Page 80 of The Call of Crimson
We reach the courtyard, the sun casting warm rays over the bustling staff as they go about their morning tasks. A few feet away, a black carriage with gold accents awaits us, the horses already harnessed.
Silently, I wish we were traveling on horseback instead.
“Come now, darling. You might not trust me, but you don’t hate me,” he teases.
I consider my words carefully as we climb into the carriage.
“No, Ayden, I don’t hateyou, but I despise what you and our betrothal represent.”
“And what do I represent to you?” he asks, his tone losing some of its teasing edge.
“Chains,” I reply without hesitation. “This betrothal... it’s a cage.”
A solemn look crosses his handsome face. “I never wish to chain you, Breyla. I only want to see you fly.”
“I’m no bird, but if I were, consider my wings clipped.”
The remainder of the ride unfolds in silence, heavy and unsettled.
We step into a bustling street, morning energy humming through the town. In front of us stands a modest building, its white façade softened by the wild riot of flowers spilling from every available space. A sign sways overhead that readsEsme’s Café.
“I hope you’re hungry, love.” Ayden grins, holding the door open for me. “This is my favorite breakfast spot.”
I shrug. “I could eat.”
Inside, the warm scent of fresh bread, spices, and strong tea envelops me instantly. Ayden waves down the nearest server, a young female balancing several steaming plates. He deftly swipes a plate from her arm, setting it before a waiting patron. “It’s a beautiful day, Violet. How are you?”
“We’re busy today, Prince,” she replies, not unkindly but clearly immune to his charm
“You’re busy every day, love.” He gives her a cheeky grin. “Do you have a table for your favorite patron?”
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “I don’t know about favorite,” she mumbles.
“You lie,” he teases.
“And you flirt entirely too much,” she retorts.
A sudden laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “She knows you well.”
“I always have a table for our rakish prince,” a new voice adds, the sound like a melody, yet somehow still rough. A tall, lithe woman with dark hair and darker eyes sweeps toward us, exuding a rough-edged warmth.
“Esme, darling,” Ayden greets her with a dramatic flourish. “How lovely to see you.”
“You don't need to flirt to get a table, Ayden,” she says dryly, steering us toward a cozy corner. “I always keep one for you, and for your charming companion.”
“Breyla Rozaria,” I introduce myself before Ayden can speak, holding my hand out.
“Esme Calder. It’s a pleasure.” She pulls me into a quick, fierce hug instead of a handshake. “You must be the betrothed.”
“Word travels quickly here,” I say uncomfortably.
“The prince has a big mouth,” Esme says with a wink, “He couldn't shut up about you. It was all he talked about for a month before he left to fetch you.”
“Now you’re embellishing,” Ayden grumbles.
Esme gives me a conspiratorial wink as she fills our cups with steaming tea. “What can I get you?”
“The special,” Ayden answers immediately. “And one of those,” he adds, pointing to the enormous cinnamon roll Violet carries past.
