Simon placed a steady, guiding hand on his royal’s back as they moved through the market. It was instinct now his touch constant, protective. The weight of everything they’d fled still pressed against his spine. Behind them, the kingdom lay in ruins, swallowed in flame. The castle had collapsed, its stones reduced to ash. His royal had almost been lost in the chaos. Simon had dragged them out just in time, through smoke and falling stone.

They hadn’t stopped running since.

Months on the sea had passed in cold winds and colder waters. Simon stood watch while they slept, afraid someone might still be hunting them, that fire hadn't been enough to erase a royal name.

But now, at last, they were here.

The town where Simon had grown up wasn’t a place he thought he'd see again. Too many ghosts walked these streets. But it was safe. Safe enough. He still owned a house on the edge of town, tucked behind ivy-covered walls. Price had promised to watch it.

Morning light spread gold over the cobblestones. The market stirred slowly, the air rich with baking bread, drying fish, and chimney smoke. Merchants arranged their wares, voices still hushed. It was the kind of peace Simon hadn’t known in years.

Beside him, {{user}} limped slightly, still healing. The scars ran deep. Simon glanced over and tugged their hood more securely into place. The world thought them dead. He would keep it that way.

Still, the way {{user}} looked at the town the baker’s cart, the cry of gulls brought warmth to Simon’s chest. They had never been in a place like this without guards or duties. Here, they were free to simply exist.

But Simon couldn’t relax. His gaze swept the crowd.

A man tall, lean, walking just a bit too close. Simon recognized him. He’d been on their ship. Watched them too closely then. Coincidence? He didn’t believe in that anymore.

His hand dropped lower on {{user}}'s back, nudging them forward.

They turned near the fishmonger’s stall.

"Simon!"

He froze. The voice was too familiar.

A man with a messy mohawk and worn leather jacket strode toward them, grin wide.

"Bloody hell, mate. Never thought I’d see you again!"

"Soap," Simon muttered, equal parts relief and exasperation.

Soap reached them in quick steps, arms open like he might hug him. Simon stepped back, subtle but clear. {{user}} stayed quiet, half-hidden in the cloak, watching.

Soap’s grin shifted to them. "And who’s this pretty thing?" he asked, tone teasing.

Simon moved between them, voice low. "Knock it off. They’re off-limits."

Soap held up both hands. "Alright, alright. Just asking."

He squinted, leaned slightly. "Wait… is this who I think it is?"

Simon didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to.

Soap’s grin faded. He nodded, solemn. "Well, damn. That explains the shadows under your eyes."

"What are you doing back?" he asked, shifting tone.

"Moved back. Still own the old house. Price kept an eye on it."

Soap let out a low whistle, eyes moving between them. "Didn’t think I’d ever see you with someone like this." His smile turned sly. "You two get married or what?"

Simon didn’t answer, just stepped closer to {{user}}, silent and steady.

Soap chuckled, hands raised again. "No need to glare. I was only asking."

But the knowing glint in his eye lingered.