Elara’s POV
I saw him before I felt him.
He moved through the market like the path belonged to him, pushing past stalls, brushing shoulders, never once glancing back to apologize. People shifted aside instinctively, not because he was big, but because he carried himself like he was used to being obeyed.
Then he hit me.
Not hard enough to knock me over. Just hard enough to jolt my basket and make the apples inside bump against the leather tools I was carrying for sharpening. One apple rolled toward the dust, and I caught it on reflex.
“Watch it,” I snapped.
He didn’t stop.
He didn’t even turn his head.
My grief had been sitting in my chest for weeks like a stone, and sometimes the smallest thing made it feel like it wanted to explode. I stepped forward and planted myself directly in his path, shoulder squared, chin lifted.
He halted and finally looked at me.
His eyes were cold and sharp, the color of storm clouds right before lightning breaks. He flicked his gaze over my basket, then over me, and his expression settled into bored contempt.
“Move,” he said.
I blinked once. “Excuse you?”
He sighed, like I was an inconvenience the world had failed to remove. “Move.”
“You ran into me,” I said, voice rising. “You apologize.”
“To you?” He let the question hang, dripping with insult.
“Yes,” I said flatly. “To me.”
Elsa’s head snapped up from her spice stall. Her eyes widened in warning.
The boy’s mouth curved in a small, humorless smile. “You’re blocking the way.”
“That’s the idea,” I replied. “Try manners.”
He tilted his head and looked at me slowly, deliberately. “Get out of my way, mud-girl.”
Heat exploded behind my ribs.
“What did you call me?” I demanded.
He didn’t blink. “You heard me. Now move.”
I stepped closer instead of back. “You think saying it nicer would break your tongue?”
“I don’t waste effort on things that don’t matter,” he said.
I laughed, sharp and bitter. “And you don’t matter to me, yet here we are.”
The people around us started to slow, pretending to browse while they listened. Someone muttered my name like I was trouble made flesh.
The boy’s gaze flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “You talk too much.”
“So do you,” I shot back. “Only your words smell worse.”
His expression tightened for a fraction of a second. “Careful.”
“Or what?” I demanded. “You’ll shove me again?”
His voice dropped, smooth as oil. “I could ruin your life.”
For a beat, I stared at him, waiting for the joke.
Then I laughed. It wasn’t joy. It was the kind of laughter that came from exhaustion and the audacity of someone who thought the world was his toy.
“You?” I echoed. “You’d have to know my life first.”
He leaned in slightly, and I smelled clean soap beneath dust. “I’ll find out who you are,” he said. “And then I’ll ruin you.”
A thrill ran down my spine, the kind that came before a fight. “Try,” I said. “I dare you.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re bold for a village girl.”
“And you’re pathetic for someone who thinks threats are impressive,” I snapped. “Spoiled trash.”
A murmur rose. Elsa hissed again, louder this time.
The boy’s jaw flexed. “Say it again.”
“Spoiled,” I repeated, louder. “Trash.”
He took one step forward, and for a moment I wondered if he would actually hit me. My hands tightened on the basket handle. I didn’t move.
He reached out fast, fingers closing around my wrist as if he owned it.
“Mind your tongue,” he said, low and dangerous.
I stared at his hand on me. The grief in my chest turned to fire. “Take your hand off right now.”
His grip tightened. “Or?”
“Or I make you,” I said, and twisted hard the way Dani taught me, turning my arm so his thumb had to release or break. He hissed and let go, surprise flashing across his face before he buried it.
Someone whispered, “That girl’s Dani’s.”
Elsa leaned over her spices and hissed, “Elara, stop!”
“I’m stopping nothing,” I shot back, never taking my eyes off him. “If he can shove people like a bull, he can learn consequences.”
The boy’s smile returned, sharp. “You think you’re brave because you’re loud.”
“I’m brave because I’m still standing,” I snapped. “And because I’ve buried someone I loved. You don’t scare me.”
For the first time, his expression faltered, like death was a word that didn’t belong in his mouth. Then he recovered and stepped in again, close enough that I could see a scar near his jaw.
“You’ll regret this,” he said.
“Regret what?” I demanded. “That I didn’t let you walk over me?”
“That you made me notice you,” he replied, and the way he said it sounded like a curse.
Then a shout cut through the square like a blade.
“Prince! Prince Caden!”
The crowd jolted. Heads turned. Merchants stiffened. Even the boy froze.
My stomach dropped—not from fear, but confusion.
Boots pounded. Guards shoved through the market, armored and breathless, their eyes wild as they scanned faces.
The boy in front of me went still, the color draining from his face so fast it was almost funny.
Almost.
His gaze darted past me, calculating. Panic flickered, quick and bright, then vanished behind cold control. He looked at me one last time, and the contempt was still there, but urgency sat beneath it.
“I’ll remember you,” he said quietly. “You should be afraid.”
I lifted my chin. “You should be ashamed.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The guards’ shouts came closer.
“Caden!” someone yelled again.
The boy’s eyes widened a fraction. Then he stepped sideways, slipped behind a cart of onions, and melted into the moving crowd like smoke.
I stood there, breathing hard, staring at the space he’d left behind.
Elsa grabbed my sleeve. “Elara,” she whispered. “What in the stars was that?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered.
A guard barreled toward us. “You!” he barked. “Did you see him? The prince?”
I blinked. “What prince?”
“Prince Caden vanished from the palace,” he snapped. “He’s somewhere here.”
“I don’t know any prince,” I said honestly. “Shouldn’t he look… royal?”
“Royal doesn’t mean dressed royal,” the guard spat. “A boy. Dark hair. Arrogant.”
My heart thudded once.
I kept my face blank. “Lots of boys are arrogant.”
The guard swore and stormed away, shoving past shoppers as if they were sacks of grain. Elsa’s fingers tightened on my sleeve, and her voice dropped to a tremble.
“Elara, please don’t invite trouble.”
I swallowed, still tasting rage. “I didn’t invite him. He walked in like a curse.”
Across the square, more armored men poured in, scanning faces, overturning baskets, snapping questions at anyone who looked like they might know something. The market’s music died, replaced by the rhythm of boots and barking orders.
Then, right behind me, a guard’s voice rose above everything, furious.
“Find him now! Find the prince—he vanished from the palace!”