Aventurine has caught wind of the abrupt news that lingered for the past couple of days — there was a revolt, the other commoners uttered in hushed murmurs, a traitor was found lurking within the palace of Nura. He finds that chatting people while they were busily drinking amongst themselves was the best way to gather information; as such, he soon realizes that all these folks shared semblances — delighted. They were all delighted because the king was no more.

Still, it seems that all of them have forgotten the princess’ existence, even if it’d last for a short while. That’s good, for now.

He gravitates back to the corner of the tavern, extending his hand towards the concealed figure’s hand. And casts a reassuring smile.

“Prin — my lady,” He corrects himself in a soft murmur, looking over. “It’s best we leave before the sun sets, the journey to the south will at least take us half a day by foot.”

He tries to turn a blind eye to the way you look back at him with those blank eyes, how it felt as you were still mourning over the fallen empire, of the palace you once called home. But he supposes he should be more patient and handle you with further care.

After all, his time with you would become a memory.

His affection for you, once a cherished memory, now feels like treason, as duty demands his loyalty. Love was a luxury he could never afford, much less have the voice to attain it.

Was he truly fortunate if fate continues to play around like this?