The morning sun had crept slowly over the rooftops, casting soft gold across Mermaid’s Cove.
Seagulls wheeled lazily overhead, their cries echoing above the thatched chimneys and stone streets.
Shops were beginning to open, shutters thrown wide as merchants swept out yesterday’s dust.
The scent of baked bread and sea brine lingered on the breeze, carried in from the harbor below.
It was a peaceful sort of morning—the kind that didn’t ask anything of you, only offered a moment to breathe.
Mira moved quietly through it all.
A small woven satchel hung from her shoulder, filled with herbs, linen, and a few notes scribbled in the margins of her recipe book.
Her braid was neat, freshly tied, and her boots made the softest sound as they touched the worn cobblestones.
She had just come from the bakery, where the baker's son—Finn—had insisted on giving her a jar of candied ginger.
The glass still warmed her palm as she walked down the main lane, passing the baker’s window, then the florist’s stall.
And that’s when she felt it—that unexplainable sensation in her chest.
She turned—and then she saw him.
Lucien.
Standing at the far end of the street, a little uphill from the town square.
He wasn’t dressed like royalty—not anymore.
His shirt was faded, sleeves rolled up, and he looked like any other young man coming back from the docks.
The leather bucket slung at his hip swayed gently with each step.
But there was no mistaking him.
Mira stopped in her tracks.
So did he.
For a moment, the world fell quiet. Or maybe it just faded—into the sound of her pulse in her ears, and the sudden stillness in her chest.
Their eyes met across the street.
But neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.
Mira couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His expression wasn’t quite blank—just distant. But not cold. More like… waiting.
A child darted between them, giggling, chasing a wooden hoop.
Lucien blinked first.
Mira took a breath and shifted her satchel higher on her shoulder, her fingers brushing the jar in her hand.
And then she walked on—toward him.
So did he.
They met in the middle of the street, between the florist’s stall and the old well, where the morning sun fell in a warm patch across the cobblestones.
Up close, Mira noticed the salt in his hair, the faint smudge of dock dust on his sleeve. He really had been working.
Lucien spoke first, voice low. “You’re up early.”
“I could say the same,” she replied, adjusting the strap on her shoulder.
“I’ve been up since dawn.” He gestured vaguely behind him. “Fish don’t wait.”
That earned a faint smile from her. “I heard. Old Joe says you’re surprisingly competent.”
Lucien smirked. “Only surprisingly?” He gave a soft chuckle. “And you? Are you surprised?”
She paused, then said, "a little."
He nodded, as if accepting that.
A beat passed between them—long enough for the breeze to pick up, ruffling the edge of her cloak and catching the scent of ginger from the jar she held.
Lucien glanced at it. “You planning to bribe me with sweets?”
“Finn gave it to me,” Mira said lightly. “You want to try?”
She looked at him—really looked—as she opened the jar.
He was smiling, but there was something behind it. A weariness she recognized from before—the kind that lingers in people who are pretending to be fine.
Her voice softened. “You shouldn’t be doing… this.”
Lucien’s smile faded slightly. He took a piece of ginger and popped it into his mouth. “Why? I like what I’m doing now.”
He looked away, toward the sea just visible beyond the rooftops. “It makes me feel alive.”
Mira sighed. “Then what about your real job? As a prince?”
Lucien turned back to her, surprise flickering in his eyes.
But before he could answer, someone called out in the distance.
“Mira-nee!”
Mira glanced over his shoulder. It was Finn.
“I should go,” Mira said, stepping back. “I promised him a magic lesson. This jar of ginger was his way of convincing me.”
Lucien grinned. “That’s a small price to pay.”
He lingered a moment longer, then added, “It was good to see you.”
“You too,” she said—and meant it.
They parted with a glance—something unspoken still hanging in the air between them.
But it wasn’t heavy. Just… unfinished—like a tide that had come in but hadn’t yet pulled away.
And somehow, that was enough for now.
Mira found Finn waiting just beyond the well, his small frame practically vibrating with energy as he bounced on his heels.
His cheeks were flushed, his curly hair a bit windswept, and his shirt hung unevenly from where he’d probably dressed in a rush.
“Mira–nee,” he beamed. “My father said yes, let's go!”
He nearly tripped over his boots as he spun in a circle, arms out like a windmill, before catching himself with a laugh.
Mira shook her head, amused despite herself. “You’re going to exhaust yourself before we even start.”
“Don’t worry, I’m built different!” Finn puffed out his chest. “I can do this all day.”
She reached out and tapped him lightly on the forehead. “Lesson one,” she said, with the kind of fondness that came from familiarity, “too much excitement will mess up your mana control.”
“Got it!” he said, still beaming.
They walked past the busy stalls. The market was in full swing—people shouting prices, carts rolling by, someone playing a cheerful tune on a fiddle nearby.
Mira glanced back once.
Lucien was gone.
But the feeling he left behind stayed with her.
His laughter. The way he looked at the sea. Like he wanted to figure things out—but didn’t know how yet.
“So,” Finn said suddenly, tugging at her sleeve. “Did the prince propose to you?”
Mira blinked. “What?”
“You were talking to him, right? In the middle of the street.” Finn’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Did he kneel down and ask you to be his wife? Or give you a fish ring?”
She burst out laughing. “A fish ring? What would that even smell like?”
“Romantic,” Finn said with a completely straight face. “Very… ocean-themed.”
Mira shook her head, chuckling. “You really are full of imagination. You know that?”
Finn nodded proudly. “That’s why I’m a genius!”
He darted ahead again, arms outstretched like a bird in flight, racing down the lane toward the riverbank.
Mira followed at a slower pace, letting the wind tease strands of her hair loose from her braid.
The scent of water and mint grew stronger as the trees opened up ahead, revealing the flat stones near the bend in the stream—a good practice spot.
The world around her buzzed with life, but her mind was still half full of Lucien’s voice.
That quiet certainty when he said the docks made him feel alive.
The way he’d looked at her, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do next—but he wanted to figure it out anyway.
She sighed softly and quickened her pace.
There would be time to think about that later.
For now, she had a genius to train...
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