"Hmph!" A trace of disgust flickered in Mushiyu’s eyes. She turned away without acknowledging Melissara and buried her face back into the pillow.

Amused by Mushiyu’s petulance, Melissara merely chuckled. Leaning close, her breath warm and sweet against Mushiyu’s ear, she whispered, "Shall I help you wake up?"

Mushiyu ground her teeth. "Put your clothes on first!" she snapped.

Melissara smiled and rose to dress. Loran placed breakfast on the low table, her gaze lingering for a moment on the faint marks on Mushiyu’s neck before silently slipping out of the carriage.

The click of the closing door made Mushiyu think someone had entered. She hastily tugged the blanket over her exposed shoulder and glanced back—only to find the space empty.

"It was Loran. She’s gone," Melissara said.

Mushiyu exhaled in relief. *Right. Who’d dare enter while the Elven King is dressing?*

"Scared of others seeing your body?" Melissara asked, delighted by the girl’s reaction.

*So she fears being seen naked by others… yet lets me do as I please?* A faint smile played on Melissara’s lips.

"Hmph!" Mushiyu ignored her again. Warm breath brushed her ear—*here we go again*, she thought wearily.

For some reason, Melissara adored doing this: deliberately grazing Mushiyu’s earlobe with her lips, puffing air into her ear until she squirmed.

"Remember," Melissara murmured, half-command, half-tease, "never bare your body before others."

Mushiyu’s cheeks flushed. "Boring," she muttered.

Finally dressed, Melissara announced, "I’m decent."

Mushiyu grunted. After much wriggling like a caterpillar, she sat up. She took the milk, tested a sip—warm. Then she snatched a bread roll and bit into it with a vengeance, imagining it was a certain someone’s flesh. *Hmm. Appetite restored.*

Outside, Loran stood in the courtyard, head bowed, eyes hollow. She tried not to recall what she’d seen moments ago, but the images replayed relentlessly, twisting her stomach. Jaw clenched, she yanked her sword free and slashed at empty air dozens of times—no magic channeled, just raw exertion. Sweat soaked her tunic within minutes.

"Practicing swordplay so early, Captain Loran?" A cheerful voice called from the courtyard gate.

Loran paused, panting, and looked up. Grace. Her gaze flickered involuntarily to the ring on Grace’s left ring finger.

"Morning," Loran sheathed her sword, catching her breath.

"Morning," Grace smiled. "Why practice basic cuts? I thought magic swordsmen didn’t train that way."

"Not training," Loran said flatly. "Just… restless."

"Restless?" Grace’s eyes gleamed with interest. "Then spar with me! I’ve long wished to test my skills against the Elvenkind’s finest magic swordsman."

Loran studied her silently for a long moment before shaking her head. "Others are still sleeping. I won’t disturb them."

"True," Grace conceded, a glint of ferocity flashing in her eyes. "Master says your magic swordsmanship is formidable. I’ll challenge you properly next time!"

Loran nodded. "Perhaps."

The carriage door opened. Both women turned to see Melissara step out. The door clicked shut behind her.

Melissara’s eyes locked onto Grace the instant she exited. A cool glance, then she looked away.

Grace’s smile tightened. She bid Loran farewell and strode off.

"Breakfast is ready, Your Highness," Loran murmured, bowing her head.

Melissara eyed the sweat on Loran’s brow. "What happened?"

"Just restless. Practiced sword forms to pass time." Loran’s tone was calm.

Melissara nodded and headed toward the inn. Behind her, Loran glanced back at the closed carriage door. A flicker of longing crossed her face. She clenched her fist, forced her gaze away, and followed Melissara upstairs.

By noon, the others had roused from deep slumber. The inn’s common room buzzed with chatter. Eager to return home, they agreed to depart right after lunch.

News spread through Magestown. Remaining mercenaries and adventurers flooded the streets to bid farewell to the dragon-slayers. *They’d have stories to tell over ale for the rest of their lives—how they drank with heroes. A lifetime’s pride.*

*At least, that’s what they believed now.*

Inside the carriage, the four humans huddled together. David and Jack spotted Grace’s ring instantly. Shock flashed across their faces, then turned to grins as they showered Edmund with congratulations.

Edmund beamed, accepting their cheers—until he glanced at Grace. His fiery heart was doused like a candle.

*She was daydreaming.*

Jack called "Sis!" several times. Grace stared blankly out the window, unhearing, until David nudged her. She jolted, forced a smile, and said nothing.

David and Jack teased, "Oho! Blushing bride!"

Grace lowered her head, smiling quietly. *The picture of shyness.*

Only Edmund frowned, uneasy.

"Enough joking," Edmund cut in, silencing them. He glanced at Grace. "After careful thought… we should reclaim that girl from the Elven King."

"Boss! You just confessed to Grace and you’re already eyeing other women?" Jack glared.

"Shut it! I mean the girl who hatched from Adonis’s egg!" Edmund shot back.

David and Jack gaped at each other, then at Edmund. "You’re joking! We agreed—" they shouted in unison.

"He was joking," Grace interjected smoothly.

Edmund whirled to stare at her, stunned.

Grace smiled as if it were nothing. "That’s not our concern."

Something about her felt utterly foreign to Edmund. David and Jack exchanged a silent look and chose silence.