Eilika placed her hand in Damian’s steady palm as she stepped down from the carriage in the market square. Almost instantly, a thunderous boom echoed above, and her head snapped toward the sky.

Vivid bursts of crimson and gold light blossomed against the dark sky, reflecting in her widened eyes. Caught up in the sudden magic of the night, she began to clap along with the cheering crowd, her face lit with a genuine, girlish wonder.

Unbeknownst to himself, a soft smile carved across Damian’s lips as he watched her.

In that moment, he didn’t realize he was captivated by his wife’s joy.

"Did you hear? There’s going to be a drama performance!" Eilika exclaimed, turning back to him with a radiant grin that brought him sharply out of his thoughts.

In her excitement, her hand instinctively found his, her fingers lacing through his own. "Let’s go before it gets too crowded!"

"We can go to the Theatre if you wish to see a play," Damian said as he allowed her to pull him along. He followed her closely, his tall frame acting as a natural shield against the jostling passersby.

"No, street-side performances are much more fun!" Eilika countered, navigating them through the sea of people with surprising agility.

She secured a spot right at the edge of the stage. While the surrounding audience leaned in with anticipation, Damian remained indifferent to the performance. His attention was fixed entirely on Eilika; as the space grew tighter and more rowdy, his primary concern was ensuring she wasn’t crushed or harassed.

A sudden surge from the spectators behind them sent Eilika stumbling forward. Before she could lose her balance, Damian’s hands shot out, catching her firmly by the waist to steady her.

He didn’t let go immediately, drawing her back against his chest to anchor her.

Eilika froze, biting her lip as the heat from his palms seeped through the fabric of her dress.

The rowdy chatter of the market died down as the opening flute notes signaled the start of the play. The actors began a familiar tale: a peasant woman who had captured the heart of a high-born nobleman.

Damian kept his hands resting lightly on her waist as he scanned the faces in the crowd.

Despite the actors’ dramatic voices rising from the stage, Eilika couldn’t focus on a single word.

Every time Damian shifted, his warm breath fanned across her nape, sending a sharp tingle down her spine. The steady pressure of his hands on her waist made her stomach knot with a tension that had nothing to do with the crowd.

"Let’s go," she said abruptly.

Damian leaned down, his lips brushing dangerously close to her ear to be heard over the performance. "I thought you wanted to see this," he whispered.

"It’s a common story. I’ve heard it before," Eilika managed to say. She turned around to face him, but the move was a mistake; the crowd had surged inward, pinning her chest-to-chest against him.

There was nowhere to look but at the hollow of his throat or the sharp line of his jaw.

Damian didn’t move away. He looked down at her. "Are you sure you want to leave now?"

"Yes," she nodded fervently, looking away.

She needed air. The proximity clearly didn’t ruffle his composure, he remained as steady and stoic as ever, but it was making it impossible for her to breathe.

"Very well," Damian said. He didn’t release his hold on her. Instead, he tucked her firmly under his arm, using his shoulder to wedge a path through the wall of people. "Stay close."

Once they finally broke free from the thickest part of the crowd, Eilika stepped away, creating a sudden distance between them.

"The crowd was intense, wasn’t it?" she muttered, her hands busying themselves with her hair to avoid his eyes. She tucked the stray strands behind her ears, her fingers trembling slightly.

"Yes. But you were the one who was excited," Damian said as he watched her. "Why did you suddenly decide to withdraw?"

"I told you, I’ve seen that story before. It’s always the same," Eilika replied. She kept her gaze fixed on the cobblestones, her mind racing with the memory of his hands on her waist.

In her distracted state, she didn’t notice a group of laborers hauling heavy sacks of grain directly toward her.

Before she could collide with them, Damian’s hand clamped firmly around hers. He pulled her sharply into his space, her chest hitting his chest with a soft thud. The sudden closeness stole the air from her lungs. The scent of his perfume enveloped her, and she instinctively looked up.

He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were cold and focused on the path ahead, his jaw set in its usual hard line as he ensured the laborers passed without brushing against her silk skirts.

’Why am I expecting so much from this relationship?’ she thought, a dull ache settling in her chest. ’He will never love me no matter what. He has been clear about it from the day we saw each other.’

"Keep your attention focussed. The market is too crowded today," Damian said, lowering his gaze to meet hers. He sensed their closeness and took a step away from her.

"Hold my hand," he said.

Eilika hesitated for a second before sliding her palm into his. His hand was surprisingly warm against her skin. As they walked, the noise of the market seemed to soften.

"I’m thankful for what you’re doing for Roman," Damian said, breaking the silence. "He used to stay away from me. He was always so quiet, so distant. He is finally enjoying his childhood because of you, Eilika."

The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. It wasn’t a formal commendation; it was the gratitude of a father who had been at a loss.

"The Duke doesn’t need to thank me," Eilika whispered, her gaze dropping to their joined hands.

"We are not in Varos," he countered, slowing his pace to match hers. "Prefer calling me by my name."

"Sure... Damian," she replied.

She looked at their interlaced fingers and then shifted her gaze to his side profile. In the flickering light of the street lamps, the harsh lines of his face seemed a little less severe.

A quiet determination began to stir within her. ’What if I could actually make a place for myself in his heart?’ she wondered. ’I don’t want to leave him. He is my husband, and I need to heal his heart.’