“Imogen! Get down here now I need you to run to the market!”

  The voice of her aunt echoed through the old stone cottage, sharp with urgency. “If we’re going to finish these orders, I need those herbs!”

  Imogen jolted upright, nearly knocking over the ink pot on her desk. She shoved her notes aside, half-finished in her journal ink still drying, and scrambled for her boots.

  “Coming!” she called, breathless as she clattered down the stairs. Her long black hair was pulled hastily into a ponytail, ink smudged on her fingers. “Sorry, Aunt Elanor. I was just finishing up the last recipe you taught me. I’ll grab everything on the list and I’ll be back before you know it!”

  Elanor stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips, a flour-dusted apron tied around her waist. Her silver-streaked braid swung as she turned with a skeptical look.

  “Just make sure you don’t take the long way back,” she warned, narrowing her eyes. “And steer clear of that Aiden boy.”

  She crossed her arms, her voice low but pointed. “I know his family. Charm on the surface, rot underneath. He’s got the same look in his eyes as his father and I’ve seen what that kind of smile hides.”

  Elanor paused, softening just a touch. “I won’t hound you about it, love. Just… be smart. I’d rather you be annoyed at me than hurt because I said nothing.”

  Imogen huffed, grabbing the basket from the table. “Aunt Elanor, I’m an adult! And I think Aiden is a perfect suitor. He’s in the military, he’s working his way to the top, he’s ambitious! I want to be there for him, every step of the way.”

  Elanor crossed her arms, a spoon still in one flour-dusted hand. “Ambition and recklessness are not the same thing, child. Just remember, charm only gets you so far when the fireball hits the fence line.”

  Imogen rolled her eyes, already halfway out the door. “You’ll see. He’s going to do great things.”

  The village market buzzed with late-morning energy. The stalls overflowing with spices, fruits, trinkets, and spell components lined the stone path like a rainbow had exploded across the cobblestones. Imogen weaved through the crowd with practiced ease, her list tucked into the basket swinging at her side.

  She paused at the herb stall, fingers trailing over bundles of dried heather and frostmint. Aunt Elanor was particular about her ingredients, fresh-picked, potent, and never bruised.

  “Two bunches of starblossom, please,” she said to the vendor, exchanging a few copper scales.

  The moment she turned around, she nearly collided with a broad chest in polished silver armor.

  “Aiden!” she gasped, clutching her basket.

  The young soldier gave her a crooked smile, his golden-brown eyes lighting up beneath the dark fringe of his hair. “Imogen. You always look like you’re in the middle of saving the world.”

  She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “Maybe I am. These herbs could be the key to Aunt Elanor’s famous pain-soothing balm.”

  He chuckled, leaning a little closer. “Or they could be the excuse you use to sneak out and see me.”

  Her cheeks flushed as she played with her hair fighting to make eye contact. “I don’t need an excuse.”

  “Good,” he said, voice lower now. “Because I’ve missed you.”

  Imogen faltered, caught between the flutter in her chest and the memory of her aunt’s warning. “You’ve been busy. With training.”

  Aiden straightened slightly, his expression shifting to something harder. “War’s coming, Imogen. I have to be ready. I have a chance to rise through the ranks, if I prove myself.”

  “And you will,” she said, gently touching his arm. “I believe in you.”

  His fingers brushed hers. “Come walk with me. Just for a minute.”

  She hesitated, still had half the list to finish, and Elanor’s patience only stretched so far, but Aiden was looking at her like she was the only thing grounding him.

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  “One minute,” she agreed.

  They stepped away from the stalls, unaware that high above, a raven with strange violet-tipped feathers had perched on a rooftop, watching them with unnatural stillness.

  They strolled away from the bustle of the market, the crowd fading behind them as they reached the quiet shade of the old wishing tree. Aiden kicked at a stray pebble before turning to her, hands tucked behind his back like he was holding back the world.

  “When I make my name,” he said, voice low and steady, “when I rise through the ranks and carve my place in history… it’s going to matter. People will remember me. They’ll write songs about the victories I led. I won’t be just some soldier from a border village… I’ll be someone.”

  Imogen smiled softly. “You already are.”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. But soon. And when that happens, I want you beside me. As my wife. Bearing my name. Raising our family. As many kids as the gods allow.”

  Imogen blinked, caught off guard. “Aiden…”

  He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles like he owned them. “I’ve thought a lot about this, Im. I want a legacy. Sons who’ll carry the name Wyrmgaurd. Build it into something even greater than what I’ve already made it.”

  She let out a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the sudden shift in his tone. “I don’t think I want kids. I mean… maybe one. Because I know it’s important to you. But not more than that.”

  Aiden’s smile thinned.

  “And what if that one child is a girl?” he asked, too smooth, too calm. “A girl can’t carry that legacy. Not the name Wyrmgaurd. She’d just marry out of it, weaken it.”

  Imogen stopped walking.

  Her brow furrowed, the sting immediate and sharp. “Why would you say that? Girls can do anything boys can. Better, even.”

  He laughed, ruffling her hair like she was a child. “I know, sweetie. I didn’t mean you. You’re different. You’re strong. But most women…” He shrugged. “They’re better off caring for their children. Supporting their husbands. That’s the way of things. But you,you're special.”

  Before she could gather a reply, Aiden dropped to one knee, his armor clinking softly against the stone path. A small velvet pouch appeared in his hand, and when he opened it, a silver ring caught the light, a simple band with a tiny emerald set in the center.

  “Imogen Everhart,” he said, looking up at her with that same fire in his eyes that always left her breathless, “will you marry me?”

  Her heart pounded, not from surprise, but from the thousand thoughts crashing behind her smile. She loved him. She wanted to love him, to believe in their future. But those words…

  Still, she nodded, trying to hold onto the feeling of hope.

  “Of course,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  Aiden slipped the ring onto her finger with a grin, then rose smoothly and kissed her forehead like it sealed the deal.

  Before she could fully process the moment, he was already linking their arms. “Come on,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s get you back to the market. I don’t want Elanor hexing me for stealing her apprentice.”

  They walked side by side, though Imogen barely registered the cobblestones beneath her boots. The sun caught in the cracks, flickering gold between the shadows of passing vendors, but her focus stayed fixed on the weight on her hand.

  The basket's handle dug into her palm.

  The silver ring on her finger felt heavier than it should have, like it carried more than metal. More than a promise.

  Aiden didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

  “I’ve been training under Commander Halreth lately,” he said, his voice lifted easily to meet the breeze. “Strict bastard, but sharp. He told me last week I’ve got the instincts of a commander. Said I see the field better than half the captains twice my age. Can you believe that? Most of the other recruits wouldn’t last a week on the front lines.”

  Imogen nodded absently as they passed a vendor with baskets of shimmering glass orbs, each one glowing faintly with enchantments. She spotted a bundle of brightleaf tucked among the goods. Stormroot, sun petals, this stall had everything she needed. She slowed instinctively, but Aiden’s hand brushed the small of her back, nudging her forward.

  She didn’t protest. Just bit the inside of her cheek and kept walking.

  “And once I get that command, they’ll have no choice but to send me east,” he continued. “That’s where the real action is. The rebels near the border are making noise again… easy kills, if you ask me. Just desperate men playing soldiers. But the rewards…” He whistled low. “A decisive victory out there? Even the high court would have to acknowledge me.”

  They passed a booth of alchemic oils. The warm, earthy scent of mint and cedar clung to the air. Imogen’s fingers twitched at her side, aching to stop, to focus, to finish the task she came here for. But Aiden didn’t so much as glance at the stall. His boots struck the stone with purpose, like the whole market was just a backdrop to his performance.

  “I could even be knighted,” he added, puffing his chest just slightly. “Can you imagine it? Sir Aiden. And you, my Lady Everhart.”

  He paused, then corrected himself with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “No… Lady Wyrmgaurd. Has a strong ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer. The ring on her hand suddenly felt like it was cutting off her circulation.