Camelia's nose wrinkled as they passed the market's raw food stalls, the strong stench of fish and manure lingering before finally fading behind them. A warm, yeasty aroma drifted from a nearby bakery, making her stomach growl loudly.
She tugged at Atherion's sleeve, her hunger quickly overriding any caution she had.
"Atherion, I'm starving," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
He glanced down, his red eyes locking onto her pleading expression. After a brief pause, he dismounted Storm with practiced ease and handed her the reins.
"Stay here," he said, his tone firm but not harsh.
Camelia, wrapped in the plain cloak Atherion had given her to hide her distinctive white hair, nodded and gripped the saddle tightly. She watched as he strode toward the bakery, disappearing into the bustling crowd.
Camelia, wrapped in the plain cloak Atherion had given her to hide her distinctive white hair, nodded and gripped the saddle tightly. She watched as he strode toward the bakery, disappearing into the bustling crowd.
Atherion approached the baker's stall, exchanging a few coins for a fresh, crusty loaf. He tore off a piece and handed it to Camelia.
She took it eagerly, biting into the warm bread, its soft, chewy texture rich with flavor.
"This is good," she mumbled between bites, licking crumbs from her fingers. "Better than my world's store-bought stuff."
Atherion shook his head slightly, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, though he said nothing. Without hesitation, he turned and led Storm toward a jewelry shop.
Camelia followed, savoring the bread, her eyes darting around the bustling market. Vendors called out their prices, their voices overlapping in a chaotic melody.
Children weaved through the crowd, laughing and chasing one another, while the clatter of wooden carts filled the streets. The entire scene felt like something from a medieval painting—vivid, noisy, alive—but also overwhelming.
At the shop, Atherion tethered Storm to a post and helped Camelia dismount, his grip firm but fleeting. Inside, the air was cool and carried the scent of metal polish and worn leather.
The shopkeeper, a wiry man with sharp eyes and a calculating expression, greeted them with a curt nod. "What can I do for you?"
Atherion placed Camelia's jewelry on the counter—two rings, a pair of earrings, and a jeweled brooch. "We're selling," he said, his voice steady and without emotion.
The shopkeeper lifted the brooch, turning it under a lens as he examined the intricate craftsmanship. "Fine work," he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the delicate engravings. "Where'd you get these?"
"Family heirlooms," Atherion answered without hesitation, his tone unwavering. "Times are hard."
The shopkeeper grunted, shifting his focus to the rings. He weighed them in his hand, checking for authenticity. After a tense pause, he said, "Three thousand zol."
Atherion's jaw tightened slightly. "That's low."
"Take it or leave it," the shopkeeper said, crossing his arms, his tone firm.
Beside Atherion, Camelia shifted uneasily, her fingers twisting the hem of her cloak. The jewelry was the last tangible connection to Camelia Valois's identity, and selling it felt like severing a final thread to this body's past.
She hesitated but said nothing.
Atherion glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable, then gave a curt nod. "Fine."
The shopkeeper wasted no time counting out the payment—ten gold Kor, one hundred ninety silver Dezol, and one hundred copper Zol. He slid the coin pouch across the counter with practiced ease.
Atherion took it without checking, already turning toward the exit.
"You're not counting it?" the shopkeeper asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I trust you," Atherion said simply, stepping through the door without looking back.
The shopkeeper chuckled, his tone edged with amusement. "Smart, but don't trust everyone here."
As Atherion opened the door, the man added, "Watch your back. Duke Valois's men don't take kindly to strangers selling noble trinkets."
Atherion paused, his hand resting briefly on the doorframe, then gave a curt nod. "Noted." Without another word, he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind them.
Camelia's pulse quickened at the mention of Duke Valois's men. Atherion had already explained Calonia's currency—copper Zol, silver Dezol, gold Kor, and rare Aurion—but that wasn't what unsettled her.
He had warned her about her "father," the Duke, a powerful noble closely tied to the king.
Selling her jewelry had been a necessary risk, but now, consequences felt closer than before.
She hurried to keep pace with Atherion as he led Storm toward a clothing shop, her thoughts racing.
***
Inside, a cheerful shopkeeper greeted them with a friendly smile. Camelia's eyes lit up as she spotted a rack filled with practical tunics and trousers.
"These," she said, holding up a green tunic and brown pants, glancing at Atherion as if seeking approval. He gave a slight nod.
Encouraged, she picked up another set and added firmly, "Pants for riding. Skirts are a nightmare."
The shopkeeper blinked, his gaze shifting to Atherion, who remained silently near the door, observing. "Not many women wear trousers," he said cautiously, his tone measured, "but for travel, it makes sense."
Camelia smiled, appreciating his tact. Atherion pulled out a handful of Dezol and paid without hesitation.
The shopkeeper quickly wrapped the clothes in a neat bundle and handed them over.
As they left, Camelia felt a flicker of triumph—wearing pants meant freedom, a small act of rebellion against the world's expectations.
***
Over dinner at a quiet campsite just outside town, Atherion outlined their next move. He sat across from her, calmly skewering a piece of roasted rabbit over the fire.
"We'll stay at an inn tonight," he said, his tone as neutral as ever. "One room, to avoid suspicion. We'll pose as husband and wife."
Camelia nearly choked on her food, coughing as she stared at him in disbelief. "One room?" Her cheeks warmed, her mind racing.
Four days in this world, and now she was supposed to share a room with a near-stranger?
Atherion's expression didn't change. "Duke Valois's men are looking for a lone noblewoman. A married couple draws less attention."
She exhaled, pushing down her embarrassment as logic settled in. "Right. Makes sense."
***
At the inn, a stout woman with a skeptical gaze looked them over, her sharp eyes scanning them carefully. Camelia, still wrapped in the plain cloak, instinctively shrank behind Atherion.
Without hesitation, he draped an arm around her shoulder, the gesture casual but convincing, as if they had done this a hundred times before.
"One room," he said, sliding a few Zol across the counter.
The innkeeper took the payment, nodding as she handed him a small brass key. "Third room, up the stairs."
***
"Here," he said, gesturing to the floor. "You're not used to roughing it."
Relief washed over her, easing her nerves slightly.
He handed her a neatly folded set of clothes—a tunic and pants—and pointed to a privacy screen tucked into the corner of the room. "Change."
***
Camelia changed quickly, sighing in relief at the familiar comfort of pants over the restrictive dress. The tunic was simple but well-made, and despite the unfamiliar world, it made her feel slightly more like herself.
Atherion swapped his coat for a clean shirt, his movements swift and practiced, showing none of the hesitance she had.
They settled into their spots, the room quiet except for the distant murmur of voices from the tavern below.
For Camelia, the silence was a stark contrast to the noise of her city apartment, but strangely, it was soothing.
Exhaustion pulled at her, and despite the tensions of the day, sleep claimed her quickly, dragging her into a deep, dreamless rest.