Oriana sat in the carriage, a small smile gracing her lips as she looked outside. She wore a simple black hooded cloak—not fancy, just something that would help her blend in.
The excitement prickled through her; it was the first time she had gone out without her guards. It felt strange… and yet, undeniably good.
Layla sat on the opposite side, hands folded neatly in her lap, fingers nervously fidgeting with the fabric of her gown. She tried her best to stay composed, though worry etched faint lines across her features.
The soft clopping of the horse's hooves echoed gently against the cobblestones, keeping rhythm with the carriage's motion. A faint hiss came as the window shifted slightly, a breeze slipping through the narrow gaps and brushing lightly against Oriana's cheek.
Her smile had been too visible, and she quickly frowned, straightening her face to appear serious.
The carriage ride continued in quiet rhythm, the soft clop of hooves against the cobblestones a steady accompaniment. Suddenly, as if remembering something, Oriana turned to Layla and spoke.
"Your home is at the village square, isn't it?" Oriana asked, curiosity flickering in her eyes. She wondered how Layla could visit her parents while always working for her, especially given how far this place was.
"Yes, my Queen. It is not far from the market center," Layla replied respectfully, bowing slightly. Oriana nodded.
"Then how do you visit them?" Her eyebrows rose, her gaze searching Layla's face carefully. She noticed Layla's fingers, which had been resting on her lap, twitch slightly. Her gentle smile faltered for the briefest moment before returning to its usual professionalism.
"I have not visited them for a while now, Your Grace," Layla said softly, the way she spoke making it seem as if she had been away for some days.
Oriana's heart sank slightly. She asked the question that had suddenly pressed on her mind, as if the answer might reveal whether she had been the cause of Layla's absence.
"For how long?" she inquired, watching the way Layla's bow deepened.
"Just f… four months, Your Grace," Layla replied.
Oriana's smile fell. She knew Layla had said that to ease her worry, to make it seem like less time had passed. Oriana's mind raced. She could hardly believe that the last time Layla had visited her parents had been when she had traveled with her brother for the seasonal royal festival in another kingdom.
Oriana had not been around then either. She realized, with a pang of guilt, that she had been thinking only of herself all this while, oblivious to how deeply Layla must have missed her parents. Even the last time they had come here, three months ago, Layla had not seen them.
Oriana broke the silence, her voice soft but tinged with concern. She knew Layla was smiling as she usually did, but she could also see the small, hidden sadness behind it.
"After our visit to the tailor shop, you will visit them while I wait in the carriage," Oriana said.
Layla immediately shook her head, her voice slightly panicked though still respectful. She could not possibly leave Oriana alone in the carriage—not when no guard had accompanied them.
"No, my Queen, you do not have to bother. I would only waste your valuable time. We also need to head back to the palace, as some papers await your signature. That was why I came to the archery court to inform you," she explained.
Oriana nodded softly.
"Very well then." She paused, realizing that indeed, there would be papers to sign now that she was Queen. Then she added with a firmer tone, mixing authority with kindness:
"You have a full day's leave tomorrow to meet your family, take the carriage. And also… you are not wasting my time. I do not ever want to hear you say such a thing again."
Layla's lips trembled slightly, a mixture of happiness and surprise. She nodded frantically, unsure how to respond. Her lips widened into a genuine, heartfelt smile.
"Thank you very much, Your Grace. I am very grateful, and I will not repeat it again," she said, voice soft but sincere.
Oriana simply nodded, her gaze drifting softly outside the carriage window as the world passed quietly beyond. Not long after, the carriage slowed, and Oriana noticed a large, round sign above the entrance, bold letters declaring: The Village Square of Gantrem.
The carriage moved slowly inside, and Oriana began to take in the scene. Small houses and huts lined the square, their faded colors and thatched roofs giving the place a quaint charm. People passed by, some stopping to glance curiously at the carriage.
Children played along the edges of the square, their laughter ringing lightly through the air, while some women seemed to fetch water, and others spread their clothes to dry.
Despite her careful choice of a carriage that was modest and designed to draw as little attention as possible, Oriana could not escape the curious gazes of the villagers. Their eyes lingered, intrigued by the mysterious visitors who had entered their square.
"You do not have to worry, Your Grace. The carriage will be parked at the carriage park, so no one will know who you are once you enter the market square. Rest assured," Layla reassured her, noticing Oriana's gaze lingering outside.
Oriana simply nodded, still absorbed in the view. Layla could not help but smile at the intrigue sparkling in Oriana's eyes.
The carriage moved into a small, open area where other carriages were parked. Some appeared neglected, left to spoil, while others were arranged neatly in perfect order. Finally, their carriage came to a stop.
Oriana's heart began to beat faster. Her hands moved to the rope on her collar, tightening it softly as if it grounded her. She drew a quiet, steadying breath.
The carriage door opened.
She stepped out slowly, her shoes sinking slightly into the damp soil as the sun warmed them. Layla followed, giving the carriage a curt nod.
"We'll be back in an hour—or two," she said. The coachman nodded in acknowledgment.
Oriana's eyes lingered on one of the neglected carriages—its leg missing, propped up with a crude steel support. She frowned slightly, curiosity flickering in her gaze.
Layla's eyes swept the area, taking in the surroundings before returning to Oriana. Her voice was soft and gentle.
"Your Grace, may we go now?"
Oriana nodded, returning her attention to Layla. They walked out of the carriage park, following a narrow path that led to a small open area—a shortcut to the market.
Layla stayed slightly behind as Oriana moved forward, the long fence demarcating the park from the bustling square.
As soon as they entered the market, a wave of noise hit Oriana's ears: merchants shouting to buyers, the murmur of passing crowds. The smells were overwhelming, fresh bread, spices, and, most strongly, the unmistakable tang of sweat.
Oriana's gaze finally landed on a small hut not far away, materials and dresses hung outside in neat displays for advertisement. Perhaps she could inspect the fabrics first, then explore the rest of the market.
"Let's go there," she said, pointing at the hut as she turned to Layla. The maid nodded.
But as Oriana moved forward, she accidentally bumped into a boy, likely no older than sixteen.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, offering a polite smile. The boy smiled back as if telling her he was not offended.
His hair looked deliberately disheveled, as though to enhance his look, and his clothes seemed worn, a testament to their age. Oriana made a mental note to be more careful—this market was crowded and chaotic.
She began to walk toward the stall.
Layla's hand shot out sharply, grabbing the boy by the collar without taking her eyes off Oriana. Her gaze flicked briefly to him, cold and commanding.
"Give it to me," she ordered.
The boy immediately handed over the bracelet he had taken from Oriana without her notice. Layla pushed him away sharply; he nearly stumbled, straightening his now-rumpled collar as he scrambled and rushed away.
Layla tucked the bracelet safely into her gown pocket before she walked quickly to the stall to keep up with the Queen.
Meanwhile, Oriana stepped into the small stall. Vibrant fabrics of all colors and textures were neatly arranged, from bright patterns to plain, understated cloths. The owner was nowhere in sight. Curious, she wandered toward the open back door.
The moment she stepped outside, the contrast was immediate. Unlike the bustling market, the back of the shop was calm, enclosed by a small fence separating it from the rows of huts and stalls.
A modest house sat on the other side, orderly and well-kept—the neatest she had seen so far. In fact, it looked almost like a royal house because of how luxurious it seemed, except for its small size, only two rooms could fit, a living room and one other.
Her eyes fell on the polished door of the building, and her heart nearly stopped.
There, not far away, stood…
Zaroth.
He faced someone, engaged in what seemed to be a serious discussion. It looked like he was speaking with a… woman.
W… what was he doing here? Oriana's mind raced, and she almost stumbled backward.
Then his gaze snapped to hers.