POV: Mark
The festival smells like sugar and smoke and something fried that Father would definitely disapprove of.
That’s how I know it’s real.
Banners stretch across the capital like the city decided to dress up for once—reds and golds snapping in the breeze, musicians lining the streets with drums and pipes and strings that don’t care about court etiquette. People laugh too loudly. Vendors shout. Children run where they’re not supposed to.
Adrian walks beside me like he’s on inspection.
“Relax,” I tell him. “No one’s going to challenge you to a duel over a honey apple.”
“I’m aware,” he says stiffly.
“You look like you’re awaiting an ambush.”
“This is a public gathering,” he replies. “It would be irresponsible not to remain alert.”
I grin. “You sound exactly like Father.”
He shoots me a look. “Don’t start.”
Before I can reply, someone barrels into me from the side.
“Oof—sorry!”
A girl stumbles back, nearly dropping the tray in her hands. I grab it instinctively, steadying the wooden edge before the cups slide off.
“Careful,” I say. “That thing’s plotting your downfall.”
She laughs—a bright, unguarded sound that cuts clean through the noise of the street.
“Thank you,” she says. “I swear these trays get heavier the moment you’re not looking.”
I hand it back. “They can sense fear.”
She snorts. “Then I’m doomed.”
Adrian clears his throat beside me.
“Oh—sorry,” she says quickly, eyes flicking between us. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Understandable,” I reply. “He blends into walls when he’s uncomfortable.”
“I do not,” Adrian says.
She tilts her head, studying him. “You kind of do.”
I bite back a laugh.
“I’m Lysa,” she says, shifting the tray to one hip. “I’m helping my mother today.”
“Mark,” I say. “And this is my brother, Adrian.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh.”
I brace for it—the bow, the stiffness, the sudden distance.
Instead, she says, “Well, nice to meet you both,” like we’re just three people standing in the street.
Something inside me clicks.
“You work here?” Adrian asks.
“Yes,” she replies easily. “Mother’s in the west wing kitchens. I volunteered to deliver sweets, but I think the sweets are winning.”
She gestures at the tray. One of the cups wobbles dangerously.
I reach out, steadying it again. “They can smell weakness.”
She smiles at me. “You’re very dramatic.”
“I contain multitudes,” I say solemnly.
Adrian sighs. “We should continue our rounds.”
“Of course,” Lysa says. “Enjoy the festival.”
She turns to go.
And for reasons I don’t fully understand, I say, “Hey—do you always walk away right when things get interesting?”
She pauses, glancing back. “That depends. Are they interesting?”
“I’d like to think so.”
She studies me for a second longer, then shrugs. “Maybe I’ll circle back.”
And she’s gone, swallowed by color and sound.
I turn to Adrian. “Did you see that?”
“I saw you nearly drop a tray,” he replies.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He exhales. “She’s a servant.”
“So?” I ask.
“So this isn’t appropriate,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “You said that about the street performers too.”
“This is different.”
“Only because Father taught you it is.”
He stiffens. “Don’t make this about him.”
“It already is,” I reply.
We wander deeper into the festival.
Jugglers toss flaming torches. Dancers spin in layered skirts. Someone hands me a skewer of roasted meat I don’t remember asking for.
“Don’t eat that,” Adrian warns. “You don’t know where it’s been.”
“That’s half the appeal,” I say, taking a bite.
“Mark.”
“It’s fine,” I insist around a mouthful. “See? Still alive.”
He shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m fun,” I correct.
We stop near a small stage where musicians are tuning instruments. The crowd presses close. Adrian watches everything. I watch people.
And then I see her again.
Lysa stands near a fountain, laughing with another girl, braid slipping loose over one shoulder. She’s not looking for us. She’s just… there.
“Adrian,” I say.
“What?”
“Do you see her?”
He follows my gaze. “The girl from earlier?”
“Yes.”
“She’s busy.”
“So am I,” I say, already moving.
“Mark,” he says sharply. “Wait.”
I don’t.
“Lysa,” I call.
She turns, surprised. “Oh—it’s you.”
“Still battling the trays?” I ask.
She lifts her hands. “Temporary ceasefire.”
I grin. “I came to check on you.”
“How noble,” she says dryly.
“I have my moments.”
Adrian appears at my side, stiff as ever. “Hello again.”
“Hello,” she replies, smiling at him too.
Something unpleasant twists in my chest.
“Do you live here?” Adrian asks.
“In the palace?” she laughs. “No. In the city. Why?”
“No reason,” he replies.
I step closer. “Do you like the festival?”
She nods. “It’s my favorite day of the year. Everything feels… lighter.”
“That’s because Father’s not here,” I mutter.
Adrian shoots me a warning look.
“What?” Lysa asks.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Family thing.”
She glances between us, curiosity flickering. “You two are very different.”
“Yes,” Adrian says. “We are.”
She smiles. “I like that.”
We stand there for a moment—three of us, the noise pressing in, something fragile forming in the space between words.
“Do you want to see the lanterns later?” I ask suddenly.
She blinks. “The lanterns?”
“They light them at sunset,” I say. “By the river.”
She hesitates.
Before I can say anything else, Adrian speaks.
“I can show you,” he says. “We’re supposed to make an appearance there anyway.”
I stare at him. He meets my gaze, calm and unreadable.
Lysa looks between us, amused. “Both of you?”
I open my mouth. Adrian beats me to it. “If you’d like.”
She considers, then smiles. “All right.”
The knot in my chest tightens.
“Great,” I say. “It’s settled.”
She laughs softly. “You’re very confident.”
“I have to be,” I reply. “He steals all the discipline.”
Adrian snorts despite himself.
***
As she walks away again, Adrian turns to me.
“Don’t,” he says quietly.
“Don’t what?”
“This,” he replies. “Compete.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You started it.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “I was being polite.”
“Sure,” I say. “Very polite.”
He looks away. “She’s not… this isn’t wise.”
“When has that ever stopped you?” I ask.
He stiffens. “This is different.”
I grin. “Now you know how I feel.”
The lanterns haven’t even been lit yet, and already something has shifted between us.
Not anger. Something sharper. I glance back toward the fountain, where Lysa is laughing again, unaware of the trouble she’s already caused.
And for the first time, I realize the festival hasn’t just returned to the capital.
It’s returned to our lives. With all the chaos that comes with it.