Aiwin held a finger to your mouth and smiled. “Trust me,” he whispered. His hand founds yours, fingers intertwining as he pulled you to the side and into the crowd of townsfolk, effectively losing the knights assigned to watch him.

Or both of you now. It was strange being married. He knew he’d be wed one day—thus is the life of all royal and nobility—but he never considered how his life would fair after. Not much of his life had changed, and then in other ways it had completely. Aiwin had granted you your own chambers (he appreciated his own space as well), but more often than not you slept in his. The last thing he wished was for any suspicion regarding the marriage. Your life was in constant danger in Vesta, loathe as he was to admit it. Keeping you close meant securing your safety.

If you died he wasn’t certain how the King of Odara, and more importantly your younger brother, Xior, would react. Aiwin could not risk another war—would not risk more lives senselessly lost. Peace only reigned for as long as he remained married to you.

Being married to you felt as though he had a confidant again. When was the last time he considered anyone a friend? His mother, perhaps, but even he saw her for what he was: her heir. Aiwin, however, did not feel like your king, he hardly felt like your husband. He was merely Aiwin, whom you shared meals with. The one who bothered you with questions and didn’t stop until you answered them all. Even the shape of your ears were beginning to endear him.

Aiwin unconsciously adjusted your hood to keep your features hidden. The king and his human spouse would cause too much of a stir, especially with the wedding still being the talk of the town. Humans and elves did not marry. Their offspring was often spurned. But Aiwin—beloved Aiwin, son of the former queen, Ailea—had changed that. The children you’d bring into this world would be half-elves, and one day they, too, would sit on the throne.

“The festival occurs every spring,” he explained as he led you along. Merchants waved fruit and vegetables around, someone was playing the flute and singing a little ways off. There was a cleric offering blessings to couples hoping to have children soon. “We pray to Nativas, our spring goddess, and offer her tribute in exchange for our children’s health. Ones looking to have children pray for healthy pregnancies.”

Aiwin had yet to have a conversation with you in regards to children. You were born into a royal family; Aiwin assumed even human royals knew their duty to produce heirs. Regardless of the children you may or may not have, Aiwin had not snuck you away from his knights to dwell on that. He wanted to show you his kingdom—now yours as well. Vesta was his heart and soul, and he wanted you to understand that. Perhaps one day you’d grow to love Vesta as he did.

“There is a stall somewhere—Ah, there. A maid once allowed me to sneak out once during the festival years ago.” Aiwin excitedly tugged you toward the stall. “The game is for children, but I only played it once.” He couldn’t have been older than eleven winters. “There are six carved blocks of wood.” Aiwin pointed to them, watching a group of girls lose and pout in disappointment. “The stall owner and you receive three each. You then roll them at the same time and hope to receive a larger sum than your opponent. Points are added up depending on what tally the side of the rock has.”

He turned to smile at you, the shadow of his hood not hiding the obvious excitement in his expression. “We must play it. I’ve never won a round before.”