The journey to the capital took nearly a week. Six days of travel from Ferendia to the sanctuary hidden inside Valkathra's central walls. But the long ride didn't bother Cessalie. For once, there were no harsh words lurking around the corners, no invisible leash pulling her back. Just the sound of hooves on dirt, the quiet creak of the carriage, and wind slipping through the curtains.
They stopped in a different place each night. Small towns, trade routes, old villages with crooked chimneys. Every market they passed felt like another world entirely, one that Cessalie watched quietly from the window.
She noticed the baker brushing ash from his sleeves, the painter pulling color across his canvas, a child dropping a coin into a musician's bowl.
They all looked free. She hated how badly she wanted that, not the version of life behind gates and rules.
In one town, they passed a street full of fabric sellers. Stalls stacked with silks and dyed cotton. A woman argued over a crimson scarf, laughing mid-sentence, her voice sounded unbothered.
Cessalie watched her. That kind of ease felt like a different lifetime.
Everything she saw...the towns, the markets, the people settled in her chest like a quiet ache.
By the time they reached Valkan—the capital, the change was obvious.
The roads turned smooth, paved with stone and edged in brass. The buildings grew taller, wider. Tomb-shaped towers stretched toward the sky, coated in white plaster and beige stone. Everything looked sunwashed and expensive. The kind of place built to be looked at.
This was the capital of Valkathra, home to the royal palace, where the King and Queen lived under gold ceilings.
The Aurevera Palace, once belonging to late first Queen Aerith, sat further off sealed now, but untouched yet beautiful.
At the centre of the city rose the Central Temple Base, glowing softly even under daylight.
Military institutes, combat arenas, academic universities, they all spread across the capital like veins. This was where soldiers were built. Where nobles sent their heirs. Where spells were studied and politics sharpened.
And in the middle of all that was the Capital Market. A loud and alive city of its own.
Merchants from every corner of Valkathra came to sell whatever they could carry. Spices, weapons, charms, animals, enchanted fabrics, potions with handwritten labels. You could lose yourself here in minutes, and most people did.
Cessalie leaned closer to the window, watching people weave through the crowd like it was muscle memory.
She'd spent years behind walls. But this place, Valkan... it reminded her how far she still had to go.
Davian's voice broke the quiet. "We'll be at the sanctuary in five minutes."
Cessalie nodded, eyes still fixed on the passing scenery outside.
"You'll like it," he added. "It's quiet and peaceful."
The sanctuary came into view, nothing like the rigid stone halls or towering walls she had imagined. It wasn't a fortress or palace. It looked… alive. The structures were built from pale, polished wood and what seemed like sheets of crystal, so clear they nearly vanished against the trees beyond. There were no gates, no guards standing stiff with spears. The entire place was open, blending with the land like it had always been there.
Clusters of trees wrapped around shaded walkways. The buildings weren't stacked on top of each other or caged in stone. they sat apart, connected by winding garden paths and arched wooden bridges over streams. It felt more like a forest that had learned how to breathe with people, not against them.
Cessalie stared, blinking. It wasn't what she expected.
The carriage slowed to a stop. Davian stepped out first, offering his gloved hand to her. She hesitated for only a second before placing her hand in his and stepping down.
The moment her feet touched the soft earth, it sank in.
This existed because of her words. The small, careful solution whispered in a drawing room weeks ago. All hers., But no one here would ever know that.
They walked across the open space, sunlight slipping through tall branches overhead. People greeted Davian as they passed, their voices warm with respect.
"Your Grace," they called. "You've done something good here."
They praised and admired him.
And Cessalie walked beside him like a shadow, as the e girl behind the duke, one with no title and no credit.
Davian glanced at her as they neared a cluster of wooden benches beneath a willow tree. "Would you like to meet the head of the Eryndors?" he asked.
She offered a faint smile. "Sure."
They met so many people, Cessalie lost count. Witches in loose, earth-toned robes with quiet voices and watchful eyes. Nobles with their perfect words and stiff backs.
Workers and builders shuffling blueprints across wooden tables, pointing at timber stacks, discussing herb gardens and irrigation channels.
The sanctuary wasn't finished. The Eryndors had chosen this place carefully.
It was an old, abandoned estate hidden beyond the capital's noise. There were no high walls, no stone tower, judt open spaces stitched together by nature. Wooden frames shaped the walkways.
Glass stretched over the roofs. It caught the light in strange ways, reflecting clouds and sky until it almost disappeared.
Wildflowers grew in the cracks, ivy wrapped itself around the beams like it belonged there. The entire place breathed like the forest itself.
Cessalie didn't understand it at first.
After the endless introductions, Cessalie finally sank onto an old bench tucked in a quieter side of the sanctuary. The wood was not smooth yet, but it was comfortable enough. Her arms fell at her sides, too tired to care about posture or appearances.
Voices echoed from the main hall where Davian stood, still deep in conversation with a noble about permits and resources. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her body relax.
When she opened them, Davian's stood in front of her, his gaze already on her. His lips pulled into a knowing smile.
"Are you bored?" he asked.
She didn't bother lying. She gave a slow, tired nod.
Instead of looking offended, he tilted his head slightly, considering. "Do you want to see the market?"
Cessalie blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"The city market," Davian repeated. "It's not far. You've never been there, have you?"
She hesitated. It felt like a strange question, but… not unwelcome. "No… never."
Davian's brow lifted, curious. "Why not?"
She stared at the floor for a second. "My father said markets were dirty. That it was beneath us to walk around in crowds like that."
Davian didn't react with surprise or sympathy. He nodded, like adding it to the growing list of things he quietly resented about her father.
"Well," he said simply, offering his arm, "maybe it's time we do something beneath you."
Cessalie stared at his arm, hesitating for only a moment.
Something beneath her.
It sounded… free like a rebellion disguised as something simple.
She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and walked towards the carriage for sanctuary.
.
.
.
.
.
The city opened up in a way Cessalie had never seen before. Crowded streets wound through rows of busy stalls, packed tight with fruits, fabrics, copper trinkets, and animals in wooden cages. Smoke from food carts drifted through the air, mixed with the smell of spices and warm bread.
Vendors called out prices over the hum of the crowd. Little boys weaved between legs, laughing as they chased stray dogs down the alleys. People haggled over herbs, jewelry, baskets of figs. Musicians stood on corners, playing simple tunes on flutes and small drums.
Cessalie kept close to Davian as they walked, her eyes moving everywhere, trying to absorb it all. He didn't hover or explain, just stayed beside her, pointing at something now and then, letting her experience it herself.
They passed a spice stall where jars of dried herbs filled the air with sharp, earthy scents. At the next, a man sold hand-carved combs and small wooden jewelry boxes. A young boy raced past, nearly knocking into her, and she instinctively stepped closer to Davian, steadying herself.
"Alright?" he asked.
She nodded, her gaze still shifting around. "It's… louder than I thought. But I like it."
A fruit vendor held out a candied lemon stick toward her, the sugar crystals catching the sunlight. She looked at Davian for permission without even thinking.
"Try it," he said, already tossing a coin to the vendor. "If it's awful, spit on my hand."
She bit into it. The sweetness hit first, then the sharp tang of lemon that made her eyes sting a little. It wasn't awful but not great either. Still it made her smile all the same.
They kept walking, weaving through the narrow streets. Cessalie paused in front of a stall covered in tiny glass animals. Deer, foxes, birds with delicate wings. One of them looked just enough like her pet, with long ears and big feline body with black patches and red eyes. She stopped without thinking.
"Want it?" Davian asked, noticing.
She shook her head. "Just looking."
But he bought it anyway, passing it to her without a word.
"It reminded you of something," he said simply. "That's enough reason."
She didn't say thank you. It felt strange, almost like admitting she owed him for something. Instead, she slipped the small glass creature into her palm and kept walking.
As they moved through the market, she noticed things she'd never been allowed to before. How w people argued but still smiled after, how children snuck pieces of bread off carts when no one was watching, how the older women leaned on the doorframes, gossiping without a care. It wasn't some fairytale.
It was messy but t there was a rhythm to it. A life that pulsed in every shouted price and every laugh that rang down the narrow alleys.
They stayed until the sun dipped lower, the market lanterns flickering to life. The crowd thinned, replaced by quieter shoppers and vendors closing up stalls.
"We should head back," Davian said.
Cessalie nodded, her steps slower now. Shhe settled insidethe carriage, holding the little glass animal in her lap, watching the last streaks of daylight fade.
Davian shifted from his seat across from her, moving to sit beside her instead. His arm brushed hers lightly. She didn't move away.
"I've never seen you like this," he said after a moment. "You looked… different today."
She turned to him, unsure how to respond.
He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. His hand hovered along her jaw, his eyes flicking between hers.
For a second, her chest tightened. She immediately pulled back, just enough for him to notice.
His hand dropped, but there was no frustration on his face, only understanding.
Instead of pushing, he leaned forward again, slower this time, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.
Warmth spread slowly across her skin, impossible to ignore. Her eyes widened at the suddenness of it. She parted her lips to say something, but the sight of his smile stole the words from her. Shyness took hold instead, and she turned her face away, hoping to hide it. His quiet laugh told her he noticed anyway.
The journey back was quiet and unexpectedly comfortable. With proper stops at well-kept inns and leisurely picnics along the road, they reached Ferendia in ten days. By the time the palace gates came into view, exhaustion weighed heavily on her.
Davian stepped down first and offered his hand, helping her gently from the carriage.
She descended in a haze of half-sleep, blinking at the familiar palace grounds. A sudden wave of sadness washed over her at the sight of it.
"I will have your purchases sent to your chambers by morning," he said.
She waved him off softly. "No… send them to Alderwyn instead. I have no space to keep all of that." She leaned back into the carriage and retrieved the small glass figurine. "I only want this."
He did not argue. He simply nodded. "Very well."
"Sleep well, Cessalie," he said quietly. "I have important matters to attend to, otherwise I would have stayed."
She shook her head, offering him a faint smile. "You do not have to."
He lifted her hand and pressed a final kiss to her knuckles. Then he stepped back into the carriage, and it rolled away into the night.
Cessalie remained where she was for a moment, the delicate glass figure cool against her palm.