CHAPTER 86: LAUGHTER

The market was alive long before they arrived.

By the time the royal procession reached its edge, the district was already a storm of sound and scent, bartering voices, clattering wheels, the rhythmic strike of hammers from the nearby forges.

The faint festivities of Pyrosanct still hummed in the air.

Stalls spilled over with color: bolts of silk fluttering like captured fire, pyramids of fruit glowing like jewels, spice jars catching the light in hues of crimson, gold, and green.

Performers danced at the crossroads, bells chiming at their ankles. Music floated through the heat, a slow, lilting melody carried by flutes and drums. The air itself shimmered, sweet with roasted nuts and sharp with river wind.

And in the midst of it all walked fire and frost.

Eris and Soren moved side by side, their presence turning heads, stilling conversations mid-word. The Winter Knights followed a few paces behind, silent and formidable in their silver armor. Wherever they passed, the crowd parted , not out of fear, but awe.

Eris said nothing at first. She simply looked.

It had been years since she’d walked among people like this, without a crown, without guards whispering her name in warning. The last time she’d wandered through these streets, she’d worn a disguise, trailing shadows to meet a man who sold new faces. But this felt different.

She wasn’t hiding.

For once, she was simply... here.

The sun poured warmth over everything, gilding the market in light. The sound of laughter, the clamor of voices, it all wrapped around her like something she’d forgotten she could feel.

Her gaze lingered on a stall of woven carpets, each pattern a riot of color. Then on a group of children chasing one another with paper birds. Then, longer still, on a display of fire-glass jewelry, delicate pendants that caught the sunlight and fractured it into a thousand burning fragments.

Soren watched her as they walked.

He had seen her angry, commanding, distant, her gaze a weapon, her voice a decree. But hardly like this.

The last time he did, was at the night market.

The memory of her dressed in a commoner’s clothing lodged itself at the back of his mind.

And even now,

For a moment, she didn’t look like the Fire Queen or the cursed dragon’s vessel. She looked like someone discovering the world for the first time.

A merchant’s call cut through the noise.

"My lady!"

Eris turned, startled.

The speaker was an elderly woman, bent with age but bright-eyed, a shawl draped over one arm. She didn’t recognize royalty when she saw it, or perhaps, she didn’t care.

"Such beautiful hair," the woman said warmly. "You need something to match it. This, perhaps?"

She lifted a shawl, deep blue, its edges embroidered with silver thread that caught the light like frost.

Eris froze.

No one ever approached her like that. Not with such ease. Not with such unthinking kindness.

Before she could respond, Soren stepped forward.

"We’ll take it," he said, his tone calm but certain.

The woman blinked, her smile faltering as recognition dawned. The color drained from her face. "Y-Your Majesties!" she stammered, bowing so low her hands trembled. "I—I didn’t realize—please, my lord, my lady, forgive—"

Soren cut her apology short with a small gesture, slipping a few gleaming coins onto her counter. "No forgiveness needed. Your craftsmanship is beautiful."

The amount was far more than the shawl’s worth, triple, perhaps more but he didn’t seem to care.

He turned back to Eris.

"May I?"

Before she could answer, he lifted the shawl, shaking it open with a flick of his wrist. The silk caught the air, rippling like captured moonlight.

Then, with a careful grace that made the world slow around them, he draped it over her shoulders.

The fabric kissed her skin, soft, cool, smelling faintly of cedar and dye. Against the heat of her body, it felt like calm itself.

Eris looked at him, startled, unsure how to react.

"You didn’t have to do that," she said quietly.

"I wanted to," he replied.

Simple words. But they hung between them, heavy and dangerous.

Around them, the market went on, merchants shouting, coins clinking, music rising and falling. Yet for a moment, it felt as if all of Crimson Port had tilted toward the two of them, watching the quiet gravity of what had just passed.

The woman bowed again, murmuring blessings to Pyronox and the Northern King both. Eris only nodded faintly, fingers brushing the edge of the shawl as if testing whether it was real.

They moved deeper into the port.

At the square’s center, a fire-dancer performed, spinning trails of flame that cut through the sunlight in brilliant arcs. The crowd clapped and whistled, the sound echoing like festival bells.

Eris and Soren paused at the edge, the Winter Knights keeping their distance so the people could watch without fear.

The performer, a tall man with soot-streaked arms and a grin too wide for caution, spotted them immediately. He froze mid-turn, his eyes widening, and then, because showmen were born without self-preservation, he flourished his torch toward them.

"Behold!" he shouted, voice carrying over the square. "The Fire Queen herself, and her Northern consort! Blessed flames, we are honored!"

The crowd followed his gaze, gasps and murmurs rippling outward. Dozens of eyes turned toward them, curious, thrilled, expectant.

The dancer bowed low, the torch twirling behind him in a flourish of sparks. "Your Majesties! Surely, Solmire’s own flame would honor us with a display worthy of her legend!"

Cheers erupted.

"Fire Queen! Fire Queen!"

Eris went utterly still.

Her eyes widened a fraction, her posture stiffening. The corner of her jaw tightened , the unmistakable look of a woman calculating every possible escape.

Beside her, Soren’s lips curved into slow, unholy mischief. He leaned in close, his breath cool against her ear. "They’re expecting a show," he murmured.

"I am not performing like some court jester," she hissed back, voice low enough only he could hear.

"Then," Soren said with mock gravity, "allow me."

Before she could protest, he stepped forward, smooth, poised, every inch the performer she refused to be.

The crowd parted instantly, the murmur of curiosity turning to held breath. He lifted one hand to the air, and the heat around him shifted, cooled as if the entire square inhaled at once.

A sound like breaking frost echoed faintly. Crystals shimmered into being, delicate and precise, catching the sun in fragments of blue light.

The people gasped.

From the spiraling mist of his breath, an intricate sculpture began to form, wings outstretched, tail curved in flight, a dragon of pure ice suspended midair. Its surface gleamed with a faint inner glow, runes of frost veining across its translucent skin.

For a heartbeat, it was perfect.

And then, predictably, the heat of the Crimson Port reminded him where he stood.

A single drop of water slid down the dragon’s snout. Then another.

Within seconds, the sculpture sagged, melted, and collapsed in a spectacular, undignified splash, directly over a nearby fruit stand.

The merchant’s cry was immediate and despairing. "My pears!"

The crowd erupted into laughter, real, unrestrained, delighted laughter. Children pointed. Someone clapped as if it were all part of the act.

Soren stood at the center of it, droplets sliding down his glove, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement.

Eris stared at him, the so-called Ice Emperor, conqueror of the North, standing in a puddle of his own creation, and something inside her broke.

Not with anger. With laughter.

It burst out of her, bright and unrestrained, catching even herself off guard. The sound rang over the noise of the crowd, soft and clean, the kind of laughter she hadn’t made in years.

Soren looked at her, startled at first, and then smiling faintly, almost sheepish. "I miscalculated the temperature," he said dryly.

She caught her breath between laughs. "The great Ice Emperor," she managed, wiping a tear from her eye, "defeated by fruit."

The merchant, still fussing over his dripping stand, received an apologetic bow and a handful of gold coins, more than enough to buy new produce and another stall besides.

Soren turned away quickly, ears just barely tinged with red.

Eris caught it, of course. "Embarrassed?" she teased, the smirk returning to her lips.

"Simply adjusting," he replied, tone clipped but the corner of his mouth betraying him.

The crowd, still laughing, began to disperse. The square settled back into its rhythm, though the air around them felt lighter now, laughter lingering like perfume, warmth in a place that had always been cold.

And for once, they looked less like monarchs and more like people. Two imperfect creatures in a world that had forgotten how to see them that way.