The Denares market was alive in a way Eon hadn’t seen after coming to this world.
Lanterns hung from iron hooks, casting warm pools of golden light across cobblestone streets slick with evening mist. The air smelled of roasting chestnuts, spiced wine, and the sharp tang of iron from the blacksmith’s stall where a burly man hammered out nails with rhythmic clangs. Voices rose and fell in a cacophony of haggling, laughter, and the occasional drunken shout from the taverns spilling patrons onto the streets.
Unlike the dying market of Edger County, where stalls stood empty and the air reeked of despair, Denares thrived. It was the perfect example of how a medieval market should look like, well at least according to Eon.
Eon adjusted the hood of his cloak, ensuring his ears remained hidden, and took a slow breath. The scent of fried dough and caramelized onions made his stomach growl.
Beside him, Elora practically vibrated with excitement, her dark eyes wide as she took in the sights. “Well?” she asked, nudging his arm. “What do you think?”
Eon glanced at her, then back at the market. “I think Alaric might be a pervert,” he said dryly, “but he knows how to run an estate.”
Elora laughed, the sound bright and loud, uncaring for anyone beside her. “Oh, he definitely knows. The merchants pay good coin for the privilege of setting up shop here. And the people? They actually want to live under Denares rule.” She grinned. “Mostly because the alternative is Duke Hein’s territory. Compared to him, even I think that Alaric’s a saint.”
Eon hummed, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. Nobles in fine silks brushed shoulders with commoners in roughspun wool, and no one so much as flinched. The soldiers patrolling the market wore the Denares sigil, but their presence was relaxed, their hands resting on pommels rather than drawn blades. This wasn’t the tense, empty atmosphere of Edger’s lands. This was very pleasant to see.
So for the first time in weeks, Eon let himself relax.
Their first stop was a stall selling skewered meats, the fat dripping onto hot coals with a hiss. The vendor, a broad-shouldered woman with a scar running from her temple to her jaw, grinned as Elora pointed at nearly every option.
“Two of each,” Elora declared, pressing two silver coins into the woman’s calloused hand before Eon could protest.
“You’re going to eat all that?” Eon asked, eyeing the mountain of skewers she’d just purchased.
Elora took a bite of spiced lamb, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “No,” she said, handing him a skewer. “But you are.”
Eon snorted but accepted it, the first bite sending a burst of smoky, garlicky flavor across his tongue. He groaned as the taste kept getting better as he chewed the meat. “Okay, fine. This is good.”
Elora’s grin turned triumphant. “Told you.” She grabbed another skewer, this one glistening with some kind of sweet glaze, and took a bite, her eyes fluttering shut. “Oooffff, I missed this. Alaric never lets me out of the mansion to eat things like these.”
Eon raised a brow. “Never?”
“Well, never for fun,” she clarified, licking a drop of sauce from her thumb. “Only for ‘lessons’ or ‘diplomacy’ or whatever other boring thing he drags me to.” She sighed dramatically. “Being a noble is exhausting.”
Eon chuckled, shaking his head. “Poor you. Forced to live in a mansion and eat food like this.”
Elora shoved his shoulder lightly. “Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”
He let himself imagine what it must have been like for her, growing up in a gilded cage, her every move dictated by her brothers’ whims, her freedom as illusory as the silk dresses she wore. He’d seen the way Alaric looked at her when he first met him, like she was a prize to be bartered, not a person. Darius was worse, but Alaric was also very stiff back then.
His fingers twitched, but he forced his expression to stay light. “Alright, alright. So where to next? You’re the expert.”
Elora’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I know just the place. Let’s go there.”
Eon asked with confusion, “There?”
The tavern was called The Howling Wolf, its sign a crudely painted wolf’s head with one eye winkingly crossed out. The moment they stepped inside, the noise hit them like a wall of laughter, clinking mugs, and the twang of a lute being plucked enthusiastically (somewhat skillfully) in the corner. The air was thick with the scent of ale, roasted nuts, and the underlying musk of too many bodies in too small a space.
Elora led Eon to a corner table, already half-occupied by a group of off-duty soldiers who quickly vacated when they saw her. Eon slid onto the bench, his back to the wall out of habit, while Elora flagged down a serving girl.
“Two ales,” she ordered, then paused. “Actually, make it a pitcher. And whatever stew you’ve got that won’t kill us.”
The waitress-girl grinned, wiping her hands on her apron. “Coming right up, my lady.”
Elora rolled her eyes as the girl scurried off. “Ugh. My lady. I hate that.”
Eon leaned back, watching her. “You could always tell them not to call you that.”
“And have Alaric hear about it?” She scoffed. “He’d have a fit. ‘Remember your station, Elora!’” she mimicked in a deep, pompous voice. “As if I could forget.”
Eon smirked. “Haha, You’re terrible at impressions.”
“Shut up,” she said, but she was also laughing.
The ale arrived, frothy and dark, and Elora poured them each a mug. Eon took a sip and nearly coughed; it was stronger than he expected, bitter with a sharp aftertaste. “Holy shit, what is this?”
“Denares Blackbrew,” Elora said, taking a healthy swallow. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”
Eon set his mug down, eyeing it warily. “I think it just melted my tongue.”
Elora laughed; the sound of her laughter was warm and rich, and for a moment, Eon forgot they were in Denares territory. Forgot that even around, there were soldiers who would kill him on sight if they knew what he was and had done to their lord. Forgot that back at the mansion, a dark elf was chained to a bed, waiting to wake up and try to murder him again.
Here, now, there was just the ale, the noise, the way Elora’s eyes sparkled in the lantern light.
They lost track of time after that.
There was more food, a hearty venison stew that Elora insisted on sharing, a plate of buttered bread so fresh it was still warm. There was a dice game Elora dragged him into (he lost, badly), and a round of drinks bought by a group of merchants who recognized her and wanted to “honor the Marquess’s sister”. (Eon drank his slowly, keeping his hood up). There was a moment where a wandering minstrel started singing a bawdy song about a farmer’s daughter eloping with her town’s lord’s son, and Elora laughed so hard she nearly fell off her stool.
At some point, Eon realized his cheeks hurt from smiling.
It was almost midnight when they finally stumbled out of the tavern; the market got quieter now, the stalls shuttered and the streets bathed in moonlight. Elora leaned against him as they walked, her steps slightly unsteady.
“You’re drunk,” Eon observed, amused.
“No, I’m not d-drunk, I’m... I'm just happy,” she corrected, poking his ribs. “There’s a bbiiiiig difference.”
Eon chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to steady her. “Sure there is.”
Elora sighed, tilting her head back to look at the stars. “Huh, I needed this,” she said softly. “Just… one night where I can be just myself, not as Elora Denares, or a sister, or a noble. Just… me.”
Eon looked down at her, the moonlight casting silver highlights in her dark hair. He understood that more than she knew.
“Me too,” he admitted.
Elora smiled up at him, her expression warm, her eyes a little glazed from the ale. “We should do this more often.”
Eon laughed, shaking his head. “Ya, ya, We’ll see.”
They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the mansion looming ahead of them; its windows were dark. The guards at the gate nodded as they passed.
Inside, the halls were quiet; the servants long since retired to sleep, Eon guessed. Elora paused at the foot of the stairs, swaying slightly.
“Well,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “Goodnight, Eon.”
Eon hesitated. There was something in the way she was looking at him, something soft, something seductive that made his chest tighten.
“Goodnight, Elora,” he said at last.
She smiled, then turned and made her way up the stairs, her steps lighter than they’d been in days.
But before she could reach the upper floor, she missed a step and was about to fall down.
But as Eon was watching her go up, he instantly ran up fast and barely caught her from slipping down the stairs.
She was now in his embrace as he caught her tightly.