The capital was alive in a way the estate never was. Even before we passed through the grand iron gates, I could hear it—the clang of blacksmiths hammering steel, the chatter of merchants calling out their wares, the occasional bark of laughter from passing soldiers. The air smelled of freshly baked bread and spiced meats from street vendors, mingling with the faint, ever-present scent of horse and damp cobblestone.

I took it all in, breathing deeply as my boots met the worn stone of the city streets.

"Stay close," Portia murmured, looping her arm through mine as we wove through the crowds. "If anything seems suspicious, we leave at once."

"Yes, yes," I said distractedly, my eyes already darting from one shop to another.

The marketplace sprawled before us, bursting with color and energy. A florist arranged fresh blooms in buckets of water, their petals vibrant in the midday sun. A bookseller stood behind a wooden cart stacked high with worn time, dust clinging to their spines. A jewelry merchant displayed delicate silver rings and necklaces, the metal catching the light with every flicker of movement. I wanted to see everything.

"Do you suppose they have oranges?" I mused, scanning the fruit stalls. "I haven’t had one in ages."

Portia exhaled, exasperated. "We did not come all this way for oranges, Aria."

"No, but it would be a shame to leave without them."

Portia shook her head, but there was the smallest tug of amusement at the corner of her lips. I turned away, letting my fingers brush the silks hanging from a nearby stall, my heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

For the first time in too long, I felt like I could breathe.

We turned into the town square. 

I noticed it immediately.

People moved differently—quieter, faster, their voices hushed, eyes flickering toward the city gates as if waiting for something. Vendors who usually shouted about fresh bread and ripened fruit now murmured amongst themselves, their hands stilling over their wares. A nervous energy crackled through the air, unspoken but palpable.

I stepped closer to Portia, my fingers brushing the sleeve of her cloak. "Why is it so busy today?"

Before she could answer, the bell tolled.

A deep, resonating clang rang through the city, heavy as a heartbeat.

Everything is still. Heads turned. Conversations hushed. A single moment of silence stretched over the streets before a murmur rippled through the crowd.

"They're back."

The words sent a jolt through my spine. "The knights have returned!"

I sucked in a sharp breath. My pulse quickened.

"The knights—!" I spun toward Portia, hope surging in my chest. "They're back! Father must be with them!"

"Aria, wait—!"

Portia tried to stop me, but I was already moving. The crowd was thick, but I wove through them, slipping past cloaked figures and market stalls, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had to see him. I had to find him.

The tallest bell tower would give me the best view.

I knew it well—I had climbed it as a child, sneaking away to watch the knights depart and return. The stone steps had worn smooth beneath my feet over the years, and I knew every twist of the winding staircase by heart. I ran.

Portia’s hurried footsteps echoed behind me, but I didn’t slow. Father would be leading them home. His soldiers, victorious. Their banners were raised high. The war was ending. He had promised. I reached the top, breathless, my hands gripping the cold stone railing.

And then— The breath in my lungs turned to ice.

This was no triumphant return.

The knights rode through the gates in silence, their banners trailing in the dirt. Their armor was dented, dulled, smeared with the grime of battle. Horses limped, some without riders, their saddles empty. The procession was smaller. Far smaller. And some were missing entirely. My fingers curled over the railing, knuckles turning white. My eyes scanned the soldiers desperately, frantically.

Searching.

Father will be there. He has to be there.

I searched again.

And again. My chest tightened.

"Where is he?" My voice cracked. "Portia, do you see him?!"

A gentle hand rested on my shoulder. I flinched, but Portia didn’t move. She didn’t speak for a long moment. When she did, her voice was soft, careful.

"Aria."

A single word, filled with sorrow. I swallowed hard, willing the weight in my chest to ease, willing my mind to reject the truth that was creeping in like winter frost.

No. No, it’s not true. They must be arriving in waves. He’ll be in the next group. He has to be.

Portia’s grip on my shoulder remained steady, grounding me as I stood frozen at the top of the tower. Below, the procession dragged forward, a battered, weary line of soldiers.

Father was not among them.

"Come, child," Portia murmured, gently pulling me back from the ledge. "We should return home. They may send word soon."

I couldn’t move. But I let her lead me down the steps, my feet moving without thought, my body numb. My heart, however, remained behind, lingering in the streets, still searching, still waiting for him.