Chapter 19: Handkerchiefs and Strawberries

A strange wave of perplexity washed over Caspian as he realized that Sonne had just returned his handkerchief. He hadn't realized until that very moment that he'd subconsciously wanted Sonne to keep it. It was a silly, sentimental notion, completely out of character for the pragmatic prince. He wasn't one for clinging to mementos, but that handkerchief, stained with the spilled wine from their first encounter, held a peculiar significance. It was a tangible link to Sonne, a reminder of their unconventional meeting. A strange, unbidden thought flitted through Caspian's mind: If Sonne has it, then even when he's far away… it's like a part of me is with him.

Caspian mentally berated himself for such a frivolous, romantic thought. He, Prince Caspian Frostheart, did not indulge in such sentimentalism. Yet, the feeling lingered, a persistent warmth that mirrored the warmth emanating from Sonne's hand, still gently holding his own.

As if compelled by an unseen force, Caspian acted on impulse. He pulled out his own pristine handkerchief with his free hand and, without a word, proceeded to gently wipe Sonne's face.

Sonne, caught off guard, blinked in surprise but didn't resist. "Something on my face?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Caspian nodded, his expression serious. "Yes, you have… something." He continued to wipe Sonne's face, his movements deliberate and strangely tender, as if wiping away something more than dirt or sweat. He was simply making sure the handkerchief was "used", his actions a subtle gesture of care and concern. When he finally pulled away, Sonne was eyeing him with a mixture of amusement and a barely suppressed smirk.

Caspian, ignoring Sonne’s knowing look, took Sonne’s hand, which was holding his "bandaged" hand, and placed his used handkerchief in it. Sonne raised an eyebrow, a silent "what now" look on his face.

"You ruined it," Caspian stated matter-of-factly, gesturing towards the now-smudged handkerchief. "Keep it."

Sonne finally let out an amused snort, shaking his head at Caspian's antics. "You're a strange one, Prince Caspian," he chuckled, accepting the handkerchief with a playful roll of his eyes and tucking it away in his jacket pocket. Despite his lighthearted tone, a warmth flickered in his eyes, a hint of genuine appreciation for Caspian's unexpected gesture.

After a moment of silence, Caspian spoke. "Thanks for the..." he began, gesturing awkwardly toward his makeshift bandage on his hand. A faint blush still warmed his cheeks. He couldn't bring himself to meet Sonne's gaze, his usual composure momentarily shattered by the strawberry merchant's unexpected touch. "You may... go now," he finished lamely, giving Sonne a gentle push to his shoulder with his uninjured hand. The truth was, Caspian couldn't stand having Sonne so close. He feared that if Sonne remained by his side, he might do something even more foolish, something that would betray the walls around his heart.

Sonne, ever perceptive, merely chuckled softly at Caspian's flustered demeanor. "Okay, okay," he said with a playful smirk, holding out his open hands as if surrendering. "This peasant is moving away." He gracefully rose to his feet and retreated a few steps, settling down about a meter away from Caspian, a safe distance that still allowed him to observe the prince without causing further discomfort.

Sonne watched with amusement as Caspian, still avoiding eye contact, resumed nibbling on the dried strawberries. The prince's movements were slow, deliberate, as if each bite was accompanied by a whirlwind of thoughts. Sonne, ever the astute observer, could practically see the gears turning in Caspian's mind, the prince clearly lost in contemplation.

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the crackling of the bonfire and the distant sounds of the forest. Sonne, content to simply bask in Caspian's presence, leaned back against a log, his gaze fixed on the prince's profile. The firelight shone a warm glow on Caspian's silver hair, highlighting the delicate curve of his cheekbones and the faint blush that still lingered on his pale skin. Sonne couldn't help but admire the prince's ethereal beauty, a stark contrast to his own rugged appearance.

A subtle shift in Caspian's posture caught Sonne's attention. He watched with amusement as the prince, seemingly lost in thought, would occasionally cast a fleeting glance in his direction, only to quickly avert his gaze when he realized he was being observed. There was a nervous energy about Caspian, a subtle fidgeting of his gloved fingers that hinted at an internal struggle.

Sonne waited patiently, a knowing smile playing on his lips, until Caspian finally finished the last of the dried strawberries. "How is it?" he asked casually, breaking the silence, "My dried strawberries, I mean." He paused, then added with a playful lilt in his voice, "You wouldn't mind if I send you some sometimes, would you?"

The question, though mostly in jest – the idea of sending the prince strawberry delights straight to the palace was rather amusing – held a hint of genuine curiosity. Sonne couldn't help but wonder if Caspian, accustomed to the finest delicacies, would truly appreciate the simple sweetness of his strawberries.

Caspian, startled by the unexpected question, turned to face Sonne, his sapphire eyes wide with surprise. He hesitated for a moment, as if carefully considering his response, before finally speaking.

"No," he said, his voice regaining its usual composure, "It's fine. I can buy it." He paused, then added, as if justifying his refusal, "You need customers after all."

Sonne chuckled softly, recognizing the subtle shift in Caspian's demeanor. The prince, despite his attempts to maintain a cool and aloof facade, was clearly not accustomed to accepting gifts, especially not from him. But Sonne also sensed something else beneath the surface, a faint hint of… reluctance.

"Sundays, is it not?" Caspian asked, his gaze fixed on the empty pouch in his hands, which he was unconsciously folding into neat squares.

Sonne's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn't expected Caspian to remember his schedule at the market stall. "Yes," he replied, a hint of warmth creeping into his voice, "Sundays, at The Berry Basket."

Caspian nodded, he wasn't sure why he'd asked. Perhaps it was simply a polite inquiry, a way to maintain a semblance of normalcy in this unusual encounter. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it was a subconscious desire to see Sonne again, to escape the stifling formality of the palace and experience Sonne's company once more.

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As the night deepened, the rhythmic jingle of harnesses and the soft snorts of draft horses announced the arrival of the royal carriages, their lanterns an inviting glow against the darkness. The bustling activity of packing up camp, tending to the injured, and assisting weary nobles into the carriages filled the clearing with a sense of urgency.

Sonne, ever helpful and unassuming, found himself amidst the servants and guards, lending a hand wherever needed.

When it was time to board the carriages, Sonne nodded respectfully to Caspian and Elura, who was being helped into a luxurious, enclosed carriage by Leopold. Then, Sonne made his way towards a covered wagon designated for servants and guards, and settled onto a wooden bench.

Caspian, his gaze following Sonne’s movements with an intensity he couldn't quite explain, found himself strangely drawn to the simplicity of the covered wagon. He paused, his hand hovering above the ornate door handle of the carriage that awaited him. For a fleeting moment, he imagined himself beside Sonne, sharing stories beneath a starlit sky as they journeyed back to the capital.

The absurdity of the thought struck him with the force of a physical blow. He was Prince Caspian, and his place was not amongst servants and guards, no matter how intriguing he found their company.

Yet, the sight of Sonne's easy camaraderie with the servants, his warm smile as he helped an older woman find a comfortable position, sparked an unfamiliar pang in Caspian's chest.

It should be me, a rebellious inner voice whispered, fueling a flicker of envy he'd never associated with servants. It was an absurd notion, preposterous even, for a prince of his stature. Then, as he watched Sonne share a companionable laugh with the servant, Caspian couldn't shake the irrational desire to be closer, to be the recipient of Sonne's attention.

His moment of uncharacteristic pique was not lost on those around him. Curious whispers rippled through the gathering as courtiers and nobles alike observed their stoic prince standing awkwardly before his waiting carriage, his gaze fixed on the servant wagon with an intensity that bordered on… longing. Even Elura, perched gracefully within the luxurious confines of the royal carriage, watched the spectacle with a knowing smile, her amusement evident in the mischievous twinkle of her sapphire eyes.

To add salt to the wound, Sonne, oblivious to the prince's inner turmoil, pulled out one of his signature dried strawberry pouches, offering it to the servant beside him with a generous smile.

Caspian, his jaw clenched tight, could only stare as the servant gratefully accepted the pouch, the gesture seeming to mock his own inability to bridge the distance between himself and the merchant. The journey back to the capital promised to be long and arduous, and the thought of Sonne, so close yet so unattainable, filled him with a restless frustration.

Lowering his gaze, Caspian fought to regain his composure. He was Prince Caspian Frostheart, and he did not envy servants. He especially did not envy servants for sharing a wagon and dried strawberries with that merchant. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his resolve. He would not make a spectacle of himself. He would not – absolutely not – barge into the servant wagon and demand a place beside Sonne, no matter how tempting the thought.

He would, however, confirm their next meeting.

With a determined stride, Caspian approached the servant wagon, ignoring the startled gasps and curious stares that followed his every move. Sonne, alerted by the sudden hush, turned his head, his brow furrowed in question as he met Caspian's gaze.

"I'm just making sure," Caspian announced, his voice regaining its usual regal composure, "You will be at the market on Sunday. Yes?" The question, though phrased as a confirmation, held an underlying note of expectation, a subtle command that brooked no argument.

Sonne, ever perceptive, picked up on the subtle shift in Caspian's demeanor. "Yes," he replied, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes, "I will be sure to be there on Sunday." He paused, then added with a playful lilt, "I'll make sure to clear my schedule for you, my prince."

Caspian, despite his best efforts to maintain a stoic facade, let out a soft snort. The need to prolong their exchange, to savor this brief moment of connection amidst the chaos of their surroundings, spurred him to speak. "Make sure that you do," he replied, his voice regaining its usual cool authority.

His gaze, however, betrayed his composure as it drifted towards the dried strawberry pouch clutched in the servant's hand. An idea, impulsive and utterly ridiculous, sparked in his mind. He couldn't join Sonne in the wagon, but…

"May I have this?" he asked the servant, his gaze unwavering as he reached out, his gloved hand already closing around the pouch. It wasn't a request, not really. It was a subtle commandeering, a silent assertion of his princely prerogative.

The servant, caught between the unexpected request and the intensity of Caspian's gaze, could only nod mutely, relinquishing the pouch.

Caspian, his prize secured, finally allowed a small smile to grace his lips, the satisfaction of a battle won radiating in his sapphire eyes. He stepped back from the wagon, acutely aware of the spectacle he'd just created, the weight of curious stares pressing against his back. He offered Sonne one last curt nod, a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken pact, before turning and striding back towards his waiting carriage, clutching the pouch of dried strawberries like a treasured possession.

As the carriage pulled away, the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves echoing through the darkness, Caspian leaned back against the plush cushions, the sweet, slightly tart scent of dried strawberries filling his senses. It was a small victory, perhaps a foolish one, but in that moment, it was enough.