In front of the massive market, crowds of people pushed past each other—merchants shouting, children running, animals bleating. Soren and Elara stood among them in their plain peasant clothes, hoods pulled low to hide their royal faces.
Soren turned to her with a wide grin. "So, what's the plan, big boss?"
Elara's eyes flashed with irritation. She punched him hard in the arm. "How many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me that! I'm only one year older than you!"
Soren rubbed his arm, still smiling brightly. "Okay, okay. Don't be angry, my little angry cat."
She raised her fist to hit him again, her face turning red, but Soren laughed, ducked, and ran. Elara chased him through the chaotic crowd. The people were too busy trading to notice the two most powerful teenagers in the empire weaving between them like street rats.
Soren stopped suddenly, causing Elara to almost bump into him. He pointed ahead. "Let's play the target game."
Elara caught her breath, crossing her arms. "You really want to take all the toys from that poor man again?"
Soren pointed at a small shop where a grumpy old man sat with a bow and a target. Anyone who hit the bullseye won a prize.
"Just a small one," Soren promised, holding up a finger. "Not everything."
Elara sighed, rolling her eyes, but a small smile betrayed her. "Fine. Let's go."
They walked to the shop. Soren slammed a copper coin on the counter. "I want to play."
The old man squinted at him, recognizing the golden eyes beneath the hood. "I know you, boy. Last year you came and cleared out my whole stall. I'm not falling for that trick again. Go play somewhere else!"
Soren smiled warmly, completely unbothered. "Old man, don't be so angry. Let's just play."
Before the old man could yell again, Elara stepped forward, grabbed the bow from the counter, and said sweetly, "Can I play?"
The old man huffed, looking at the small girl. "Fine. But don't start crying if you lose."
He handed her a child's bow and thick, blunt arrows—the kind secretly designed to fly crooked and miss.
Elara didn't blink. She notched an arrow. Thwack. Bullseye.
Second arrow. Thwack. Bullseye.
Third arrow. Thwack. Bullseye.
The old man's mouth fell open. The crowd that had gathered around them stared in stunned silence.
Soren slapped the old man on the back, laughing uncontrollably. "Hahaha! Old man, pay up! Give us our prizes!"
Grumbling curses under his breath, the old man aggressively shoved a large lion puppet and several small animal puppets into Elara's arms before slamming his wooden shutters closed for the day.
Soren turned to Elara, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. "You told me not to take everything from him, and then you bankrupted him yourself!"
Elara hugged the lion puppet, her chin raised defensively. "I wasn't playing by his rules. His bow was rigged. Besides, you're a terrible hunter. You could never hit that target."
Soren grinned, leaning close. "I know exactly what you're going to do with that lion. If your father the Emperor sees it, he'll say—" Soren dropped his voice into a deep, commanding rumble. "My daughter! You went to Sun City and came back with a stuffed toy? Shame on the Dragon Empire!"
Elara giggled, letting her tough act drop. She immediately lowered her voice to imitate Duke Somer's raspy, smoky tone. "And if YOUR father sees you holding that, he'll say—My boy! We are the golden Sun Family! And you bring this cheap puppet into my castle? How dare you!"
They both burst into laughter. Soren wiped his eyes. "Okay, if we spend all day imitating our fathers, we'll be here until we turn old."
He looked over and noticed a group of poor children in dirty clothes staring at the puppets with wide, hungry eyes. "Let's give the puppets to them. They'll be happy."
Elara's eyes softened completely. The angry princess vanished, replaced by a truly kind girl. "Okay," she whispered, stepping toward them.
Soren grabbed her arm gently. "Wait. Not like that. Let's play a game with them first."
"Why?"
"So their victory feels earned," Soren said softly. "Not like charity."
Elara looked at him, her respect for him shining in her eyes. "You always do that."
They walked over to the nervous kids. Soren knelt in the dirt, making himself small. "Hey kids, let's play a game." He pulled a silver coin from his pocket. "I'll hide this coin in my hand. If you guess which hand it's in, you win a puppet."
A brave little boy stepped forward. "And if we lose?"
Soren smirked mischievously. "Then you have to kiss my cat."
The boy looked around, very confused. "But... we don't see a cat."
Smack. Elara punched Soren in the back of the head.
The little girl pointed at Elara and shrieked with laughter. "SHE'S the cat!"
All the children erupted into giggles. Elara's face turned completely red, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling as she handed out the puppets to the cheering kids.
Then, the laughter was cut short by a different, uglier sound.
A slave owner, sweating and rubbing his hands together greedily, was negotiating with a young, rich noble. The noble sat high on his horse, looking down with pure disgust at a weak, sickly boy kneeling in the dirt.
Soren's warm smile vanished instantly. His golden eyes went cold. He started walking toward them.
Elara grabbed his hand, her voice urgent. "Soren, don't start a war here. If you cause a scene, your father will find out we escaped."
Soren pulled his hand free. "I'm not starting a war. I'm stopping a man from selling a life."
He approached the negotiation.
"Master, please," the greedy slave owner begged, his eyes fixed on the noble's coin purse. "This is one of my best! Cleaning, carrying, he can even act as prey for your hunting games! Only ten silver coins!"
The noble sneered, raising his hand to toss the coins.
"Khmer," a cold voice interrupted. "How many times have I told you not to sell broken toys to our honored guests?"
The slave owner's fat face went pale.
The noble turned his horse, his face twisting with arrogant rage. "Who are you? How dare a filthy commoner interrupt my deal!"
Khmer dropped to his knees, stammering. "M-my lord! Forgive him! He is Lord Soren! The son of the Duke!"
The noble's angry eyes widened. He looked at Soren's plain, rough clothes in disbelief. "The Duke's son? Dressed like a beggar? Why are you out here in the mud on your own birthday?"
Soren smiled, though it was sharp as a blade. "Common clothes are best. There are many thieves in this city, my lord. And I am out here because my party was boring. Too many loud men talking about themselves."
Soren glanced at the weak, coughing boy in the dirt, then looked up at the noble. He noted the heavy hunting bow on the noble's back and the two armed guards behind him.
Soren tilted his head. "I see. You are buying a human to hunt for sport."
The noble's face flushed with anger, his hand dropping to his sword. "Do you want to stop me, golden boy? Even your father cannot tell me how to entertain myself."
Soren raised his hands innocently, his smile widening. "No, no! Who am I to ruin your fun? But I cannot let this greedy pig cheat you. That sick boy will die before your hunt even begins."
Soren pointed past the noble to a massive, heavily scarred slave in the back of the cage—a man with the dark, furious eyes of a captured warrior.
"Why not take that big one instead?" Soren suggested smoothly. "He looks like he could actually put up a fight. He will be much more fun to hunt. And as an apology for interrupting, I will pay for him. A birthday treat from the Sun Family to you."
The noble studied the massive, dangerous slave. A cruel smile spread across his face. He looked back at Soren and extended his hand. "I heard rumors that you were a soft boy who cared about the weak. But I see you have the stomach of a true noble."
Soren shook the man's hand, his grip like iron. "Enjoy the hunt."
The noble's guards dragged the massive warrior-slave away, leaving the sick boy coughing in the dust.
Khmer, the slave owner, grinned nervously, sweat dripping down his face. "Lord Soren! I am so sorry. That noble—I did not want to anger him! He demanded the boy!"
Soren waved his hand dismissively. "Forget all that. Today is my birthday. What is my gift from you, Khmer?"
The greedy man laughed loudly, relieved. "Oh, my lord! Anything! Any slave you want from my pens. A beautiful girl, a strong worker—take anyone for free!"
Soren pointed down at the sick boy. "I will take this one."
Khmer blinked, utterly confused. "My lord... are you sure? He is useless. You could have gold, you could have strength—"
"Give me this one," Soren repeated, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet command.
Khmer swallowed hard, bowed, and quickly unlocked the boy's heavy iron chains.
Soren reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, beautifully wrapped sweet cake. "You have been generous, Khmer. So I will be generous. This is a special imperial cake, made with ingredients from the capital. Eat it yourself. Do not share it. It is worth more than your entire business."
Khmer's greedy eyes lit up like lanterns. He snatched the cake from Soren's hand and immediately shoved half of it into his mouth, moaning at the sweet taste.
Soren didn't watch him eat. He gently took the sick boy's hand and gestured to a city guard walking past. "Take this boy to the Duke's compound. Tell the healers he is my new personal servant. Keep him alive."
As the guard carefully led the boy away, Elara stepped up beside Soren. She watched Khmer walking back to his cages, greedily stuffing the rest of the sweet cake into his mouth.
Then she thought about the arrogant noble, who was currently riding out into the deep woods to hunt a massive warrior who clearly knew how to kill.
She looked at Soren's face. The funny, playful boy from the market was completely gone.
"You just made sure that arrogant noble and that greedy slaver will both be dead by tomorrow morning, didn't you?" Elara whispered.
Soren's smile didn't return. His golden eyes were as cold as the northern ice.
"Probably," he said quietly.