Flying High!

This was not the wild girl who had sailed with pirates, hair tangled by salt and wind, grin wicked with mischief. Not the girl who lit tavern brawls just to escape him in the chaos. No. She was something else now, sculpted and polished. Prim and proper.

Antiva's finest promise fulfilled.

Everything her father had wanted, and more.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, entranced as she stopped before him.

Her brow furrowed, and she turned aside, lashes lowered. His chest tightened, but before he could ask why, her governess cleared her throat, the sound sharp and full of reprimand.

"The gentleman gave you a compliment, Lady Naia. What do you say?"

Silence. So vast it felt as though the world had ended.

"...Thanks."

The woman's lips thinned. "The proper phrase, especially when addressing the First Talon of House Dellamorte, is 'agradecido quedo', my dear." She let her disapproval ring clear, her scoff edged with cruelty. "Not to worry. We shall refine your etiquette. And your tongue."

Lucanis had no chance to protest before Naia was taken from him, as though she were a child caught misbehaving.

He didn't know then that his words had wounded her. That he'd broken something fragile. That he had confirmed, without intending it, that he preferred the mask: the painted, perfect lie over the sun-kissed, laughing girl who once was free.

From that day on, whenever he passed her in the hall, she seemed hollow. Bound. A marionette dancing on another's strings. If he spoke, she gave no more than a nod. If he offered his hand, her fingers brushed his as though broken.

"'Tis indecent for a lady to indulge in such vulgarity," her governess would chide, dragging her away.

Her eyes, once wide with wonder, no longer met his, not even to tease. Her movements were delicate, yes, but weak, dulled of spirit. She grew thinner—or perhaps the corset crushed her frame, laced too tightly. Her feet bled in dainty shoes she had never known, yet was forced to parade in, gracefully, as if she had worn them all her life.

Not even the dock vendor's beef skewers, her favourite, could stir her joy. Once, after a contract, Lucanis brought her one as an offering, a memory. Her nose twitched with longing, but before she could taste it, the governess snatched it from his grasp.

"This would harm my Lady's figure, and her prospects for bearing children. Please, leave her sustenance to us, Señor Dellamorte."

The skewer dropped into the bin, discarded as carelessly as her happiness. The doors closed on her, and the Crow's hands shook so violently he could barely breathe. In that moment, an unrelenting guilt pressed down on him, heavier than any blade, debt, or burden he'd ever carried.

"Fresh fruit, darling," Emmrich said, his eyes catching on a stand stacked high with golden pears and peaches, their skins glowing like jewels. "We should try some."

He guided her towards the stall, the cobblestone echoing with the footsteps of countless boots. Releasing her arm, he pointed out the peaches, already tasting their succulence on his tongue.

When he turned back to her, however, Susem was gone.

"Darling?" he called, brows furrowed. He scanned the bustling crowd until movement at the vegetable stall caught his eye.

There she was—back arched, eyes fierce, devouring a cob of roasted corn as though it had insulted her family. The vendor looked on in horror as she tore into the kernels with impressive ferocity, butter shining at the corners of her lips.

Emmrich couldn't help but smile, pinching the bridge of his nose in fond exasperation. He purchased a peach, then joined her, taking a slow, gracious bite as though to balance her unrestrained delight. When he offered her a taste, she waved him off without pausing her assault on the cob.

"Maybe later," she growled. "Corn, Emmrich. Fresh corn."

Emmrich chuckled nervously as she demolished the cob and, with perfect composure, ordered another.

It was then that he heard it—pained, pitiful mewing.

Heart clenching, he turned towards the sound, spotting a slender tail slipping through the crowd. He followed without thinking, squeezing through the people and down a narrow alley where the mewling grew louder.

The scent of moss and waste replaced the pleasant market air, and at the end of the passage he found them: a huddled litter of six kittens, their tiny bodies trembling in a nest of discarded cloth.

One, a frightened calico with bright orange patches, limped badly, dragging its paw as it tried to arch its back and hiss.

"Maker's mercy..."

Emmrich's throat tightened. Quickly, he sank to his knees, cradling his half-eaten peach like a holy relic. With deft fingers, he sliced the remaining flesh into small pieces and held them out, his voice a coaxing murmur.

"Come now, little ones. There's nothing to fear."

It took patience, but hunger triumphed. One by one, the kittens crept closer, ears down, nibbling at the peach and bumping their fragile bodies against his hands. Their purrs rumbled against his fingertips, loosening something in his chest.

"That's it. You're doing wonderfully. Isn't it tasty? You'll have to forgive that it's not a fish."

He removed the pit and set the rest of the peach on the ground, watching as they circled it. When the limping kitten approached at last, he reached for its leg and drew a slow, steady breath. Warmth flowed from his palms, a gentle magic weaving bone and sinew back to strength, unwittingly capturing the kitten's attention.

"There you are," he said, pulling his hand away. "Doesn't that feel better?"

The kitten blinked up at him with stunning emerald eyes, flexed its paw, then leapt boldly into his lap. There, it curled on his thigh, purring so loudly the sound seemed to pulse through him.

Emmrich nearly wept, tears pricking his eyes as laughter bubbled out unbidden. Soon the others clambered onto him as well, two scrambling up his arms to perch on his shoulders. He giggled helplessly as their whiskers tickled his cheeks, all rational thought fading away.

"Oh, you precious little things," he whispered, clutching them close. "It's settled—you need care, and I shall take you home with me!"

The tiny, colourful face peered up at him, and without hesitation he picked it up and declared, "You look like a Clementine! And you—Percival, yes. Wynn, surely his twin sister. Ophelia. Bartholomew. And of course... Lord Fluffington!"

The kittens meowed as though in approval, their small bodies vibrating with joy.

And then—laughter erupted behind him.

Emmrich stiffened like a thief caught red-handed, head whipping towards the alley mouth.

Susem, his beloved, leaned against the wall, doubled over, her arms wrapped around her stomach. Tears streamed from her eyes as she howled, gasping for air.

Heat flushed across Emmrich's face, but he refused to let go of the kitten nestled in his hands. Instead, with all the solemnity of a child pleading for sweets, he held it up towards her.

"Darling," he said, voice cracking from both shame and desperate sincerity, "can we keep them?"

Susem's laughter broke into a startled gasp. She stared at the kitten, then at the kind, older man whose eyes silently begged her permission. Despite herself, a deep blush spread across her pale complexion, though it was tempered by worry.

Emmrich had never asked for anything—but six kittens? That was a monumental undertaking, even if they employed help from Manfred, who adored the dastardly creatures, and it certainly wasn't fair to the cats. They simply didn't lead a life suited to multiple pets.

By some grace—perhaps the conflict in Susem's expression—Emmrich came to his senses.

"That is to say... perhaps we could find them proper homes? We cannot simply leave them here in this squalor."

She smiled, relieved. "Yes, I like that idea. We'll find all of them a good home."

Emmrich appeared satisfied, yet she caught the faintest wince of disappointment as he held the kitten in his hands a fraction tighter. Not enough to hurt, but enough for Susem to realise the poor man had already grown hopelessly attached—and that parting would break his heart.

"Oh, Emmrich..."

She reached out, fingers brushing the kitten's soft, vibrant fur. Her lips curved into a smile, her strokes shifting into tender scratches behind the kitten's ears, earning her the softest of licks.