Chapter One
Morning light streamed across the stone-paved market square of Quenos, turning the sea mist to gold as it rose from the harbor. The village stirred with the low murmur of commerce—fishermen calling their morning catch, merchants arranging wares, children darting between stalls with laughter trailing behind them like ribbons.
From the shadow of a nearby alley, Elodias watched. He had been observing the market for weeks now, his gaze fixed on a single stall where a woman with auburn hair arranged peaches with careful, loving hands. Each morning, he would find a different position—sometimes near the baker's shop, sometimes by the well, sometimes among the fishermen unloading their catch—but always with a clear view of her.
The local women had noticed him, of course. A man of his appearance—tall and fair-haired, with eyes the precise blue of a cloudless summer sky—could hardly pass unremarked in a small village like Quenos. They approached him with shy smiles and careful questions, offering conversation, companionship, more. He responded with polite detachment, his smiles always heavy, his attention never truly engaged.
Some called him proud. Others speculated that he nursed a broken heart. None guessed the truth—that his heart belonged to a woman who didn't yet know him, who wouldn't recognize him until it was already too late.
After three weeks of watching, he finally approached her stall. Just a brief exchange—a peach purchased, a few words spoken, nothing to suggest the weight of centuries behind his casual greeting. The next day, he returned. And the next. Each visit, slightly longer; each conversation, extending by a few precious words.
Senia noticed him, of course. How could she not? At first, she was merely curious about the quiet stranger who seemed to favor her peaches above all other market goods. Then intrigued by his soft-spoken manner—by the depth in his eyes that suggested worlds of experience behind his youthful appearance. Then drawn to him in ways she couldn't articulate, even to herself: a recognition without memory, a familiarity without origin.
Other market girls watched with envy as his visits to her stall grew longer, as his smiles for her grew warmer, as his attention focused on her with an intensity that both flattered and unnerved. They whispered behind their hands about the unfairness of it all—how he passed them by without a second glance, how his gaze sought her out the moment he entered the market square.
"Morning, sunshine," he said, leaning his elbows on her stall with casual grace. The morning light caught in his hair, turning it to spun gold. "You save the best peach for me again?"
Senia's mouth tugged into a smile despite herself. "You say that every morning," she replied, her voice carrying a warmth she reserved only for him—though she'd never admit it aloud.
"Because it's true every morning." His eyes crinkled at the corners, blue and bright and somehow both playful and searching.
She reached for one of the ripest peaches and held it out. The fruit was warm against her palm, its skin velvet-soft and blushing.
"Three coppers."
"Three coppers?" he teased, his voice mock-scandalized. "That's outrageous. I should report you to the peach council."
"Then go find another vendor." Her challenge held no bite, only the comfortable rhythm of their daily dance.
Elodias placed the coins in her hand and added a fourth, his fingers lingering against her palm just a moment longer than necessary. The brush of his skin against hers sent a pulse of warmth up her arm.
"Keep the extra. Consider it a beauty tax."
Senia laughed softly, then caught herself. She looked down, cheeks warming to match the blush of her peaches.
There were other women—prettier, bolder, louder—who tried to catch his eye. She'd seen them flutter around him like moths to a flame, their laughter too bright, their gestures too broad. Yet he never looked at them the way he looked at her. Never lingered with anyone else. He came to her. Always to her.
And today, for the first time, she asked the question that had been quietly surfacing in the back of her mind, nurtured by the rhythm of his daily visits.
"Why me?" she said, almost a whisper, the words slipping out before she could reconsider them. "You could talk to any of them." Her eyes flicked toward the women who sometimes lingered nearby, pretending to browse but watching him from beneath lowered lashes. "They fawn over you."
He tilted his head, amused but gentle. A lock of blonde hair fell across his forehead.
"Do they?"
"You know they do," she said, just a little firmer, finding an unexpected courage in her voice. "You ignore all of them. You only come to me. Why?"
Elodias grew quiet for a moment. He studied her, the amusement fading into something softer, deeper. His gaze shifted from playful to intent, as if peeling back layers to see something beneath her surface that no one else had bothered to look for. When he spoke again, his voice dropped low, carrying something heavier than charm.
"Why would I look at the stars," he said, his voice dropping to a softer timbre, rich and warm as honey in sunlight, "when I have always loved the sun?"
The words settled over her like the morning heat—slow and warm, spreading inward until it filled every corner of her chest. Her breath caught in her throat. It was as if the world had tilted just slightly around the space between them, rearranging itself to accommodate the weight of what he'd said.
She didn't respond. She couldn't. The words had stripped away her defenses, leaving her vulnerable in a way that both frightened and exhilarated her. Instead, she gestured at the peach in his hand and gently pushed the coppers back across the counter, her fingertips grazing the worn wood of her stall.
"Take it," she said quietly, her voice barely audible above the market's chatter. "It's yours. No charge today."
He blinked, then shook his head, the movement catching light in his hair. "No. I insist on paying."
Her brows lifted slightly, unsure.
"Unless," he added with a small smile that carried a hint of uncertainty she'd never seen in him before, "you'll let me offer something else."
She waited, her pulse quickening beneath her skin.
"A trade," he said. "The peach… for a date."
Senia's lips parted, but no words came. Her heart was pounding now, louder than the market noise, louder than the waves crashing against the shore beyond the village. She stared at him, searching for any hint of jest in his face—but there was none. Just that same look he always gave her, like she was the only person who mattered in a world full of distractions.
The market continued around them—merchants called prices, children laughed, carts rattled over stone—but it all seemed distant, muffled by the significance of the moment stretching between them. After a long pause, she nodded once.
"Yes."
A bright grin lit his face, wide and unguarded. The joy in it was almost startling in its purity. "Then it's a deal." He picked up the peach again and took a bite, the juice running down his fingers. The fruit's sweet scent mingled with the salt air. He wiped his hand on his shirt without a care, still smiling.
"Tonight, then," he said. "I'll meet you at the shore path when the sun starts to set." He hesitated, then added, "Don't bring anything. Just you."
Senia watched him go, his tall figure weaving through the market crowd with familiar ease. Her stall suddenly felt like the quietest place in Quenos, despite the bustle all around. She touched the wood where his hands had rested, still warm from his touch.
She felt like something was beginning. Something real. Something strange. Something that tasted like love and danger all at once—a flavor both new and hauntingly familiar.