The fair roared with noise and color, alive like a great shifting creature, but when he appeared—tall, dressed in black, walking with the steady composure of someone born to command attention—the sound seemed to bend around him. People stepped aside without thinking, sensing instinctively that he did not belong to their everyday world. He examined nothing, admired nothing—simply moved forward, and it was enough to make the air feel heavier. His attendants followed at a respectful distance.
She noticed him first.
A slender young woman in a bright headscarf, copper bracelets chiming softly on her wrists, approached him with the easy confidence one might use with an ordinary traveler. That unexpected boldness caught his attention at once—a cool spark of curiosity.
“Would the prince care for a reading in love?” she asked with a light, playful note in her voice. “People say… quite a few interesting things about you.”
Gideon paused. His gaze—dark, quiet, assessing—studied her as if committing her features to memory.
“Love?” he echoed, his tone smooth and steady. “Very well.”
He extended his hand.
She took it—lightly, almost casually—but in the next moment her fingers grew still, as though something in his palm made her breath falter. She traced the lines carefully, and when she spoke again, her voice had softened.
“You will fall deeply in love… with someone you meet unexpectedly. She will be proud. Strong. Unshaken.” Her fingers slowed, cautious now. “You will find yourself acting in ways you never anticipated.”
His brow lifted slightly.
“Go on.”
She hesitated, drawing a quiet breath.
“But to her… your feelings may not be returned,” she said gently, each word carrying weight. “She may never see you the way you hope.”
The fair continued to bustle around them—laughter, music, shouts—but between them stretched a stillness.
She continued, eyes lowered:
“You will cross paths again. You will share many years in each other’s lives. But… she may never be able to give you the answer you want.”
Her voice faltered.
The unspoken words trembled in her expression more than in sound.
And suddenly, in the face of the woman from her vision, she seemed to recognize something far too familiar—something that frightened her more than the prophecy itself.
Gideon remained silent, watching closely. His gaze deepened, but not unkindly.
“You stopped,” he said softly, almost gently.
She let go of his hand so quickly it was as though she had simply remembered something urgent.
“I should go.”
No bow, no flustered explanation—just the quick, uneven words, and she turned away so fast that her bracelets rang like small silver bells.
She disappeared into the crowd.
Gideon stood where he was. He did not follow. He simply watched the space where she had been, as though her sudden departure had revealed something important rather than taken it away.
He lowered his gaze to his own palm, brushing a thumb along the place her fingers had traced moments earlier.
“I like her,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
A faint, thoughtful smile curved his lips.
“Look for her.”
The words were spoken calmly to the attendants behind him. A figure nodded and moved. Gideon walked in the direction she had gone—unhurried, composed, more contemplative than pursuing. Not chasing, not insisting—simply following the thread of curiosity she had awakened.
He had made up his mind. And from that moment on, their paths were no longer separate.