Her gaze met his, steady and unflinching, and for a heartbeat, the chaos of Haven Town, the simmering conflict outside, seemed to fade into nothingness.

Magron’s chest tightened, his breath coming faster as he struggled to find his voice. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Fretia’s expression was calm, her eyes holding a thousand questions—and he suddenly felt as if he were the one on trial.

“My queen,” he managed at last, his voice rough and raw, betraying emotions he didn't understand.

It had been years since he’d felt this vulnerable, since he’d stood before someone who made the weight of his armor feel heavier and his warrior’s resolve seem so thin.

Fretia’s lips curved into a gentle smile, the kind of smile that seemed to ease the weight of the room, making the air lighter, softer. “Magron,” she said with a soft chuckle, “just call me Fretia. No titles between us.”

Magron felt his cheeks warm—a blush that was as unfamiliar to him as the gentle way she looked at him now.

Before he could respond, Fretia’s eyes flickered down to his boots, and her smile widened, taking on a teasing edge. “It seems,” she said lightly, “that Haven Town’s dust has claimed another victim. Your boots are looking a bit... rugged.”

He glanced down, realizing too late that the road dust had caked his boots in a fine layer of dirt.

His ears burned with embarrassment, and he awkwardly kicked them off, stumbling slightly as he tried to remove them in a hurry. It was clumsy, graceless—he, the hardened warrior, the unbreakable wall of the south—nearly tripping over his own feet.

He could feel his face turning crimson.

Fretia laughed, and the sound was like sunlight breaking through a clouded sky—pure, warm, unrestrained. It was a laugh that lacked judgment, a laugh that only wanted to share a moment of joy. Magron froze, his boots in hand, staring at her in surprise.

“It’s alright,” she said, her laughter softening to a fond smile. “I don’t mind. Really.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and he found himself standing there, holding his dusty boots like a fool, feeling strangely disarmed.

He’d faced down armies, challenged powerful enemies, and crushed rebellions without a second thought. But now, with Fretia standing so close, smiling at him like he was more than the brutish soldier he’d always seen himself as, he felt something new—a warmth that was unsettling in its gentleness.

Regaining some composure, he cleared his throat and straightened. “What brings you here?” he asked, his voice a little steadier but still carrying that rough edge of uncertainty.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Fretia’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her gaze never leaving his. “I was hoping you’d have a moment to show me around Haven Town,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about this place—the people, the markets, the unbelievably short history.”

Her request caught him off guard, and for a moment, he simply stared at her. Haven Town?

The bustling, noisy, sun-beaten market streets and the rowdy taverns where soldiers laughed too loud and drank too much? It seemed too ordinary, too rough a place for someone as refined as Fretia, but the warmth in her expression told him she meant every word.

“I... Yes, I suppose I can,” he said, his voice hesitant. “It’s come a long way since Ren took the throne. The people—well, they’re stubborn as ever, but they’ve started to hope again. There’s a fire in them that I haven’t seen in years.”

Fretia’s eyes softened, her expression turning thoughtful. “Then I’d like to see that fire for myself. Will you show me, Magron?”

Magron’s heart skipped a beat. He swallowed and nodded, feeling almost shy under her gaze.

“Of course,” he said, the roughness of his voice betraying his nerves. He gestured to the door. “Take rest and I will have a carriage prepared.”

“How about we just walk , right now,” Freya countered.

Magron tried to dissuade her from this and failed.

As they stepped out into the warm afternoon light, Fretia walked beside him, her presence gentle but steady, and for the first time in a long while, Magron felt... unburdened.

She asked about the people, the town’s history, and he found himself talking more than he thought he could—about the building efforts, the pride and stubbornness of Haven Town’s folk, how Ren had created an autonomous currency for the town specifically and even the quirks of the market vendors who, despite everything, always managed to haggle over the tiniest details.

As they walked, he caught glimpses of the townsfolk watching them curiously. It wasn’t every day that a woman like Fretia—elegant, poised, radiating warmth—walked through Haven Town on the arm of someone like him, a battle-scarred soldier whose hands had seen more blood than peace.

But she never seemed out of place. She laughed with him, asked questions about things that seemed mundane, and never once seemed bothered by the ruggedness of the town or the rough edges of its people.

She touched his arm lightly as they walked, and he found himself relaxing, his usual tense vigilance easing in her presence. There was something calming about the way she spoke to him—something that made him want to listen, to be better, if only to earn another one of her smiles.

They paused at a small fountain in the town square, where children splashed in the cool water, their laughter mingling with the chatter of vendors and the low hum of the crowd.

Magron watched them, and recognized the young boy who’d earlier commented on how Ren had changed their lives. The older boy who’d called him ‘ dumbass was next to him and they were laughing , evidently having put aside their quarrel.

“It’s beautiful,” she said softly, her voice gentle, as if speaking too loud might shatter the fragile peace of the moment.

Magron nodded.

Fretia turned to him, her eyes searching his face.

“Thank you for showing me,” she said, and there was something so genuine in her tone that he couldn’t help but smile—a real smile, small and hesitant, but true.