Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen: Painted Streets

Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen: Painted Streets
(Kaelia’s POV)

I wasn’t exactly allowed to wander. But Aaron wasn’t one for rules… okay, at least not when it came to mine.

“We’re stretching your legs,” he had said, already pulling me towards the door. “Getting some fresh air. Doctor’s orders.”

“Doctor’s orders?” I gave him a look, trying to suppress a smile.

“I’m the doctor,” he smirked. “And your nurse. And your unpaid servant. And your emotional support Alpha.”

“Sounds like you’re in the wrong career,” I murmured, letting him tug me gently toward the outer hall.

He didn’t respond to that, just tightened the scarf around my neck like I’d blow away if the wind decided to flirt with me.

By the time we stepped outside the palace, the air hit me like perfume and heat and too much sound at once. I blinked against the sun and smoke. The streets were alive.

Colours. Colours everywhere.

Ribbons as long as veins of joy, crept between roof to roof. Purple and gold waved mightily over our heads, crimson were narrower, and was entangled in-between the fingers of happy children, throwing the petals aloft. There rose the mingled perfume of saffron smoke winding out of incense pots at the corners of shrines, and of incense itself, austerely spiced.

People in masked animals-wolves, deer, foxes, were moving in chorus down the boulevard, their feet were beating in a certain rhythm in the song I had never heard before, their bodies were embellished in some glittering silks which glistened like the water.

“You’re smiling,” Aaron said softly, elbowing me.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. Ahhh, gods. I love today.”

I looked away, but he was right. I was smiling, because everything was so beautiful and happy. I didn't know Valeria had such a grand, mesmerizing culture. It's like I'm not Valerian, the way I didn't know anything about this festival.

There was something dizzying about it all. The noise, the colour, the way people looked at each other… it's like it was a holy day, like there was something in the air worth believing in.

I tugged my sleeves down a little, self-conscious of the way the golden embroidery on my white garment caught the sun. Aaron had picked it. He didn’t say that, but he didn’t have to. He kept glancing at me like he was proud of his work.

It was... lovely. It made me feel lovely.

“You don’t think I look like a... I don’t know. Some strange overdressed swan?” I muttered, brushing my palm down the front of the robe.

“You look like a magnificent goddess,” Aaron replied without skipping a beat. “Which you are. Also, I love swans.”

“Because they’re graceful?”

“Because they look soft but will mess you up without a struggle.”

I laughed. Out loud. And he looked very pleased with himself.

We moved slowly through the main lane, blending with the crowd as much as we could, even though it was obvious we were from the royal palace. No one said anything… yet.

Vendors lined the sides of the boulevard, stalls heavy with fruit, sweets, silver trinkets, and dyed fabrics. One stand sold moons shaped sweet. Another had small jars of glowing powder labeled “Blessings from the Old Moon.” Kids ran between legs, throwing paper stars and shouting names of their favorite warriors like it was a game.

Then I saw them: the murals.

There were three, side by side, still wet in places. Artists, young and old, stood on ladders putting final touches with delicate brushes.

The first was of Alarion. He was painted taller than life, his face angled slightly upward, two moons glowing behind him, one red, one white. His crown looked pretty real and heavy. His eyes were a little too sharp, a little off compared to how his eyes actually look.

The second mural was of the King, on a rearing black steed, pointing toward a battlefield with fire behind him.

The third was the Queen, holding a silver hawk perched on her arm, her eyes painted with almost unnerving precision.

Aaron gave a low whistle. “They even got his scowl right,” he said, tilting his chin toward the King’s image. “Impressive.”

“Don’t say that too loud,” I said. “Someone might report you.”

He shrugged. “Let them. I’ve been reported for worse. Kaelia, I'm the Prince of Eldoria, absolutely nothing can happen to me in Valeria.”

I was about to respond when an elderly woman passed us and paused. Her eyes locked on mine, and for a breath, I stiffened, ready for suspicion or offense.

Instead, she reached into her apron and pulled out a narrow red ribbon, frayed at one edge.

“Safe arrival,” she murmured, her voice soft and kind. “For what comes.”

She pressed it into my hand before I could speak.

I stared at the ribbon. “Thank you,” I whispered, not quite understanding why my chest tightened.

Aaron said nothing. He didn’t have to.

We wandered deeper into the square where music was louder. Musicians with silver flutes and clay drums played from balconies and steps. A child stopped in front of me, tugging at her mother’s sleeve.

“Mama,” she said, pointing at me, “is that a moon priest?”

Her mother chuckled. “No, baby.”

But the girl didn’t look away. “She looks like one. Like from the old stories.”

I laughed then, awkwardly. “That’s a new one.”

Aaron leaned close to murmur, “You do look ethereal today.”

“Flattering, or teasing?”

“Yes.” He grinned.

We stopped at a food stall, where Aaron got us something fried and sweet with bits of candied fruit in the middle. I took one bite and closed my eyes.

“What?” he asked, amused.

“It tastes like...” I hesitated. “Like before.”

“Before what?”

“Before everything was loud. When things were just... quiet.”

He was quiet for a long moment. I glanced at him, and his eyes were on me; soft, unreadable.

“That’s what you miss?” he asked.

I nodded.

Then he smiled gently. “Then we’ll find that again. Somewhere. Even if it’s just for a day— scratch that, I'll find it for you any day you want it. Any time at all you crave it, come to me, I'll find it for you.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t, but I know he's serious.

We continued walking, and that’s when I saw the carving. It looks older than the murals, inset into one of the temple walls. A queen, her hands raised, her eyes closed like she was praying or singing. But the plaque beneath her had been scratched out. Erased.

I paused in front of it. Aaron followed my gaze but didn’t ask.

A child tugged at my robe and handed me a single blossom of moonbell flower. I tucked it behind my ear, just to see Aaron roll his eyes.

“Ridiculously pretty,” he muttered.

“I aim to distract.”

We stood on the edge of the square as a music procession approached; long pipes, golden horns, drums in sync with marching feet. I watched the waves of sound ripple through the crowd. I watched the children shriek with joy. I watched a woman cry as she threw her petals high.

And then I felt a sudden shiver down my spine, goosebumps quickly rising.

Aaron looked at me immediately. “Kaelia?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, pressing a hand to my chest.

“You’re not lying very well,” he said, stepping close.

I just smiled.

Because I really wasn’t sure if I was lying.