The morning air at the Iron Throat Pass was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and cold stone.
Two sturdy and luxurious carriages stood ready, their respective parties making final preparations.
On the Crown Prince’s suggestion, or more like a command, the two groups were to travel together through the pass, a measure of safety and convenience since their routes aligned for the initial leg of the journey.
A little distance away from the carriages, Amaniel and Cassandra stood together, bidding their last farewell.
"Take care," Amaniel said, his voice softer than usual. "Have a safe journey."
A faint smile touched his lips. It wasn’t dazzling like the Crown Prince’s, but it had its own charm. It reached his eyes, crinkling the corners slightly, and held a warmth that was uniquely his.
Cassandra nodded, her usual sharp composure in place. But instead of a verbal reply, she tapped the simple silver band on her finger. A soft glow emanated from her storage ring, and a moment later, she was holding a neatly folded scarf.
"I knitted it myself," she said, her tone matter-of-fact, as if announcing a new business acquisition. "...For you."
Before he could respond, she stepped forward. Her fingers, deft and sure, unfolded the dark grey wool.
She reached up, carefully looping it around his neck, her knuckles brushing against the skin of his throat as she tied it.
Amaniel stood perfectly still, watching her face. She was so close he could see the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, could feel the soft whisper of her breath against his neck and the lower part of his face. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, a small, endearing line forming between her eyebrows.
"...Thank you," he said, his voice low and utterly sincere. "I will always wear it."
She finished tying it, her hands smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. "Don’t forget to wash it sometimes too, idiot," she chided, though the usual bite in her words was absent.
Amaniel chuckled, the sound muffled slightly by the wool. "I’ll remember."
As she finished, Cassandra took a half-step back, her gaze sweeping over him from head to toe as if inspecting a finished product. Her eyes lingered on the scarf, the only spot of softness against his practical traveler’s attire. A small, almost imperceptible sigh of satisfaction escaped her.
"...This is good," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
Now, with only his eyes visible above the dark fabric, Amaniel felt a flicker of confusion at her words, but he held his tongue, simply watching her.
’I probably look like a snowman right now...’
Then, she nodded, turned on her heel, and began walking back towards her carriage. Amaniel watched her go, the silence between them now filled with the sounds of the preparing convoy.
She took three, four, five steps.
Then, suddenly, she stopped.
In a fluid motion, she spun around. Their gazes met.
Aman couldn’t help but take an inward gulp at the intensity of her gaze.
Before he could register, Cassandra had already closed the short distance between them and thrown her arms around him in a tight, emotional embrace.
’!’
Amaniel’s eyes widened in sheer surprise, his body stiffening for a fraction of a second at the unexpected contact. He could feel the fine wool of her coat, the solid warmth of her body pressed against his, and the faint, citrusy scent of her hair.
The world seemed to narrow to this single point of contact.
Then, instinct took over.
His arms, which had hung at his sides, slowly came up to encircle her, holding her just as tightly. He lowered his head, his cheek resting against her hair, the soft wool of the scarf she had just given him brushing against his skin. He closed his eyes, breathing her in, committing the feeling to memory.
’...’
The embrace lasted for a handful of heartbeats that felt both too long and unbearably quick.
Then, Cassandra’s arms loosened their desperate hold, her body shifting back almost imperceptibly. Amaniel followed her lead, his own arms falling away, the sudden absence of her warmth leaving a chill in its wake.
She took a small, half-stumbling step back, her gaze firmly fixed on the ground between them. The sharp, confident merchant queen was gone, replaced by a flustered young woman who couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Aman’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the faint, tell-tale blush dusting the tips of her ears and the high points of her cheeks, a rosy hue that betrayed her calm facade.
A wave of fond amusement washed over him, so strong he had to suppress a chuckle.
’Why do it if you were going to get this embarrassed afterward?
However, a deeper, more content part of him was profoundly happy that she had.
"A-anyway," she muttered, the word rushed and breathless, "T-Take care."
Without another second of hesitation, she turned and all but fled, her steps quick and light as she hurried back to the sanctuary of her carriage.
Amaniel stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on her carriage door long after it had closed, shielding her from view. The image of her retreating form, flushed and flustered, was seared into his mind. A profound silence settled around him, the world feeling both emptier and more significant.
It was then he felt the weight of another gaze upon him. Slowly, he turned his head towards the other carriage. From its half-open window, two faces were clearly peeking out.
Crown Prince Bane wore a look of open approval, a charming grin on his face as he gave a very clear, approving thumbs-up. Beside him, Vance’s expression was still stoic, but the quick nods and the lift of his own thumb conveyed a gruff, brotherly solidarity.
’These guys-’
Amaniel barely managed to stop his lips from twitching.
’Hmm...’ Taking a deep breath, he gave a nod in their direction.
A moment later, a command was called out. The drivers flicked their reins, and with the crunch of wheels on gravel and the clatter of hooves, the two carriages began to move. They rolled forward, side-by-side for a brief moment before picking up speed, their forms growing smaller as they passed through the immense shadow of the Iron Throat Pass gate.
Amaniel watched until they were nothing more than specks in the distance, the dust of their passage slowly settling on the quiet road.
Finally.... He was alone again.
"...Huff." He reached up, his fingers brushing against the soft scarf. It still carried a faint trace of her scent. ’...’
With a slow, deep breath that was part contentment, part resolve, he turned away from the pass. And for some reason, instead of becoming dispirited, he became even more determined.