The Adventurer’s Guild infirmary smelled of boiled linen and crushed herbs, sharp enough to sting Garron’s nose the moment he stirred awake.
His ribs protested when he tried to sit up, the blanket pressing down on him as though it were heavier than steel.
“Easy, my dear,” a soft voice chided, as gentle hands steadied him.
It was Elia.
She sat close by, a wooden bowl waiting on the table beside her. Steam curled from it, carrying the warm, homely scent of lamb stew. She lifted the bowl, dipped the spoon, blew on it once, and guided it to his lips with practiced ease.
Garron rasped, his voice rough. “Come now, Elia… what am I, a child?”
Before she could answer, another voice cut through the room—dry, amused, far too pleased.
“A big, grumpy child, I’d say.”
Captain Alric lounged on the bed across from Garron, shoulder wrapped in bandages, smirk firmly in place. “Look at you. Can’t even lift a spoon without help.”
Garron shot him a glare that would’ve been intimidating if he weren’t pale and half-buried in blankets. “Better a grumpy child than an old fool nearly killed by Crow’s poison.”
Alric chuckled, though the sound ended in a wince as his wound tugged. “I’ll admit I was careless. But stabbed clean in the ribs? That’s just incompetence.”
“Oh, you want to go there?” Garron rumbled, shifting as though ready to rise. “Let’s wait till I’m standing again, then we’ll see who’s incompetent.”
Elia sighed, the spoon still hovering patiently. “You two will heal faster if you stop measuring your bruises.”
“Tell him that,” Garron muttered.
“Tell both of you,” she corrected, nudging the spoon against his lips. “Now eat. Before it goes cold.”
Garron grumbled, but the stew was good—rich and hearty, warming him to the bone. He chewed slowly, eyes flicking across the room with stubborn defiance.
Alric leaned back with a grin. “Careful now, don’t choke. Wouldn’t want you remembered as the man slain by stew instead of steel.”
“Better stew than poison,” Garron shot back.
Elia rolled her eyes, though the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile.
Then—the door creaked open.
Mira stepped inside.
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She carried a small bundle of wildflowers in her hands, sunlight spilling in behind her. With her came the faintest trace of salt from the sea breeze outside.
“Morning, Father,” she said gently, her presence steady enough to shift the entire room. “I brought flowers.”
She crossed to the window with quiet steps, placing the flowers in a simple clay vase. Their colors—soft whites and blues—brightened the plain infirmary, filling the space with a subtle sweetness that softened the sting of herbs.
Her eyes swept to her father, softening at the sight of his bandaged ribs.208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBbezfDJx8q
“You shouldn’t be moving yet. Does it still hurt?”
Garron shifted under her gaze, unable to withstand her quiet worry. He cleared his throat gruffly.208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaJKHvM137P
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Mira’s lips curved in a fleeting smile, sunlight through clouds. “I’m sure you can, Father.”
She lingered by his side a moment longer, her fingers resting lightly against his arm. Then her gaze drifted to Alric, pale and bandaged on the far bed.
“You both gave me quite a fright,” she said softly.
Alric chuckled, though it was muted. “You don’t need to worry about me—I’m tougher than you think. But your father? Not so much.”
Mira gave him a small, knowing smile, but her eyes held hesitation, as though weighing whether to speak.
At last she straightened, hands clasped before her. “There’s something you should know.”
Garron’s brows furrowed at the shift in her tone. “What is it?”
She drew a steadying breath, her voice tinged with melancholy.208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFH7UNNaiZr
“His Highness is leaving soon. Kael and the others are already preparing.”
Silence settled over the infirmary.
Elia’s spoon stilled halfway to the bowl. Alric only hummed, unsurprised.
Garron’s jaw tightened. His gaze drifted to the window, where the flowers Mira had brought caught the morning light, their fragile colors glowing against plain stone.
“Leaving, is he…” Garron muttered more to himself than to anyone.
Mira nodded. “He said he’ll send word once he reaches the capital safely.” Her eyes softened, lingering on the two wounded men. “He’s grateful… and felt guilty about the lives that were lost.”
Elia exhaled gently, lowering the bowl to the table. “No one’s going to blame him. But perhaps it’s for the best—for him to leave.”
Alric nodded. “But that doesn’t mean his road will be safe. The Crimson Crows aren’t going to give up.”
For a moment, only the faint rustle of curtains and the murmur of voices outside filled the room.
Then Garron let out a heavy breath, leaning back against his pillow. “Well… there isn’t much we can do, but I’m sure the Mayor will arrange something.”
Mira’s expression gentled, though her lips pressed together as if holding back words. She smoothed the blanket at Garron’s side.
Elia glanced between them, her voice low. “Still… it’ll be quieter without him here.”
Alric smirked faintly, the sharpness gone. “Prince or not, the lad had spirit. I’ll miss him.”
The warmth in the room dimmed into a thoughtful hush.
Mira’s gaze returned to the window, where the wildflowers leaned toward the sunlight, swaying in the breeze.
Elia was the first to break the quiet. She turned toward Mira, her voice gentle yet deliberate.208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7EatyPPu9z
“Mira, perhaps you should escort him back to the capital.”
Mira blinked. “Me?”
Elia nodded, calm and sure. “You’re the most capable person in town. And His Highness trusts you.” Her smile softened, almost knowing. “He’d leave with a lighter heart if you were by his side.”
Garron shifted, his brow furrowing. “Elia…” His voice carried protest and weariness both.
But Elia met his look with quiet resolve. “You know it too, Garron. Prince or not, we can’t just let someone we know walk into danger.”
Mira lowered her eyes, hands folding at her waist. The thought of Lucien leaving alone had always pricked at her heart, but spoken aloud it felt heavier—closer.
“I…” she began, uncertain. “I’ve never traveled beyond the cove. What if—”
“You’ll be fine,” Alric interrupted, leaning back with a half-smile. “You’re S-class. Don’t tell me you can’t find your way home. And besides…” his grin widened, “you should go out and see the world.”
“The world is a dangerous place,” Garron muttered.
Alric smirked, unfazed. “Would you rather she stay here forever, never even glimpse the outside world? Come on, Garron. Mira’s not a little girl anymore—she can take care of herself.”
Mira’s throat tightened. She looked to her father, waiting.
Garron exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they softened at her.208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡObq1MWaW2V
“What do you think, Mira? Do you want to go?208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCvFIHChlen
Mira’s lips parted, but no words came at first. She lowered her gaze, fingers twisting together at her waist. 208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu6Pj5SYGPW
The weight of everyone’s eyes pressed in on her—her father’s cautious hope, her mother’s steady encouragement, Alric’s amused confidence.
“I…” Her voice faltered. She drew in a breath, steadying herself. “I’ll think about it.”
The words hung in the air, light yet firm, like a door she wasn’t ready to open all the way.
She smoothed the blanket at Garron’s side one last time, her touch lingering as though to reassure herself more than him. 208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQveTjDvv7A
Then, gathering the edges of her composure, she stepped back.
“I’ll bring lunch later,” she said softly, almost as an excuse.
Without waiting for reply, she turned toward the door. The faint scent of wildflowers clung to her as she slipped out, the hinges creaking quietly in her wake.
The room seemed dimmer without her.
Alric let out a low sound—half a chuckle, half a sigh. “She’ll say yes. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Elia set the bowl aside, her eyes lingering on the door. Her voice was calm, but her smile carried a touch of certainty. “Either way, it’s her choice.”
Garron lay back against his pillow, frowning at the ceiling as if the plaster might hold answers he couldn’t voice.
For a long while, the only sound was the faint rustle of the curtains as the sea breeze slipped in through the window, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant cry of gulls.
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