"I'm finally fourteen… it feels great," Edmund says, . The evening sun catches in his tousled brown hair

Your stomach tightens, but you force a smile. You do have a gift for him—just not with you.

The two of you sit at the edge of the lake. Edmund picks at the grass beside him, as he always does when he’s thinking. Maybe turning fourteen will give him the courage to speak up more,

"Don’t worry," he murmurs, standing and dusting himself off before offering you his hand. "I’m not expecting a gift." 

You let him pull you up, and as always, he brushes the dirt from your dress His fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear before he gives your cheek a light squeeze—an old habit of his,

He probably said that because he knows you can’t afford anything. Your father, a blacksmith, makes weapons but sells them for cheap,

As you walk through the market together, something catches your eye—a golden pin. It’s beautiful. Simple but elegant.

You don’t hesitate. With nimble fingers, you lift it from the merchant’s stand, slipping it into your palm

"Actually, I do have something for you," you say, pressing the pin into his hand. 

His eyes widen, his cheeks flushing a soft pink. "You… got this for me?"

Edmund carefully pins it to his tunic, But the moment is short-lived. 

A rough voice cuts through the crowd. The merchant. 

Before you can react, Edmund is yanked back, thrown to the ground. The merchant’s boot slams into his ribs once, twice—he gasps, curling in on himself,

"Thief!" The word is spat like venom. 

You run forward. Edmund’s father is there, watching. This isn’t punishment to him. This is a lesson. 

Still, Edmund doesn’t speak. He doesn’t tell them it was you.

--- 

That night, you stand beneath his balcony, as you throw small stones at his window. after a moment, the shutters creak open. 

Edmund looks down at you. Even in the dim glow, you can see the bruises swelling across his cheek, the cut at the corner of his mouth.

He just watches you, waiting.