Chapter 7 -Avianna/The Witch-
\-Avianna-
The market always smells like life.
Spice and smoke, fresh bread, warm fruit, leather, heat rising from sun-warmed stone, it all folds together into something grounding in a way the palace never is.
By the time we step through the lower gates, the shift settles into me instantly. Noise replaces silence. Movement replaces control. And for the first time since yesterday, I can breathe properly.
“You’re different here,” Rhydon says beside me.
I glance at him. He’s dressed down, at least as much as I’m sure he ever allows himself to be, but there’s still something too precise about him. Like, a slightly less formal performance, but a performance nonetheless.
“I am,” I say. “This is where things make sense.”
A woman passes with a basket of bread, nodding when she recognizes me. I return it without slowing.
Rhydon notices.“They know you.”
I smile. “And I know them.”
Ahead of us, children dart through the crowd, weaving between stalls, a mix of laughter and screams. One nearly collides with me before stopping short, eyes wide.
“Sorry, Princess!”
“It’s alright,” I say, crouching to his level. “Are you racing or escaping?”
He grins. “Racing.”
“Then I’d run faster. You’ve almost lost.”
He gasps, offended, then laughs and disappears back into the chaos. When I stand, Rhydon is watching me again.
“Do you do that often?” he asks.
“Talk to children?” I reply lightly as I feel Caylix's amusement coming through the tether.
He shakes his head. “Let people forget who you are.”
I tilt my head as if considering it.
“They speak to you without hesitation,” he says. “Without formality.”
The words settle deeper than I expect. Behind us, Caylix moves through the crowd like he belongs to it, effortless, unnoticed. Well, as unnoticed as a man who towers above all the others can be.
“Stay close,” he murmurs, low enough only I hear.
I slow just enough for him to shift closer without making it obvious. We move deeper into the market, the crowd thickening, voices overlapping in a rhythm that feels chaotic until you realize it isn’t. It’s alive. A vendor catches my attention, bright fabrics, finely worked pieces laid carefully across the stall. I step toward it, drawn in without thinking. My fingers hover over the edge of one piece, tracing the stitching without quite touching it. It’s beautiful. For a moment, I let myself focus on that. On something that isn’t expectation or duty or the weight of two kingdoms pressing quietly against my shoulders. And then, Caylix’s presence sharpens.
Stay where you are.
It wasn’t said out loud, but the warning through the tether was unmistakable. My hand remains against the blanket, fingers tracing the stitching as if I’m still considering it. I angle slightly, just enough to catch the reflection in a polished tray at the edge of the stall. Caylix stands a few steps away, and a woman stands far too close to him. Her hand rests on his arm, and he hasn’t stepped back. Which means he’s allowing it. Watching. Assessing. That has to be what he’s doing, right? But then her hand moves. Slowly. Sliding higher along his arm until it settles against his chest. My breath catches and something shifts inside of me. My gaze flicks toward him before I can stop it.
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\-The Witch-
I notice him before anything else. The guard. Nothing outwardly unusual about him, until my magic brushes something in him that pushes back. I pause. That shouldn’t happen. I extend again, slower this time, letting a thin thread of awareness slip outward, barely more than a whisper as it settles against him. The moment it touches him, he stills. It’s subtle, but I feel it. My gaze sharpens. That is not possible. My magic is not something people feel. Not unless they are trained, or marked, or…something else. I lean into it, just slightly, letting my magic press closer, surrounding him now, testing the edges of whatever he is. He knows what I’m doing. I can feel it in the way everything in him tightens beneath the surface, the way his focus narrows with quiet precision.
He’s assessing me back.
A slow smile curves across my lips. How intriguing. Now I must know what he is. I move closer, letting the crowd carry me the last few steps until I’m standing in front of him. He’s controlled in a way most men aren’t. Every movement measured. Every reaction contained. Dangerous. I reach out and place my hand lightly against his arm. He doesn’t move. He’s still trying to figure me out.
“You’re very devoted to her,” I say softly, letting my tone carry just enough curiosity to seem harmless. “The princess.”
His attention sharpens further.
“Move along,” he says, quiet, controlled, not even looking down at my hand.
I almost smile. I let my thumb shift slightly against his arm anyway, as if I didn’t hear him.
“She’s a lucky girl,” I continue, studying him more openly now. “To have someone like you protecting her.”
I let my hand move then, slow and deliberate, sliding up along his arm, feeling the strength there, until my palm rests against his chest.
“If you ever find yourself wanting… different company,” I murmur with a hint of amusement, “you should let me know.”
And while I speak, my magic shifts again, pressing deeper, not into him this time, but beyond him, following the current that surrounds him. I follow it outward, and it leads me to her.
The princess.
My smile deepens. There is something there.
Not a spell. Not exactly. But something moves between them all the same, tightening every time he looks at her, sharpening the moment I touch him. It curls around the princess instinctively, protective in a way that almost feels alive.
Interesting.
I study him more carefully. Most people never notice magic reaching for them. He did. The second I brushed against whatever exists between them, he reacted.
So he feels it too.
My gaze shifts briefly to the princess at the stall. She is pretending not to watch us, but her attention never truly leaves him. Neither of them realizes how obvious it is.
This is not true magic. Not exactly. It feels more like emotion sharpened into something dangerous enough to imitate it. A connection built through devotion, protection, proximity. The longer I watch them, the more it shifts and reacts between them, almost like it is responding to their emotions in real time.
Interesting.
I have never seen anything quite like it.
My gaze lingers on the invisible pull between them. It tightens when he looks at her. Sharpens when she notices him touching another woman. Protective. Possessive. Alive in a way magic should not be. But emotional bonds are fragile things, no matter how powerful they appear. All it takes is the right pressure in the right place, and devotion turns into doubt, protection turns into obsession, and love begins destroying itself from the inside.
And human connections are always the easiest to break.