Whispering Embers- Valoria Kingdom
Jenna barges into the back, Stan who'd been busy trying to apply icing to a set of cupcakes just looked up at her and blinked.
Her hair was pulled away from her face but the features on her heart-shaped face were pulled into a scowl. If anything the look alone terrified Stan down to the very marrow of his bones.
Thinking he was doing something wrong with the frosting, Stan looked at the cupcakes observing his work. Finding no flaw he set the frosting aside then turned toward Jenna confused.
"What. Did. You. Do?" Jenna jabbed him hard in the chest, punctuating each word. "Stan you'd better have a good explanation or so help me-"
"What are you talking about?" Stan mumbled, he didn't have the energy to deal with this.
"Why are there two palace guards asking for you?" Jenna demands eyes narrowed. "Wait...were you there?"
Stan just blinked at her.
"Prince Shay got attacked a couple of days ago. His friend - Noah - a noble was with him!" Jenna grasped his shoulders shaking him until his teeth rattled. "Were you there?!"
"N-Not exactly." Stan stammered, he pushed her off. "He was at my house."
"Your HOUSE?!" Jenna exclaimed, "You're telling me that the crown prince was at your house?!"
Stan huffed. "That's what I said."
"How-" Jenna stopped, waving her hands about. "You know what - forget it." she jabbed in his the chest again. "I can't believe you didn't tell me. I expect details later."
"You said palace guards are here? Now?"
Rolling her eyes, Jenna mockingly said, "That's what I said."
Ignoring her, Stan removed his apron - a constant thought that bounced around his skull h have they found Michol.
Shaking his head, Stan hung his apron.
There's no way anyone would find him. No one was crazy enough to venture into the Forbidden Forest - unless, of course, you have something to hide.
Stan emerged from the back to see the palace guards in the corner listening to one of Jerof's stories. Like the customers they were on the edge of their seats bouncing in anticipation.
He spotted Jenna rushing over to her mom whispering something in her ear.
She gasped then shot a surprised look his way.
Anoyed, Stan approached Jerof. "Excuse me, sir. I'm sorry to interrupt - I was told a couple guards asked for me."
Jerof laughed his booming laugh before slamming his massive hand down on Stan's shoulder. "'Tis alright, son." he nodded at the guards who looked a little saddened to be leaving. "Was a pleasure ta meet yer fellas."
Stan could understand why Natasha had fallen for Jerof - his presence was warm and welcoming as was his personality.
The guards stood and wordlessly made their way toward the exit. Stan glanced at Jenna and her mom who both gave him an encouraging smile.
Hoping this wouldn't take long Stan hurried after them.
...
The difference between the rich and poor districts is noticeable.
Stan watched the rocky dirt roads of the poor district turn into clean cobbled streets. The markets they passed in the carriage were alive with activity - from families out running errands, and children running around, to couples out for a stroll.
Instead of the stalls being held together by tattered cloths and hope, the fabrics were clean and shiny in the afternoon sun.
Their clothes didn't appear to be trousers or rough spun shirts that had seen better days. Instead, the men wore light tunics and pants that were stylish without the cloth needing to be heavy in the heat.
The women wore spring-colored dresses with layered skirts that billowed in the gentle breeze. No one was hunched over from years of labor, no one looked as though they should be at death's door.
Sadly, the differences didn't stop there.
The carriage Stan rode in passed the cemetery that was split down the middle. Those who died in the rich district were buried on the left where the grass and surrounding trees were kept and looked after.
On the right, the graves were just shallow holes in the ground with lumps of dirt covering the dead. Weeds were growing everywhere and the overgrown tree roots were twisted into the walking paths. Instead of marble headstones, they were given a wooden cross or a rock with initials carved on it.
Stand spots his dad's resting place and his eyes sting with the threat of tears. He links them back determined to let not a single tear fall.
Michol would've been buried here.
He bristled at the thought and then turned from the window to glare at the empty bench in front of him.
Good thing no one will find him. Stan thought darkly.
...
Upon arriving at the palace, the doors were opened by a guard outside. One of the guards that accompanied Stan grabbed him by the wrist tossing him from the carriage.
The guards holding the door blinked at him.
"Prince Shay summoned him." one of the guards in the carriage growled. "He's out on the Training Grounds."
"Understood." the guard outside closed the door.
After the carriage sped away the guard turned toward him brows raised. "Might I ask your name?"
"What's yours?" Stan narrowed his eyes.
The guard waved him forward leading him towards the garden - Stan looked around for any weapons and escape route should this guard try anything.
The guard carefully lowered his mask, revealing a rugged face adorned with a scruffy stubble that gave his sharp jawline a more defined presence and highlighted the prominent cleft in his chin.
His hair, a wild tangle of dark curls, seemed to have a life of its own, spilling over his forehead and framing his face in a chaotic yet intriguing manner, almost like a bird's nest that had withstood a storm. His striking silver-blue eyes, piercing and vibrant, scanned Stan from head to toe, assessing him with an intensity that felt both disarming and bold.
As their eyes locked, the corner of his mouth tugged into a roguish smirk that blossomed into a warm, genuine smile, revealing a sense of camaraderie beneath his imposing exterior.
"I'm Avery. Avery Hans." he chuckled, averting his gaze. "If I wanted to kill you I would've done it already."
Stan blinked, taken aback. "Wh-what-?"
"Your posture is stiff and defensive, your eyes are constantly moving." Avery pursed his lips. "Have the streets taught you nothing?"
"What would you know about the streets?!"
Unbothered Avery said, "I know enough."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Stan snorts.
"Not everything in the rich district is what it seems." Avery hummed ruining his fingertips over a rose, careful to avoid the thorns.
Stan threw his head back and laughed. "Why, because you can't have your way?"
"I'm sure you must think we all bathe in riches and count our gold before lovingly placing our earnings in a safe." Avery sighs, his brow furrowed. "Not everything is sunshine and rainbows - we don't hold hands skipping through the streets singing."
"You loud lavish parties say otherwise," Stan grumbled.
Avery smiles, plucking a blue rose from a bush and fingering the petals. "I have an offer for you if you're interested."
Stan blinked, watching him.
"I'll leave you a card with an address if you're interested." Avery pulls out a blue piece of folded paper shaped into a rose.
Stan said nothing as he watched him tuck it into his pocket. His heart pounded against his ribcage when Avery placed his hands on Stan's chest to pin the flower over his heart.
"The Training Grounds are around this corner," Avery whispered, pulling his hands back. "I'll be in touch."
Avery then stood on his tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Then without another word he turned back in the direction they'd come.