound me, Avani of Varahi."
She kept walking, weaving through a cluster of onlookers. They parted for her in silence.
"Alright," Nivaan said after a beat. "No pretty words. Let's try ugly truths instead."
She cast him a sideways glance — more curious now than cautious.
"I sleep too late," he began. "Talk too much. Drink what I'm given. Forget names, but never faces. I'm awful at chess. My horse hates me. And my enemies say I smile too often."
"You're not doing a great job selling yourself," she said.
"I'm not selling," he replied. "Just showing you the price."
That made her blink. Just once.
They walked a few paces in silence before he added, almost offhandedly, "Also, I snore. But only when I dream of war."
She looked away, but the faintest tug at the corner of her lips betrayed her. A flicker of a smile.
"Aha! A smile!" he said, triumphant. "Don't hide it. It suits you."
She rolled her eyes, arms folded, silent again—but not dismissive.
Behind them, a whisper rose from the crowd.
"Is he drunk?"
"No," came another voice. "I think… he's just like this."
Nivaan heard both. His grin widened.
"You ever think," he said to her, quieter now, "that the people who scare others the most… are usually the ones who've already lost something?"
She paused.
He didn't wait for a reply.
"Anyway," he said, tipping his head toward the unopened bottle still in someone's hand. "I'm off to face rejection the only way I know how — with courage and poor decisions."
He turned to go, then glanced back one last time.
"Avani," he said, softer now. "If I see you again — I'll remember the name. And the courage."
She didn't respond.
But her eyes followed him longer than she meant them to.
He turned to the crowd. "Anyone here got alcohol? I can't take rejection. I need to drown in it."
A voice rose from the crowd.
"I have some. But it's cheap stuff."
The man grinned. "Perfect. I'm no prince. I grew up drinking the worst stuff. Toss it here."
The bottle flew through the air. He caught it one-handed and took a deep drink.
He smacked his lips. "Oof. Raw and rough. Just like home."
He draped an arm around the young man who gave him the bottle.
"You from around here?"
"North," the young man said.
"You came from the north to see Aariv?"
"Yes, sir—"
"Call me brother."
"Okay, brother."
The crowd watched in stunned silence. No one knew what was going on — a Narkhazhir, now drinking and joking with strangers?
"Why did you come all the way from the north?" the man asked.
The young man's voice lowered. "Five years ago, the Majesty visited the northern seas. My sister… she was almost taken by raiders. He saved her. It's the least we can do. Come and pay our respects."
His eyes were red now, filled with tears.
"It's okay."
Meanwhile, the rider near the carriage shifted uncomfortably. He glanced back, then toward the man who was now laughing with commoners.
"My lady…" the rider whispered, unsure. "Are you sure he can be trusted? He drinks like a fool, jokes with peasants. Who is he, really? Why trust him?"
There was silence for a moment.
Then, a soft voice came from inside the carriage. Calm. Clear.
"Because I know him," the voice said.
"If I hadn't married," she continued, "I would've married him."
The rider turned and stared at the door, stunned.
"You've known me since I was a child," the woman said. "So let me give you one piece of advice. Don't meddle in his affairs."
The rider turned slowly back toward the young man in red, who now leaned against wall, swinging the empty bottle in his hand.
Back near him.
"Brother… can I ask you something? Was Majesty Aariv really that good?"
The young man gave a short nod. "Yes. Aariv was a good man. Even when he was a prince, he did things most wouldn't. But…"
He tilted his head. "I'm not sure it's God who calls the good ones early. Maybe it's people who send them."
The young man slowly nodded. "That's true."
"Oh! I never asked your name."
"Varna."
"I'm Nivaan." He pointed to the carriage. "I serve my lady. Naira. If you ever need anything, come to Khazhi — the capital of Narkhazhir. Ask for me."
He gave Varna a light pat on the back and turned to leave.
"Go now. Back to the crowd. Stay safe."