The carriage swayed gently. Inside, Albert leaned against the window, fingers holding a half-smoked feltwort cigar. Thin smoke curled upward, escaping through the small gap he'd opened, vanishing into the cooling afternoon air.
Across from him, Alena sat with an open book in her lap—but her eyes weren't reading. From their departure this morning until now, she had been watching Albert with an expression difficult to decipher.
"So," she finally said, breaking the silence. "You actually sold that thing to the King."
Albert drew on his cigar, letting the smoke fill his mouth for a moment, then exhaled slowly toward the window. "He asked for it."
"You offered it."
"Is there a difference?"
Alena looked at him. In those warm brown eyes, sharp curiosity gleamed. "I want to know what was going through your head back there. At a royal celebration, in front of all those nobles."
Albert nodded slightly. "It does sound insane."
"Because it was insane."
"But the King liked it, so it's fine."
Alena sighed. "Yes, he liked it. And now the nobles are all wondering what the King is smoking in his private chambers every night."
Albert didn't answer. He just drew on his cigar again, letting the smoke rise slowly.
Alena leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper even though they were alone in the carriage. "That was your plan all along, wasn't it? You didn't just want to sell that thing—cigars. You wanted to get the King addicted, or at least smoking them often enough that the nobles would get curious. Then they'd start asking, then they'd start ordering. And you... you'd sell them at a price you set yourself."
Albert stubbed out his cigar in the small metal ashtray he'd carried from Vallenwood. Ash fell slowly. "You're too clever for a noble who's never been in trade."
"I learned from the best." Alena crossed her arms over her chest. "But I didn't expect you to be this... calculating."
"Calculating how?"
"Scheming."
Albert laughed. Not a loud laugh, but a short one that escaped through his nose, accompanied by the thin smoke still lingering in his lungs. Alena raised her eyebrows—she rarely heard Albert laugh.
"I'm not scheming," Albert said. "I'm just... observing. The King is the center of everything. What he does, others will follow. Not because they like it, but because they want to appear like the King."
"So you're exploiting human nature..."
"You're making it sound worse than it is."
"Because it is worse."
"Whether it's worse or better depends on perspective." Albert reached for the cigar box beside him, opening it, taking out another stick. His movements were slow. "I need money. Not for myself, but for Götthain and the new territories I'll be managing. For the people depending on me. If selling calming smoke can fund all that, why not?"
Alena didn't answer. She just looked at Albert with unreadable eyes.
"You don't like it?" Albert asked.
"I didn't say I didn't like it..." Alena bit her lower lip—a habit Albert had recognized since childhood. "I just... didn't expect it. I thought after the war, you'd rest, enjoy some peace, forget all the strategies and calculations. But instead, you're using your mind for something like this."
"The war is over. But life goes on. And to live, I need something to sell."
Alena let out a long sigh. Then, in a softer voice, "You never intended to stop, did you?"
Albert lit the new cigar with a sulfur match sparked by flint and steel. A small flame caught at the feltwort's tip, burning the dried leaves with a soft hiss. "Think of it as a way to distract my mind from wandering, chaotic thoughts."
The carriage continued its swaying rhythm. Outside, the sun was beginning its descent toward the west, painting the sky in golden orange. Wheat fields swayed in the wind, with occasional glimpses of farmers bringing in their harvest. A peaceful scene.
Alena opened her book again—but Albert knew she wasn't reading. Her eyes occasionally drifted toward the window, toward Luise riding beside the carriage, black hair streaming in the wind.
"You and her," Alena said suddenly. Her voice was soft, almost lost beneath the clatter of wheels.
Albert turned. "Who?"
"Luise."
Albert didn't answer immediately. He drew on his cigar, letting the smoke fill his lungs, giving himself time to think.
"She saved me," he finally said. "Many times. Not just on the battlefield, but... afterward."
Alena looked at him. "Afterward?"
"After the battles. When everything was over, when all that remained were the memories." Albert watched the rising smoke. "Without her, I might have gone mad. Or died."
Alena didn't answer. Her hands gripped her book tighter.
"You might not like hearing that," Albert continued. "But I can't lie to you. I promised."
"I didn't say I didn't like it." Alena stared out the window, toward Luise, who was now speaking with one of the escort soldiers. "I just... need time."
The carriage rolled onto a cobblestone stretch, jolting harder. Alena's book nearly fell, but Albert caught it first. His hand touched hers—briefly, then released.
Alena looked at her own hand, then at Albert. "You've always been like that."
"Like what?"
"Unconsciously, you give attention to anyone who needs it." She drew a breath. "I used to love that about you. Now... I still do. But sometimes I wonder, do you do it because you care, or because you feel responsible?"
Albert looked at her. "What's the difference?"
"A lot."
The carriage jolted again. Albert didn't answer. He just drew on his cigar, letting the smoke rise, letting the question hang in the air.
Outside, Luise slowed her horse, approaching the carriage window. "My Lord, there's a rest stop ahead. We can stay there for the night."
Albert nodded. "Alright. Tell the others."
Luise looked at him briefly—a quick glance that only Albert noticed—then spurred her horse forward.
Alena watched the exchange. She said nothing. But in the corner of her eye, something flickered. A feeling more complicated than simple jealousy.
***
The rest stop was an old inn by the roadside, two stories high, rough stone walls, a wooden roof beginning to show its age. In the front yard, a few farmers' carts were already parked, their owners sitting around a campfire, laughing about something.
Albert stepped down from the carriage, feeling his legs tingle after a day of sitting. Beside him, Luise had already dismounted, hand on her sword hilt, eyes scanning their surroundings with ingrained habit.
"We're staying here tonight?" Alena asked, descending with Albert's help.
"I think so. The journey is still long."
They entered the inn. Inside, long wooden tables were arranged in rows, a few patrons sitting with soup bowls in hand. The smell of cooking—vegetables, meat—filled the room. A middle-aged woman in a dirty apron greeted them.
"My Lord and My Lady, how many rooms?"
Two, Albert thought. But before he could speak, Alena answered, "Two. One for us, one for her personal guard."
The woman nodded, taking keys from a wooden beam behind her.
Albert looked at Alena. "Are you sure?"
Alena looked back, expression flat. "We're betrothed. There's nothing strange about it."
Luise, standing behind them, said nothing. She just took her key and walked upstairs without looking back.
***
The room was small. Just a bed, a small table, and a window facing the backyard. Albert sat on the bed, feeling the slightly hard mattress.
At the window, the moon was beginning to rise, its pale light illuminating the inn's rooftops, damp with dew.
Alena sat on the wooden chair near the door. She clasped her hands in her lap, watching Albert with an expression he couldn't read.
"What's wrong?" Albert asked.
"I'm just... thinking about what you said earlier. About Luise."
"You're still thinking about it?"
"I can't stop thinking about it." Alena sighed. "I know she saved you. I know you owe her your life. But every time I see you two together, I can't help but..." She stopped.
"Can't help but what?"
"Can't help but feel jealous." Her voice was small. "I know it's childish, but I can't control it."
Albert didn't answer. He just sat on the bed, looking at Alena with softer eyes than usual.
"I won't choose," he finally said.
Alena looked up. "What?"
"I won't choose between you and her. It wouldn't be fair to either of you... or to me."
Alena stared at him. "Then?"
"Then I'll be here for both of you. I don't know if that's selfish. Probably it is. But I can't pretend that either of you isn't important to me."
Silence.
Then Alena laughed. A laugh born of exhaustion, of relief, of something she couldn't put into words.
"You really don't know how to be a proper noble, do you?" she said.
"Maybe not."
"A proper noble would choose one. Marry, have children, continue the bloodline pure. The rest would be mistresses or sent to a convent."
"That's not me."
"No." Alena exhaled. "It's not you."
They sat in silence. Outside, crickets began their evening song. The night wind carried the scent of firewood from the campfire in the yard.
Alena stood, walked to the bed, and sat beside Albert. Their shoulders touched.
"Can I have some?" she asked, pointing at the cigar in Albert's hand.
Albert blinked. "You want to try?"
"I'm curious. You're always smoking this thing. I want to know what it's like."
Albert handed over his cigar. Alena held it awkwardly, then put the tip to her lips. She inhaled.
Then coughed. A hard cough that doubled her over, eyes watering, face reddening.
Albert patted her back gently. "Inhale slowly."
Alena raised her head, eyes red, voice hoarse. "You smoke this every day?"
"Every day."
"You're insane."
Albert almost laughed. "That's what they say."
Alena tried again. More carefully this time. Smoke entered slowly, not too deep. She held it for a moment, then exhaled. A small cough, but not as bad as before.
"It's... strange," she said.
"But?"
"But... a little calming." She looked at the cigar in her hand. "What does it feel like?"
"Like feeling safe, for a moment."
Alena took another puff. Longer this time, deeper. Smoke emerged from her nostrils in two thin streams.
"I understand," she said quietly. "Why you like it. But smoking it every day is still not normal."
They sat on the bed, taking turns with the same cigar, until its tip burned down to ash.