Page 47 of Realms of Swords and Storms
The vibrant chaos of the market was a welcome assault on my senses. A vendor shouted the price of sun-ripened figs, his voice competing with the clang of a nearby blacksmith’s hammer. A woman draped in brightly coloured silks swept past, leaving a trail of jasmine and spice in her wake. Marcus pointed out a stall selling intricate silver jewellery, the kind the Talfen were rumoured to craft, his expression unreadable for a moment before he steered me toward a different scent.
He found the honey cake stall tucked between a seller of dyed wools and a potter. The old woman running it recognized Marcus, her wrinkled face breaking into a wide smile as he purchased two of the sticky, golden-brown treats. He passed one to me, our fingers brushing.
“Eat,” he commanded gently. “Before I’m tempted to steal it.”
I bit into the cake, the sweet, rich honey bursting on my tongue, and I couldn't suppress a hum of pleasure. Marcus watched me, a genuine, unguarded smile on his face. “Good?”
I nodded, my mouth full. He was still watching me, a look of such profound contentment on his face that it made my breath catch.
“What?” I asked, a little shy under his scrutiny.
“You have a little…” He reached out, his thumb gently brushing the corner of my mouth. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a jolt straight through me. The roar of the market seemed to dim, the entire world narrowing to the space between us. His eyes were dark, serious, and for a moment I thought he might kiss me right there, amidst the chaos of shouting vendors and jostling crowds.
Instead, he took my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice slightly rough. “I know a place we can get some real food. And wine.”
We finished our cakes as we walked, letting the river of people carry us along.
Further on, the crowd thinned near the administrative buildings. I saw them before he did—two Imperial Guards, their crimson cloaks a bloody slash against the pale stone, harassing a street vendor whose ears were just slightly too pointed. The vendor kept his head bowed, his hands trembling as the guards overturned a basket of his fruit, the bruised globes rolling into the dusty street.
A cold knot of anger tightened in my stomach. I felt my posture shift, my muscles tensing for a fight I knew I couldn’t have. But Marcus’s hand was instantly on my arm, his grip firm, his expression a quiet warning. He turned me away, guiding me down a quieter side street without a word. The silent command was clear: Not here. Not now. Today is ours.
He led me away from the main thoroughfare, down a winding side street that smelled of lavender and baked bread. The tavern was small, its entrance almost hidden by a cascade of blooming bougainvillea. Inside, a quiet courtyard was shaded by an old olive tree, the tables scattered beneath its dappled light. It was peaceful.
“I thought we could have some lunch,” he said, pulling out a chair for me. “Away from the crowds.” Away from the guards, he didn’t need to say. I sank onto the bench, the warmth of his hand lingering on my arm, grateful for his quiet strength that knew when to fight, and when to simply seek peace.
A server brought a platter of bread, sharp cheese, and glistening olives, along with a carafe of chilled white wine. Marcus filled our cups, his movements sure and steady. I tooka long drink, but the cool liquid did little to douse the anger simmering in my gut.
“They didn’t have to do that,” I said, my voice low and tight. “He wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“No,” Marcus agreed. He reached across the small wooden table, his hand covering mine. His palm was warm and calloused, a familiar weight that grounded me. “But you charging in there wouldn’t have helped him, Liv. It would have only gotten you thrown in a cell, or worse.”
“I just hate it,” I whispered, staring at our joined hands. “Feeling so powerless.”
“I know.” His thumb stroked the back of my hand, a slow, soothing rhythm that unknotted something inside me. “But we aren’t powerless. We’re just choosing our battles. And today is a truce. For us.”
His gaze was so direct, so full of a quiet, unwavering affection that it stole my breath. He saw the fighter in me, the rage, but he also saw the woman who just needed a day of peace.
I turned my hand over, lacing my fingers through his. “Okay,” I said, my voice thick. “A truce.”
He smiled, a genuine warmth that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and the last of the tension finally bled away. When the server returned with two plates of grilled fish, I realized I was starving. The world outside this courtyard, with its cruelty and its coming war, could wait. For now, there was only this. Only him.
The warm afternoon sun dappled through the olive tree branches, casting shifting patterns across our table. The wine was excellent - crisp and cool against my tongue, a welcome contrast to the lingering heat of the day. Across from me, Marcus looked more relaxed than I'd seen him in months, the perpetual tension in his shoulders temporarily eased.
"How's the fish?" he asked, his voice warm with simple pleasure.
I smiled, savouring another bite of the delicate, herb-infused flesh. "Perfect. I'd forgotten what real food tastes like. The Academy meals are..." I searched for a diplomatic word.
"Terrible?" Marcus supplied with a grin.
"Functional," I corrected, though I couldn't help returning his smile. "Designed to fuel the body without troubling the palate."
He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and my heart lightened at hearing it. These moments of unguarded joy were rare treasures between us. Our lives had contained so little laughter since the Empire had destroyed our village.
As we ate, sharing the platter of olives and breaking off pieces of crusty bread, I felt the weight of secrets pressing against my chest. Here in this peaceful courtyard, with Marcus looking at me with such open affection, the walls I'd built to compartmentalize my complicated life felt suddenly flimsy and dishonest.
"Marcus," I said finally, setting down my wine cup. "I need to tell you something."
He nodded, his expression growing more serious as he read the change in my tone. "I'm listening."
