The next city on our route was bigger, brighter, and far noisier than the sleepy seaside port we'd left behind—but Asha soaked up every second of it like a little sponge.
She squealed over brightly colored silks, stared starry-eyed at clockwork toys clinking and whirring on street carts, and got flour smudges on her cheeks from sniffing too close to a baker's rolling table.
And me?
Well… I carried her.
Slung gently over my hip, her arms loosely looped around my shoulders, her sea-glow eyes darting around with the intense focus of a child on a quest. I let her tug on my collar to point at stalls she wanted to inspect, occasionally lifting her even higher so she could get a better view over the crowd.
"Averan," she whispered once, voice awed as we passed a stall glittering with glass marbles. "Do those have stars inside?"
I smiled softly, resting my cheek against her curls. "Only if you promise to stare into them long enough."
People stared, of course.
A handsome young adventurer with windswept hair and a sword strapped casually across his back, walking through the market with a glowing, golden-haired child tucked in his arms. It wasn't subtle.
"That's Lord Averan, isn't it?"
"He has a child?"
"That little girl looks just like a painting! He must be hiding a lover somewhere..."
And of course, some bold ladies stopped us.
"She's just darling! May I pinch her cheeks?"
Asha clutched my shirt like her life depended on it.
I chuckled, stepping back. "Sorry, ladies. These cheeks are under very exclusive contract."
Asha shot me a betrayed look.
"I'll buy you five honey cakes," I whispered.
She blinked. Then turned to the women and gave them a hesitant wave.
Bribery, I'd discovered, was shockingly effective.
We spent the day like that—her squealing about new things, me buying them. Her asking endless questions, me answering what I could. When dusk settled in, and she finally crashed against my shoulder with a yawn, we retreated to the inn and I tucked her into the softest bed they had.
I kissed her forehead once, brushed golden strands from her face, and settled at the table nearby to read my messages.
There it was.
A very dramatically folded letter, sealed in bright red wax with the royal emblem of nagging little brother.
To My Dearest Sister, Her Majesty Queen Feria (who has clearly forgotten her beloved little brother),
Since you've adopted an adorable little sister now, I must regretfully inform you that your previous favorite sibling has not received any snacks or souvenirs in the last four days. Four.
This is betrayal.
I am considering changing the locks on your secret library vault.
Please send honey crisps. And the chili-fried squid chips. And that weird spiced wine. And trinkets. And maybe my dignity, which you've clearly misplaced in favor of a child with fins.
Yours tragically,
Albert the Neglected
I burst out laughing.
But mid-laugh, my instincts flared—cold and sharp. My hand reached toward the dagger resting beside my tea.
My feet hit the windowsill a second later. Without hesitation, I leapt down from the third story, landing with the light tap of boots on stone in the alley below.
"I know you're there," I said quietly, blade gleaming in the moonlight. "Come out, Zeriel."
He stepped from the shadows, hands raised in a mock surrender. "Is that how you greet your fated partner now?"
"You my fated partner? Dream on, besides, you were spying. Just say hi next time. At the front door."
Zeriel chuckled, his usual roguish charm wrapped tightly around his words, but his eyes studied me far too intently.
"Relax, Lord Albert," he said. "I was just… checking on you. After all, you are the object of the imperial princess's affection. I wouldn't be much of an escort if I didn't follow up."
His tone—casual, light—but undercut with something more brittle. Jealousy? Irritation? It was hard to say with Zeriel. His mask was better than most.
I narrowed my eyes. "If you're hoping to earn brownie points for the princess, you're wasting your breath. I'm already spoken for."
That made him pause. His jaw tensed. "Spoken for? By the fiancé you spoke about before, even though no one has seen her?"
I tilted my head. "Why should I prove such a thing to you. Besides, she sends letters, and that's proof enough. And it's the person who sent the letter that made me laugh, of course."
He blinked. "The child's mother?"
I choked on air. "What? No! Gods, Zeriel. You think I'd get someone pregnant and just waltz around with a child like—never mind."
Zeriel's eyes narrowed. "Then who?"
"You're very nosy for someone who just came to say hi."
"I'm nosy for someone who suspects you're not saying stuff you claim to."
Now that got a chuckle out of me. I sheathed my blade.
"So the great General of the Adur Empire is nothing more than a lovestruck princess's truth seeker boy now?"
That visibly irked him. He glared, mouth slightly agape. "Excuse me?"
I grinned and turned away, walking back toward the inn's back door. "Goodnight, Zeriel. Try not to get caught watching me next time. It's unbecoming."
He didn't follow.
But I felt his gaze linger. Heavy. Curious.
And very, very suspicious.
Too bad for him—I had centuries-old dragon saint, mischievous mermaid, and sulky baby brother to juggle.
A probing general?
He barely made the list.
The morning light shimmered like spun gold on the cobbled streets as I stepped out of the inn with Asha nestled snugly in one arm, still drowsy and clinging to me like a koala. Her golden hair was a wild halo of curls brushing my shoulder, and her small tail flicked idly as she blinked sleepily at the waking world.
The innkeeper had already prepared the carriage I requested—the finest in the city, lacquered black wood trimmed with deep silver filigree and thick velvet interiors. The horses were glossy and well-fed, and the driver bowed with an air of practiced politeness.
"Still sleepy, sunshine?" I murmured to Asha as I climbed in and settled her across my lap.
She gave a little grunt and muttered something about wanting to see clouds, but the moment the carriage began to roll and the breeze stirred through the window curtains, her eyes opened wide and she pressed her tiny palms to the glass, enraptured by the passing scenery.
It gave me a moment to breathe.
I pulled out my notebook and began scribbling.
Snacks for Albert:
Honeyed chestnut cookies (he'll cry if I forget)
Chili squid crisps (two bags)
Spiced dried fruits (the tangier, the better)
That seaweed-and-spice trail mix he weirdly likes
Sugar-dusted yam strips
Roasted nut brittle
Two jars of odd sauces he insists taste "just like power"
Trinkets:
Handmade compass (he'll love it)
Small enchanted box that plays music when opened
Seashell-carved dagger (for drama)
Mermaid-scale bracelet (might sell it for snacks, but whatever)
I smiled to myself.
Albert might be playing servant now, but I knew how clever he truly was. Using him to charm the princess of Adur instead of me? Genius, if I did say so myself. My aides would faint if they knew I even considered such a scheme, but desperate times, ridiculous measures.
"Can he even pull it off, though?" I muttered aloud, tapping my quill against my chin.
I could already picture it: Albert stiffly trying to compliment the princess, probably turning pink by the third sentence, while she fluttered her lashes and tried to corner him into discussing dragon archives. If she wasn't already turned off by his overly earnest honesty and general lack of princely polish.
"Well," I sighed. "If he crashes and burns, we just pack up and go home. Let the aides scold me. Again."
Asha turned away from the window, still blinking blearily, and tugged on my sleeve. "Averan… I'm hungry."
I barked a laugh and reached into my bag, fishing out the snack pouch I'd packed before dawn.
"See? I knew you'd say that," I teased, handing her a warm, soft bun stuffed with roasted root vegetables and a hint of smoked meat.
She took it with both hands like it was treasure, bit in, and closed her eyes in contentment. "Mmm…"
I smiled and leaned back against the cushioned seat, letting the gentle rhythm of the carriage lull us into a quiet spell.
Outside, the countryside rolled by—grassy hills, fleeting glimpses of farmhouses, and wisps of morning fog trailing through the trees.
Inside, I thought back on all the men I'd met so far.
The Duke's son—too polished, too proper.
The Elemental Scholar—brilliant but married to his experiments.
The Adventuring Twins—handsome but too chaotic.
The Swordmaster—steady, kind, had potential.
Sage—too influential and risky to get involve with
Zeriel?—...a complicated mess.
My lips pursed.
If only he weren't from Adur. If only he weren't the empire's famed general. If only he didn't—
"Averan," Asha mumbled, mouth full, "you're thinking really hard."
I blinked and looked at her. "Yeah. Sorry."
She swallowed and grinned up at me. "Are you thinking about love?"
I coughed. "Excuse me?"
"You have that same face Shasha has when she thinks about her favorite cake."
I stared at her, utterly betrayed. "I do not."
She nodded solemnly.
"I'm revoking your snack rights."
"Noooo—!"
Her whine echoed in the carriage as I laughed, handing her another bun just to stop her from pouting. She leaned back against me, warm and happy, and I let my thoughts wander again—this time quieter, gentler.
One day at a time.
First, protect Asha.
Then, survive the semester.
And maybe—maybe—figure out whether the empire's general is just a meddling nuisance...
…or something more.
The moment Asha and I stepped into the bustling market district of the town nearest Escarton Academy, her eyes practically sparkled out of her skull.
Her little hand clutched the collar of my shirt as I carried her on one arm, but her other hand pointed frantically in all directions. "That fruit looks weird—what is it? That stand has sparkly bread! Oh! Look! Look, that cat has three tails!"
"Yes, yes, and yes," I chuckled, dodging a merchant hawking spiced honey sticks and narrowly avoiding a boy juggling enchanted apples. "You'll get to poke and prod everything—after we get books."
"But I want to poke first," Asha pouted dramatically.
"You can poke after," I countered, shifting her higher in my arms as we turned down a quieter side street, where an old, wood-paneled bookstore with a crooked sign and dusty windows waited like an ancient secret.
Asha gasped as we stepped inside, and the scent of old parchment and ink wrapped around us like a spell. It was the kind of place I loved—quiet, reverent, and packed to the ceiling with books that might fall on your head if you pulled the wrong one.
I set Asha down carefully and she immediately vanished between the aisles, dragging out every children's book she could reach. Meanwhile, I drifted over to the historical folklore section and plucked out a thin, poorly illustrated book titled "Reign, the Elegant Flame of Ki."
I smirked. "She's going to scream."
I grabbed three copies. One for Shasha, one for Albert to tease her with, and one for myself just to memorize and quote dramatically at random times. Teasing an adorable dragon would be sweet, especially when you could deliver it in book form.
While Asha sat cross-legged on the carpet, engrossed in a picture book with animated seaweed creatures dancing on the pages, I pulled out my enchanted comm scroll and scribbled a quick message.
To: Albert
Meet me at Rosewharf Town. Pack lightly. You, me, and a certain curious dragonling are going on a trip to visit our scaly best friend.
Bring travel clothes, some calming tea, and no questions. Just trust me.
– F
Just as I rolled the scroll, another arrived—Hugh's elegant penmanship, which already spelled trouble.
Route to the Ruins secured. Hidden watchers in place. We'll rotate them weekly. Awaiting your command.
P.S. The knights are running a wager pool on who your husband will be. I'm betting on the brooding type.
I nearly choked.
My fingers twitched in fury. Hugh, you absolute menace. Of course he had to make it smug. Of course he did. I was going to shave his eyebrows while he slept. No, worse—assign him to guard duty in the Frosted Highlands with that uptight supply officer who never shut up about tent-folding efficiency.
My thoughts were already spiraling into punishment logistics when I felt a tug on my coat.
"Averan," Asha whispered. "You're doing that scary face again."
I blinked down at her.
She blinked up at me, holding a book titled "The Sleepy Moon and the Singing Stars" in one hand and a paper dragon mask in the other.
"I asked if I can have this one," she said slowly, like she wasn't sure I'd heard her.
I sighed, pinched the bridge of my nose, and smiled. "Of course, sunshine. You can have three more if you want. I was just…thinking of ways to torment people I care about."
"That sounds weird," she said, but hugged the book to her chest anyway.
"It's complicated."
We left the store not long after, my arms full of books, my heart full of impending mischief, and Asha happily twirling with her dragon mask on her head, humming some strange tune.
If the people watching Lord Averan—the so-called mysterious adventurer with the regal air and charming smile—thought he looked princely before…they probably thought he looked downright fatherly now, spoiling a beautiful child with sweets, books, and unending patience.
Let them talk.
For now, I had a ruin to visit, a dragon to see, a brother to wrangle, and aides to eventually threaten with emotional damage.
It was shaping up to be a very productive week.
The little diner on the outskirts of town smelled like butter, grilled meat, and old wooden beams soaked in decades of comfort food and chatter. It was small, unassuming, and perfect for a quiet dinner after a full day of indulgence and adventure. I guided Asha in, her arms wrapped around the plush toy fish I won her at a nearby stall, her eyes still sparkling from the market.
We slid into a booth near the window, and I ordered her fluffy omelet, burger steak, and those sinful potatoes drowned in cheese and bacon. She didn't wait. The moment the plate landed, she was already humming happily between bites like she'd found paradise.
Then the door jingled.
Albert stormed in.
Hair slightly tousled, eyes narrowed in righteous fury, and arms crossed like a general preparing a siege.
I didn't even flinch. I grinned. "You're late."
He sat across from me with dramatic flair and stabbed the menu with a single gloved finger. "Five of the most expensive, meatiest dishes you've got," he told the wide-eyed waitress.
I leaned my cheek into my palm, still grinning. "Is this a mood, or are you trying to summon a small kingdom's worth of cows?"
He didn't answer me. He pointed at Asha.
Who, at that moment, was very busy stuffing cheesy potatoes into her mouth with a gleeful hum, her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk.
"She replaced me," Albert declared.
I blinked. "What?"
"I—" he gestured to himself with two open hands, eyes wide and offended, "—am being replaced by a beautiful, adorable mermaid child as the favorite sibling!"
The way he said it was so melodramatic I couldn't help it—I laughed. Hard. One hand gripped the edge of the table, the other my stomach as I bent forward and wheezed.
"Oh no—truly, a tragedy!" I managed through my cackles. "Poor dethroned prince of my heart!"
Albert narrowed his eyes at me while stuffing a massive bite of steak into his mouth. "You've got no shame."
I was still laughing when Asha turned her head toward him, curious. "Big Brother?"
Albert froze mid-chew. His jaw stilled. His eyes widened like a deer caught in a divine blessing.
"D-Did she just—?"
"She did," I said, already sensing where this was going.
"Say it again," Albert begged.
Asha blinked at him. "Big Brother?"
Albert's entire demeanor flipped like a coin.
From sulking prince to beaming fool.
He puffed out his chest and nodded solemnly at her. "Yes. That's right. I am your big brother now."
I choked on my water, snorting as I tried not to spray it everywhere.
He turned back to me, already forking potatoes onto Asha's plate. "You're forgiven."
I gaped. "Just like that?"
"She called me Big Brother," he said in a voice that brokered no argument. "All is right in the world."
I gave up. I surrendered to the laughter again, holding my stomach as Asha beamed between the two of us and proudly announced, "I have a big brother and a big sister!"
That earned her a soft head pat from Albert and a cheek squish from me.
Watching them—Asha's joy, Albert's exaggerated pride, the warmth blooming in my chest—I couldn't help the smile that lingered long after the laughter faded.
Yes. I might have set out today to gather books, supplies, and updates on our dragon friend Shasha.
But this?
This moment of laughter, of belonging, of makeshift family?
It was the best thing I'd found all day.