For a second, they just sat there. The garden stayed quiet around them, the soft sound of wind moving through the trees filling the space.
Davian's gaze drifted across the table, lingering on her face longer than it probably should have. His expression were softened now. "You didn't dress like that today."
Cessalie's lips pressed together faintly, a small shrug rolling off her shoulders. "No," she answered simply, brushing invisible creases from the sleeve of her deep green dress. "Didn't feel like it."
She didn't explain it how her wardrobe had stared back at her this morning. All those dresses, the bright ones, the soft fabrics, the ones that reminded her of who she used to be, felt distant now. His words from the other day still sat in the back of her mind. They weren't cruel but still enough to pull her down into that quiet version of herself she had learned to live inside.
It wasn't anger, not even disappointment. It was just a familiar reminder that maybe everyone liked her better when she stayed small, softer and easier to manage even if they didn't say it out loud.
Davian's eyes stayed on her a little longer, like he noticed but didn't know how to say it.
"You look good," he said finally, his voice softer this time. "Like yourself...I mean that."
She smiled, but it was the practiced kind, the kind you give when you're used to hiding the parts of yourself people don't need to see.
Still… her heart did that annoying little flutter again. The one it had picked up around him lately. Even with all she knew, the flaws, the limits, something about him made her feel… noticed, not full seen yet though.
And for now, that was enough to leave her heart stumbling in her chest like it didn't know better.
She played with the edge of her sleeve again. "We should focus," she muttered, nodding toward the letter still sitting on the table.
Davian let out a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth pulling up. "We should," he agreed, but his eyes stayed on her a moment longer before he finally leaned back, letting the conversation drift toward plans.
Beneath the tea, the conversation, and the quiet garden, there was something between them. It was subtle, gentle, the beginning of something new, not wild or overwhelming, just the first spark of young love. It was soft, naive, and a little silly in its own way.
And hidden somewhere deeper, untouched for now was the bolder version of her, the wilder self she used to be, stayed tucked away, waiting. That part of her would never really belong to a man who liked her quiet and easy.
But that was a problem for later.
Davian cleared his throat lightly, pulling her attention back.
Cessalie looked up, curious.
"Want to visit the market of Ferendia?" he asked.
She tilted her head, frowning a little. "I don't know… my father always said this market isn't worth wandering."
Davian's mouth curled in a small smile. "It is. He just doesn't want you seeing the parts that matter."
Cessalie blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Let us just say… the market's full of things the court doesn't like to talk about. Things your father prefers hidden."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And you know about it? Why haven't you told the court?"
Davian laughed quietly, leaning back in his seat. "You want your father caught, hmm?" His voice wasn't mocking, but there was amusement there. "We'd act, Cessalie… if there was proof. Rumors don't do much in court. And right now? That's all anyone has are whispers...nothing solid."
Cessalie let out a slow breath, her gaze drifting as her mind turned it over.
Cyrion Draevin. Of course.
A man like him didn't get that high with clean hands. He wasn't part of the court, didn't sit on councils but somehow… his name still carried respect and fear.
She wasn't surprised. Maybe she should have been, but she wasn't.
For a moment, she remained silent, the soft sounds of the garden filling the space. Then, with a small shrug, she met Davian's eyes once more.
"So… the market of Ferendia," she said slowly, her voice lighter now. "What exactly do you want to show me there? The shady part? Or the pretty, polished part?"
Davian's grin widened, a spark of playful defiance in his eyes. "Why not both?"
Cessalie let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You're trouble."
Davian leaned in a little, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes still locked on hers. "Only when it's needed."
She rolled her eyes, but a faint smile pulled at her lips anyway. "And dragging me to questionable markets counts as needed?"
"Definitely," he replied without missing a beat.
Cessalie paused. "I've never actually been there. Not properly, just passed through in carriages with the windows shut."
"Figures," Davian muttered. "Wouldn't want the Draevin heir breathing the same air as commoners, right?"
She shrugged, her face unreadable for a moment. "Or maybe they just didn't want me seeing how things really work."
Davian didn't argue, but his gaze softened a little. "Come with me, then. See it for yourself."
Cessalie hesitated. A few weeks ago, she would've never considered it. But now, after everything… after him… curiosity had its grip on her. And maybe, so did he.
"Alright," she agreed at last, her voice calm, though her heart flickered with nerves. "But no guards, no titles. I don't want people bowing or whispering my name."
Davian's lips curved. "Deal. But you should know, you stand out even without all that." His eyes drifted over her briefly, not in a way that crossed a line, but with the way he always looked at her.
Cessalie's smile faltered for half a second. Something inside her stirred, that uneasy reminder of the dress incident still sitting in the back of her mind, how he liked her quiet and hidden. He didn't even realise how easily his compliments fit the version of her shaped by fear.
But still, this… this wasn't about that.
She pushed the feeling aside.
"Tomorrow morning?" Davian asked as he stood.
"Tomorrow morning," she confirmed, rising to her feet too.
The next morning, Ferendia's market hit Cessalie harder than she expected. It wasn't neat or orderly like the Valkan market, with its polished walkways and precise stalls. Here, the streets were uneven, packed with people jostling past each other. Stalls spilled into the alleys, voices shouted over one another, and the smell of fried food, smoke, and spices hung thick in the air. Dust clung to everything, and the sun caught the corners of the market in harsh, golden slants.
Cessalie scrunched her nose, lifting her skirts slightly, careful not to touch the grimy ground. She sidestepped a puddle that looked like it hadn't seen sunlight in weeks and wrinkled her nose. "Oh… Rune, this place is..."
"Alive," Davian offered easily, walking beside her like the chaos didn't bother him. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his grin faint but amused.
"Filthy," she muttered, eyeing another mud-spotted puddle ahead.
Davian chuckled softly. "Careful, my lady. You sound like...well...what you exactly are."
She lifted a brow. "what? A fragile noble girl?"
"You've never done this before," he interrupted, teasing. "Never walked among the people, never felt the streets underfoot "Step in the mud and your entire bloodline night faint."
"I'm not fainting," she said quickly, though her voice lacked conviction. She gave the puddle another hesitant glance. "I just… don't understand it. How do they live like this?"
"They survive," Davian said lightly. "Some better than others." He offered his hand before she could protest. "Here, let me help you."
She hesitated, then took it. His hand was warm and steady, guiding her carefully across the puddle. Once she was on solid ground again, she pulled free with a small, awkward smile. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
"Very much," he said, smirking faintly.
She shook her head and adjusted her skirts, suddenly conscious of every pair of eyes that had flicked toward her as she crossed. Her clothes were plain, dark, meant to help her blend in, but her smooth hair and the faint sheen of her skin betrayed her. People whispered, nudged, or stared. She felt their curiosity prickling at her, and a strange self-awareness crept up her spine.
She frowned and muttered, "Why does everyone keep looking at me like that?"
Davian glanced down at her, noticing the faint makeup on her face, smooth skin and striking eyes. "Because, my lady, despite your best effort at blending in, you don't. You move like a noble. Even your confusion is… elegant."
"I'm not trying to be noticed!" she said, lifting her hands helplessly. "I just… I just want to see the market!"
"That's exactly why they're staring," he replied, tugging her gently toward a narrow alley. "They're not used to someone like you wandering without a retinue. They're curious, not mean."
Cessalie picked at the edge of her sleeve, uneasy with the close brush of elbows and carts.
"This is… crowded," she murmured, glancing back at cart of tomatoes. "And loud. And… I—" She paused, glancing at a vendor yelling at a customer, his voice cracking over the clamor. "I don't think I've ever seen people like this up close."
Davian looked ahead, sighing. "You're not used to be around people at all"
"I don't… I've never had to," she admitted, her tone more curious than complaining. "There are people for that, always. I don't—" She trailed off, unsure how to explain herself.
Cessalie grew up with emotional neglect and physical abuse, but she never encountered this kind of filth. The palace was spotless, with maids for every task from cooking to laundry. Everything here was different. She never worked like ordinary people, never experienced life the way others did, and it made her feel completely apart from the world around her and also privileged.
"That's why it's fun to watch you," he said, lightly teasing. "The whole world is new, and it's trying very hard to notice you."
She huffed softly, trying to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks. "It's not that I look down on them," she said quickly. "I just… I don't know what to do."
"Then do what feels natural," he said with a grin. "Step, walk, breathe. Don't panic if someone bumps you or shouts. They're just like us."
They kept moving through the market. She paused at stalls , bright fabrics, shelves of old, worn books, plates of strange food that smelled a little unsafe but also tempting.
Davian, meanwhile, slipped into conversation with the vendors like it was second nature. She stood back, arms crossed, watching him greet an older book vendor with a polite nod.
"Your stock's better than last month," Davian said, flipping through a worn book like he actually cared about the pages.
The vendor smiled, clearly knowing him. "All thanks to those trade routes you pointed me to, my lord."
Davian raised a brow. "No titles here, remember?"
The man laughed, scratching his neck. "Old habits."
Cessalie watched, quietly stunned at how easily Davian moved through the crowd, how people just… spoke to him. Unlike her who could never even think of talking to them. Her father's rules, the guards, the nobles treating her like she was some glass decoration, all of it kept her quiet.
It wasn't that she couldn't speak. It was that no one gave her the chance.
Davian made it look so easy.
But her thoughts snapped when she felt a sharp tug on her hand.
Her eyes widened. Someone had grabbed her wrist. The grip was tight, cold and wet. Her heart jumped as she looked down, rough fingers, stained with something slick. mud? Water? She couldn't tell. But the hand held firm, pulling her toward them.