Page 57 of Lost Moon

Elara lifts an arm and stretches it, easing the stiffness from her shoulders. The journey has carried them deep into the outer kingdom, far past the excursions she had known before, delivering her to a landscape entirely unfamiliar.

Beyond the market rises a broad curved bridge of pale stone, arching over a wide river fed by a waterfall whose rushing waters create a constant rhythm beneath the hum of daily life. Along the riverbank, citizens sit with fishing rods resting in their hands, steel buckets positioned beside them while they exchange words and watch the current.

Withered vegetation stretches in every direction. Frosted planters border the pathways in maintained rows, brittle petals drifting from overhanging branches whenever the wind stirs them. Near the waterfall, clusters of dead lily pads float upon calmer pools of water, their broad leaves shifting with the current.

Not far beyond stretches a sprawling common filled with rope swings hanging from sturdy oak branches, carved wooden obstacles, and low climbing frames. Children run freely beneath the afternoon sun, their laughter drifting through the air in lively bursts that rise above the murmur of the river. The sky seems different here, clearer and more expansive than the one seen from the palace towers. A crisp freshness fills the air, absent from the stone and candlelight of the palace halls, carrying the faint scents of water, woodsmoke, and distant cooking fires. This expanse offers a welcome reprieve from the heaviness of the previous evening.

“I have never seen anything like this before,” Elara whispers, the words leaving her before she realizes she has spoken.

The guard responds from nearby, maintaining a respectful distance. “This is the far district of Riverath, Your Highness. Most of the kingdom’s shops are located here, while the residential areas continue further inward beyond the marketplace. That is why we have come. His Highness has been overseeing plans to expand the available space for homes and public buildings while preserving the trees, waterways, and the marketplace that already serves the people. He believes progress should never come at the cost of comfort or the safety of his citizens.”

Elara turns toward Cael, a sense of admiration settling within her heart. She glances beyond him toward the market, the pale stone bridge, the families moving freely through the streets, and the careful balance maintained between nature and expansion.

“Admirable,” she says softly, a genuine smile finding its way onto her face.

Growing chatter drifts from behind the line of shops, louder now than the sounds of the river. Four figures emerge from between the market stalls and begin making their way in their direction, two women and two men, all tall and broad-supported, their builds shaped by years of physical labor rather than military training.

One carries a wooden crate balanced against his hip, while another wipes her hands against her heavy canvas apron before breaking into a grin at the sight of the prince. Their pace quickens as they approach, recognition already brightening their expressions.

They wear fitted dark tunics and heavy gray trousers with reinforced knees and straight, practical cuts. Wide leather belts fitted with split-hide tool pouches rest at their waists, while sturdy work jackets are tied neatly around their hips.

They stop a respectful distance from Cael and bow halfway at the waist in perfect unison. “Good morning, Your Highness,” they greet before straightening once more.

One of the women steps forward. Her black hair is cut short, almost shaggy, framing bright blue eyes that immediately brighten with recognition. “Today is the official work, Your Highness?” she asks with a smile. “Are you planning on starting the house?”

Cael nods and begins to sign. His bare, injured hands move with practiced clarity, each motion deliberate. The workers watch closely, following his words. Before he has even finished, several of them nod in agreement.

A sorrow begins to blossom inside Elara’s chest.

By status, she stands closest to him. She shares his table, his carriage, and his title. Still, she remains outside this language that flows from him so naturally, watching conversations unfold without being able to step fully into them.

I must learn, she thinks. I can ask Mister Elias or Cael.

Cael and the workers make their way toward an open space beside one of the smaller restaurants several steps away. The guard remains near Elara as she follows, and she gradually becomes aware of footsteps aligning with hers. No one crowds her, the subtle pattern showing a sense of protection.

Ahead, tiles and stone have already been laid, the lower portion of a structure partially completed. Wooden beams rest nearby in neat stacks, while tools, measuring cords, and rolled plans occupy a long worktable beneath a canvas awning.

Cael stops near the unfinished entrance and signs again. The workers study his hands, then turn toward the structure itself, measuring distances with their eyes.

“Yes,” the short-haired woman replies after a moment. “We understand. We can raise the floor and redo that section. It will be easier to create a gradual slope rather than a steep one.”

Elara glances toward the blonde-haired guard beside her. Meeting her questioning look, he smiles. “This house is being built specifically for one of the shop owners here, Your Highness,” he explains, gesturing toward a bakery farther down the path. A woman can be seen arranging trays outside beneath a striped awning. “There. They have a son who was born with weak bones and muscles. He relies on a wheeled chair at all times. The slope will allow him to enter and leave his home without difficulty.”

Elara’s gaze returns to the unfinished foundation. It is not grand. It is not a palace, a monument, or a project intended to impress visiting rulers.

It is a house. A single house, altered so one child may move through it with dignity. She looks toward Cael. He is already discussing measurements with the workers, his attention fixed upon details most rulers would never bother to notice. There is no audience gathered around him, no court waiting to applaud his generosity. Only laborers, stone, and plans spread across a table.

Elara’s gaze shifts toward the bakery. Even from a distance, she notices the steel slope installed beside the steps, and the incline appears steeper than it should be. For someone dependent upon wheels, navigating it would not be simple.

She looks back toward Cael. There is determination in the way he stands. His expression remains stern, composed for those around him, but no harshness accompanies it. His attention rests upon the measurements and the adjustments required to make the house truly useful. Kindness, she realizes, does not always arrive clothed in softness. Sometimes it stands firm and builds with its own hands.

As he listens to the workers, his focus never wavers. His attention shifts to whatever stands before him, undivided and absolute. The black silk of his shirt traces the shape of his arms and shoulders, hinting at a disciplined strength where nothing appears careless. Her gaze lifts to his face, tracking the black hair framing his features and the crown catching the sunlight whenever he turns. The sharp line of his jaw, the straight structure of his nose, the steadiness within his eyes. Every element seems placed with intention.

Cael looks like a ruler, still he stands here discussing the angle of a slope for a child he has likely never met.

Movement at the edge of her vision causes her to turn. It is one of the guards on his steed, breathing heavily. “I have finally found you, Your Highness. There is a rumor in Raeverband escalating about you. They are claiming that you have harmed the trust of your own marriage alliance. That you secretly bargained behind closed doors to turn Princess Elara over to the Zahraani forces in exchange for a peaceful border retreat.”

The words hit Elara like a physical blow. Her mind flashes back to her childhood castle, a place defined by cold manipulation and a father who treated vulnerable women like liabilities to be traded away. Amir’s voice from the previous evening rings through her thoughts, exposing her deepest fears.