Lila
The sun filtered through the slats of the carriage window, turning the cobbled road outside into gold-dappled ribbons. An official break from palace walls, a sanctioned “cultural immersion” outing for the Luna candidates.
The irony was that most of us spent the ride rehearsing how not to look out of place in public.
Emma sat beside me, her head resting lightly against the wooden frame, watching the changing scenery with a soft smile. She hadn’t said much since I’d returned, but she had forgiven me, and her presence was a tether I didn’t realize I’d needed.
We arrived in the main market square at the capital’s outer ring. Vendors called out in soft baritones, offering silk wraps and hand-painted journals, jars of honey and potion-glazed charms. The air smelled of crushed mint,
