Chapter 11: The Berry Basket

The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves against the snow-dusted path was the only sound that dared to break the silence surrounding Caspian's carriage. Returning to Snowfall from Whispering Wind, he found himself missing the symphony of wind whistling through the mountain valley. Or perhaps, he mused, it was the lack of a certain strawberry merchant's presence that had left this unusual quiet in his wake.

The image of Sonne, drenched yet unfazed by the "accidental" water bucket incident, flickered through his mind. It was followed by a montage of Sonne's movements on the dance floor, his hand surprisingly warm against Caspian's own. Then, there was that moment, when Sonne had looked at him with those tiger-eye eyes, an amused smirk playing on his lips as if he knew exactly what Caspian was trying to do, unraveling him with every question.

"Intriguing," Caspian murmured, more to himself than to the plush interior of the carriage.

Back in his study, the familiar weight of his responsibilities settled upon him like a heavy cloak. Reports from the Whispering Wind delegation needed reviewing, and a meeting with the ambassadors from the Realm of the Dreaming Forest loomed. Yet, his gaze kept drifting towards the stack of parchment detailing Sonne Dial's background. It was impeccable, almost too perfect.

Caspian sighed, picking up a quill and unfurling a fresh sheet of parchment. He had a mind to pen a strongly worded letter, outlining the folly of whatever game Sonne believed he was playing. However, the words refused to form. Instead, he found himself sketching the curve of Sonne's lips, the way his eyes seemed to hold a mischievous glint. He crumpled the parchment in frustration, tossing it into the fireplace with a flick of his wrist.

Later that evening, Caspian found himself seeking out Elura. He found his younger sister in the castle gardens, tending to a patch of winter roses that miraculously bloomed year-round thanks to the royal gardener's magic.

"Elura," he greeted, his voice betraying none of the turmoil in his mind.

Elura, her silver braids gleaming under the moonlight, turned to him with a bright smile. "Brother! How was your trip to the Whispering Winds?"

"Productive," Caspian replied, taking a seat on the stone bench beside her. He paused, selecting his words carefully. "Elura, have you…thought any further about that merchant from the gala, Sonne Dial?"

A knowing glint entered Elura’s eyes, and Caspian found himself wishing he had chosen a less direct approach. Elura had a knack for seeing through his constructed walls, and this time was no different.

"Why, brother," she teased, a playful lilt to her voice, "Missing him already?"

Caspian's composure remained unshaken. "Don't be absurd, Elura. I'm merely curious if his claims at the gala were as… exaggerated as his sales pitch."

Elura chuckled, carefully snipping a wilted rose. "From what I observed, his strawberries were quite popular. Even Leopold couldn't resist purchasing a basket for Sabine."

Caspian knew his brother couldn’t resist anything Sabine loved. Her favorite treats were the "mean donuts" from her family’s bakery—deliciously deceptive in their simplicity.

"Besides," Elura continued, her gaze fixed on Caspian, "You seem… different, brother. Lighter, somehow. Did the winds whisper something to you, perhaps?"

Caspian suppressed a sigh. Elura was too perceptive for her own good. "The Whispering Winds are known for their calming influence, I suppose," he deflected, hoping to steer the conversation away from Sonne.

Elura simply smiled, knowing full well she hadn’t received a genuine answer. She rose from the bench, dusting off her skirts. "Well, if you are curious about Mr. Dial, perhaps a diplomatic visit to his farm is in order. The border of Eternal Summer is lovely this time of year, I hear."

With that, she turned and glided away, leaving Caspian alone with his thoughts. He wondered if a diplomatic visit was really such a bad idea after all.

"Travel hundreds of kilometers for a suitor? Preposterous." Caspian muttered to himself, pacing back and forth in his study. Elura’s suggestion, while well-intentioned, was utterly absurd. He, Prince Caspian of Snowfall, would not be caught gallivanting across the kingdom on a whimsical chase for a strawberry merchant, no matter how captivating he may be.

His gaze fell upon the stack of reports on his desk, detailing Sonne’s background and business dealings. Everything about Sonne Dial, from his well maintained merchant credentials to his thriving stall at the capital market, screamed of meticulous planning. Was this all an elaborate ruse to gain his attention? If so, it was a rather inconvenient method, even for someone as… resourceful as Sonne seemed to be.

A thought flickered through Caspian's mind. Perhaps a visit to this "Berry Basket" was in order, a discreet reconnaissance mission, of course. He could assess the situation, observe Sonne's operation firsthand, and determine if his suspicions were warranted. After all, a prince could always disguise himself amongst the common folk for a morning. It wouldn't be the first time.

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The next day, Caspian, donning a simple hooded cloak and a stoic expression, ventured into the bustling capital market. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, spiced meats, and, surprisingly, the sweet aroma of ripe fruits. It wasn't long before he located "The Berry Basket."

It was even more impressive than Caspian had imagined. Baskets overflowed with plump, crimson strawberries, their leaves a vibrant green against the white tablecloth. The stall was strategically positioned, catching the morning sun and attracting a steady stream of customers. However, behind the arranged display stood not Sonne, but a lanky, middle-aged man, his face weathered by years under the sun. Clearly, a hired hand.

Disappointment tugged at Caspian's chest, an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation.

Caspian adjusted his hood, drawing it further over his brow to hide his disappointment. This was good. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? Confirmation that Sonne was nothing more than a hardworking merchant, his presence at the gala a mere coincidence. Yet, a strange unease settled upon him.

Feigning disinterest, Caspian approached the stall. His gloved hand reached out to inspect a basket of strawberries, looking plump and enticing.

"These are a fine batch," Caspian remarked, his voice carefully neutral.

The vendor, startled by the sudden appearance of a hooded figure, straightened up. "Why, thank you, sir! Fresh from Mr. Dial's farm just this morning. The finest strawberries in all of Snowfall, if I do say so myself." He puffed his chest with pride, obviously taking his job seriously.

"Mr. Dial himself is not here?" Caspian inquired, feigning casual interest as he selected a basket of the reddest strawberries.

The vendor shook his head, his smile turning sheepish. "Mr. Dial is a busy man, what with managing the farm and all. But he's always here on Sundays. You should come by then, sir. He's got a real way with these berries."

Sundays. Interesting. It seemed even strawberry merchants had their preferred day of rest.

"I shall keep that in mind," Caspian replied, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. He paid for the strawberries, a strange sense of purpose settling over him. Perhaps a Sunday visit to the capital market was in order.

As he made his way back through the marketplace, basket of strawberries in hand, Caspian couldn’t help but think that his life had taken a rather peculiar turn. He, the ever-composed, ever-in-control Prince Caspian, was now rearranging his schedule around the possibility of encountering a strawberry merchant.

And, if he was being truly honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely averse to it. The prospect of seeing Sonne again, of engaging in another round of their unspoken game, sparked something akin to excitement, a flicker of warmth against the perennial frost that had settled around his heart.

Caspian continued to navigate the snow-dusted cobblestone streets, his leather boots crunching against a thin layer of freshly fallen snow. The capital market, even on a weekday, bustled with activity. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices a cheerful cacophony against the backdrop of snow-laden rooftops and frost-covered windowpanes.

The basket of strawberries felt surprisingly heavy in his hand, a tangible reminder of the reason for his inconspicuous excursion. A small smile touched Caspian’s lips. He had never given much thought to strawberries before, finding them pleasant enough but unremarkable. Now, they seemed to hold the promise of something more, a subtle sweetness that hinted at warmer days and brighter smiles.

His thoughts drifted to Sonne, picturing him here in the heart of Snowfall, navigating the icy cobblestones with his inherent grace. Would Sonne wear one of those thick woolen scarves favored by the locals? Or would he brave the chill with his customary confidence, his presence alone enough to melt away the frost?

A wave of warmth spread through Caspian's chest, chasing away the familiar chill that usually clung to him. He shook his head, amused at his own reaction. He was behaving like a lovestruck schoolboy, not the composed and calculating Prince of Snowfall. Yet, he couldn't deny the unexpected lightness in his step as he approached a familiar bakery. The aroma of warm bread, cinnamon, and sugar wafted into the street, beckoning patrons with its irresistible allure.

Sabine’s family bakery, a place Leopold had been known to frequent, much to Caspian’s amusement. He could already picture his elder brother’s expression, torn between his princely decorum and his utter adoration for Sabine and her donuts.

The chime above the bakery door announced his arrival, and the warmth of the bakery enveloped him like a comforting embrace. It was a stark contrast to the crisp winter air outside, and Caspian found himself momentarily forgetting the cold. He greeted the baker with a nod, his gaze scanning the assortment of pastries until he found what he was looking for.

As he waited for his order, his gaze drifted to the window overlooking the marketplace. A soft laugh brought Caspian out of his thoughts. It was Sabine, her cheeks flushed from the oven’s heat, her smile as warm and inviting as the aroma of freshly baked bread.

"Prince Caspian!" she exclaimed, her surprise evident. "What brings you to our humble bakery?"

"Sabine," Caspian greeted warmly, a genuine smile gracing his lips. "Don't let me interrupt. The aroma of your work precedes you, as always." He gestured towards the cooling pastries. "I wouldn't dare deprive the good people of Snowfall, especially Leopold, of their 'mean donut' fix."

Sabine's laugh, like the tinkling of ice crystals, filled the small bakery. "Oh, him and his sweet tooth," she said, shaking her head with feigned exasperation. "Don't worry, I always bake extra, knowing Leopold will be stopping by." She carefully packaged a generous assortment of donuts, her movements practiced and efficient.

"I trust everything is well with the upcoming wedding preparations?" Caspian inquired, making polite conversation as Sabine worked. He knew Leopold was anxious, not about marrying Sabine, of course, but about ensuring every detail of their wedding was perfect for his bride.

"As well as can be expected when one is marrying a prince," Sabine chuckled, handing Caspian a small bag. "These are for you, Caspian. Don't tell Leopold I gave you the first batch."

Caspian accepted the warm bag, his fingers brushing against Sabine's. It was a small, familiar gesture, one that spoke of a long-standing friendship that transcended titles and social standing. "My lips are sealed," he assured her with a smile. "Thank you, Sabine."

As he stepped back out into the crisp winter air, the small bag of donuts tucked safely beneath his cloak, Caspian glanced across the marketplace. He found himself looking forward to Sunday, an unusual anticipation settling in his chest. Perhaps a certain strawberry merchant would have a tale or two to tell.

The snow-dusted streets of the capital were beginning to sparkle with the soft glow of lanterns as Caspian made his way back to the palace. The air, crisp and cold, carried with it the scent of pine needles and woodsmoke, a familiar comfort that always seemed to welcome him home. He adjusted the basket of strawberries in one hand and the small bag of warm donuts in the other, a small smile playing on his lips.

He hadn't intended on purchasing anything today, least of all strawberries, yet here he was, his arms laden with treats like a lovestruck suitor delivering gifts to his beloved. The thought brought a chuckle to his lips, the sound echoing softly in the twilight.

He had always been a creature of habit, his days meticulously planned, his interactions carefully calculated. But Sonne was disrupting that orchestrated order. For the first time in a long time, Caspian found himself looking forward to something uncertain, something that didn't have a predetermined outcome.

Sunday couldn't come soon enough. Perhaps it was the promise of Sonne's company, or perhaps it was the allure of those crimson strawberries, each bite a burst of unexpected sweetness against the backdrop of Snowfall’s eternal winter. Whatever the reason, Caspian's heart, usually encased in a layer of crafted ice, felt a touch lighter, a touch warmer, as he stepped through the palace gates and back into his world of duty and decorum.

He had a kingdom to attend to, trade agreements to finalize, and a mischievous younger sister to keep an eye on. But for now, Prince Caspian allowed himself a moment of quiet anticipation, his thoughts drifting towards a certain strawberry merchant and the promise of a Sunday well spent.