Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 485. Visiting The Market VI
The realization hit him like cold water.
How long she could pretending around him? Around the palace? Around Seraphine?
Shame crawled under his skin.
He had thought himself protector.
He had been the liability.
Jane slowed near a fabric stall, fingertips brushing a bolt of pale blue silk. She smiled faintly at it. Then the smile faded, replaced by something deeper.
Her gaze shifted past the silk.
To a building across the street.
Her hand moved without hesitation.
She reached out and tugged Roric's sleeve.
The touch was light.
Familiar.
It sent a jolt through him that no battlefield ever had.
"Your Highness…" she said softly.
He turned toward her automatically.
"What is that place?"
She pointed.
Roric followed her finger.
His breath caught.
The pastry shop.
White stone façade. Golden lettering above the door. Small flower boxes beneath the windows, still vibrant with red blooms. The scent of baked sugar and warm butter drifted faintly even from across the street.
Memories hit him in waves.
Afternoons stolen from court duties. Jane laughing with powdered sugar dusting her lips. Whispered conversations in the upstairs VIP room. Noble girls gossiping too loudly in the lower hall. Him pretending annoyance while secretly enjoying the normalcy of it.
"That," he said quietly, voice rougher than he intended, "is a pastry shop. One of the best in Pontus."
Jane's eyes lingered on the upper window.
"Do you want to try it?" he asked before he could stop himself.
She nodded.
Not dramatically.
Just once.
Rose glanced at Jane then, sharp understanding flashing briefly across her expression.
Of course she understood.
The castle had too many eyes. Too many ears. Even the corridors breathed secrets.
But the pastry shop?
Private rooms. Neutral ground. Controlled access.
The VIP room upstairs had always been theirs.
Rose smiled gently. "That sounds delightful."
Angel's gaze drifted toward the building, then back to Roric.
"A local recommendation is difficult to refuse," he said mildly.
Roric's heart began to pound again.
This was it.
They crossed the street together. The cobblestones uneven beneath their steps. A carriage rattled past behind them, wheels splashing through a shallow puddle left from morning wash.
The pastry shop bell chimed softly as they entered.
Warmth embraced them instantly. The rich scent of caramelizing sugar, melted chocolate, fresh bread. Soft chatter filled the air. A few noblewomen sat at small tables near the windows, elegant gloves folded neatly beside porcelain plates.
For a moment, it felt like stepping back into another life.
The shopkeeper looked up from behind the counter.
Recognition flickered across his face when he saw Roric.
"Your High—" he began.
Roric raised a subtle hand.
The man corrected smoothly. "My lord. Welcome."
Roric inclined his head slightly.
"A private room," he said quietly.
"Of course."
They were led up the narrow staircase. The wooden steps creaked faintly beneath their weight. The upper hallway was quieter. Sunlight spilled through tall windows, illuminating framed paintings of pastoral scenes.
The door to the VIP room opened.
The room was exactly as he remembered.
Circular table near the center. Plush chairs. Lace curtains filtering sunlight into a golden haze. A faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air.
He swallowed.
Jane stepped inside first.
Her fingers brushed lightly across the back of one chair.
Roric closed the door behind them.
The click sounded louder than it should have.
For a second, no one spoke.
The silence was different here.
Contained.
Safe.
Angel moved to the window, checking the street below with a practiced glance. Rose remained near the table.
Jane turned slowly to face Roric.
Her eyes were no longer pretending.
"May I?" Rose asked gently.
Roric nodded.
He moved to the chair nearest the center of the room and sat.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Rose stepped closer.
Her fingers hovered near his temples first. Not touching. Just sensing.
The air between them felt charged.
Angel watched silently from the window, though Roric could feel his attention just as clearly.
Rose closed her eyes briefly.
Roric felt it.
A warmth.
Not invasive.
Not forceful.
Like sunlight filtering through fog.
He stiffened instinctively.
"Relax," she murmured.
He exhaled slowly.
She moved one hand to hover near his chest, the other near his head.
The warmth deepened.
He felt… layers.
Like threads being gently lifted.
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