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I deflect them all with smiles and compliments that leave the impression of possibilities without ever promising fulfillment. It's a skill I've honed over years of diplomatic service, this ability to make people believe they have a chance at possessing me.
All except one stubborn shopkeeper who looks at me like I'm something stuck to the bottom of her boot—right until she's pulling me into her bed.
"Araton!" Lord Kassian booms, breaking into my thoughts. "Just the xaphan I've been waiting for. Come, share a drinkand tell me this proposal of Ithuriel's isn't as outrageous as I've heard."
I straighten, directing my full attention to the matter at hand. This is why I'm here, after all. Not to think about auburn hair tangled in my fingers or the surprising softness of lips that speak such sharp words.
"Lord Kassian." I bow precisely, measuring my smile to exactly the warmth required. "I believe you'll find the proposal less outrageous than inspired, once you understand the full scope."
And just like that, I'm back in the game I play so well, crafting phrases that will carry Lord Ithuriel's ambitions forward on wings of my making.
I leaveLord Valterian's estate as the twin moons begin their climb into the night sky, bathing New Solas in silver-blue light that makes the crystal spires gleam like massive ice formations. My wings unfurl with a satisfying stretch after hours of the formal half-fold required in noble company. A few quick beats lift me above the sprawling garden walls, giving me a momentary bird's eye view of the city I traverse each month.
From this height, New Solas is a gleaming jewel—all elegance and order in concentric circles radiating outward from the central temple. The human districts in the west look like smudges of charcoal against the pristine architecture of the xaphan quarters. Even from here, I can sense the invisible boundaries separating those worlds.
I drop down to street level near the merchant quarter, preferring to walk rather than fly through the narrow, bustling alleyways. Unlike the sterile perfection of the noble district, this part of New Solas pulses with life—a cacophony of voices haggling over prices, exotic scents wafting from foodstalls, street performers drawing crowds with displays of minor elemental magic.
The shop owners recognize me, some calling out greetings while others simply nod in acknowledgment of my regular passage. I've maintained these relationships carefully over the years, knowing that information from common merchants often proves more valuable than whatever secrets the nobility thinks they're keeping.
"Lord Velrien!" A shopkeeper waves enthusiastically from her stall of imported fabrics. "The silks from Vesnios arrived yesterday. The exact shade of blue you inquired about."
I'm halfway to her stall before I catch myself. Blue—the precise color of storm clouds gathering on the horizon. The color that reminded me of?—
Ronnie's eyes.
I'd asked about the fabric weeks ago, thinking... what? That I might have something made for her? A ridiculous notion. She'd probably use the silk to clean her shop windows.
"Another time, Merial," I call, changing course with a forced smile.
What in Solas' name is wrong with me? This is the third time today my thoughts have circled back to that prickly shopkeeper. Her face keeps appearing in my mind—not soft with pleasure as it is in our encounters, but sharp with that stubborn defiance that both irks and fascinates me.
A glint of color catches my eye, drawing me to a stall I've never patronized before. The vendor, an older xaphan with dappled gray wings that speak of mixed bloodlines, arranges delicate jewelry on a velvet cloth.
"Something caught your interest, sir?" she asks, eyes darting to my wings—assessing my status—before settling on my face.
My fingers hover over a bracelet of intricately woven metal threads interspersed with tiny beads in shades of amber anddeep blue. It reminds me of sunlight filtering through Ronnie's windows, catching the highlights in her auburn hair.
"This piece," I say, surprising myself. "The craftsmanship is exceptional."
The vendor beams. "Handwoven in the style of the old kingdoms. Those beads are carved from mountain crystals—they change color slightly depending on the wearer's mood."
I pick up the bracelet, testing its weight. It's substantial without being heavy, delicate without being fragile. Like her.
"She must be special," the vendor says with a knowing smile.
"She's... not what you're thinking." My denial comes too quickly, but it's true. Ronnie isn't a lover in any romantic sense of the word. She's an arrangement. A diversion. A physical compatibility that happens to exceed any I've experienced before.
And yet here I stand, contemplating jewelry for a woman who would sooner spit in my face than accept a gift from me.
"She'd hate this," I murmur, yet I don't set it down. Instead, I find myself imagining the bracelet against her pale wrist, a flash of color as she moves through her shop, restocking shelves with that efficient grace I've spent too many hours watching.
When did I start noticing these things? The way she turns pages in her ledger with a quick flick of her fingers. How she always smells faintly of meadowmint tea. The small crease between her eyebrows when she's calculating numbers.
"If she hates pretty things, she might appreciate their value instead," the vendor suggests, misreading my hesitation. "These beads fetch a good price in western markets."
I almost laugh. Ronnie would see right through that approach. She has an uncanny ability to discern my intentions, stripping away my carefully constructed charm to see the calculations beneath.
It's... refreshing, in a way I hadn't realized I needed.