Chapter 22: The Prince's Respite

The aroma of roasted meat and spiced vegetables, while a far cry from the delicate fragrances of the Snowfall Palace kitchens, filled the storehouse with a comforting warmth. Caspian, famished after a day of turmoil and uncertainty, found himself digging into the simple meal with unexpected gusto. The flavors, robust and unfamiliar, danced on his tongue, a welcome distraction from the bitter tang of fear and suspicion that had plagued him since his brother’s illness.

"Rick’s a family man, he lives near the market," Sonne’s voice, casual and conversational, cut through Caspian’s musings. He glanced up to find Sonne leisurely finishing his own meal, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Caspian understood the unspoken message – Rick, with his own family to attend to, wouldn’t be joining them in their makeshift sanctuary. Not that it bothered Caspian; in fact, a strange sense of relief washed over him at the thought of being alone with Sonne, even under these unusual circumstances.

For now, at least, Caspian was somewhere he believed he could be safe. He didn’t know much about Sonne, about his motivations or allegiances, but a primal instinct, a gut feeling that had rarely steered him wrong, told him that he could let his guard down, just a fraction, within the strawberry merchant’s domain.

It had been too long since he’d tasted commoner food. He usually only got a taste when he joined Leopold for lunch at Sabine’s family bakery, a small, cheerful establishment nestled amidst the bustling stalls of the capital market. He recalled with a pang of longing the warmth of the brick oven, the aroma of freshly baked bread, and the genuine smiles that always seemed to grace Sabine’s features, especially when she was surrounded by trays of her famous "mean donuts" – Leopold’s favorite.

Leopold and Sabine. The thought of his brother, struck down in his prime, his future with the vibrant baker girl thrown into uncertainty, sent a fresh wave of grief crashing over Caspian. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the image of Leopold’s pale, still form away.

"Later," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible above the chirping of crickets outside. He would grieve for his brother, would unravel the truth behind his illness and bring the perpetrator to justice, but first, he needed to regain his strength.

He glanced at Sonne, who was now watching him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. "This is… surprisingly good," Caspian admitted, surprising even himself with the admission. He’d expected something bland, perhaps even unpalatable, but the flavors, though foreign to his refined palate, were undeniably satisfying.

Sonne’s lips curved into a knowing smile. "Glad you like it, Prince," he said, his gaze lingering on Caspian for a moment longer than necessary. "Though, I must say, I’m more accustomed to serving strawberries than takeout from ‘The Golden Goose,’" he added with a wink, his tone laced with playful innuendo.

Heat crept up Caspian's neck, staining his cheeks with an unfamiliar blush. Leave it to Sonne, even in the midst of a potential scandal, to turn a simple meal into a flirtatious exchange. Still, Caspian couldn't deny the warmth that spread through his chest at the strawberry merchant’s playful banter.

For tonight, at least, he would allow himself to be simply Caspian, a weary traveler seeking refuge in the most unlikely of places. And as he met Sonne’s gaze, a flicker of defiance sparking in his sapphire eyes, he couldn’t help but wonder what other surprises the night might hold.

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Caspian’s gaze followed Sonne as he moved with practiced ease around the small space, gathering the discarded food containers and stacking plates with an efficiency that spoke of long-held habit. A wave of something akin to shame washed over Caspian. He, a prince accustomed to having every whim catered to, suddenly felt utterly useless, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides.

It wasn’t that he’d never lifted a finger in his life. He’d cleaned up after himself, on occasion, more as a matter of principle than necessity. But the thought of standing idly by while Sonne, a commoner, saw to such menial tasks, gnawed at him. It felt… improper, a breach of some unspoken social contract.

He scanned the room, his gaze alighting behind the door. Surely, there must be an apron…

"What are you looking for?" Sonne’s voice, laced with amusement, startled Caspian from his thoughts.

"Do you have… an apron?" Caspian asked, the question feeling utterly absurd the moment it left his lips. Prince Caspian, washing dishes! The very notion would send shockwaves through the royal court, would have the palace gossips buzzing for weeks. He could already imagine the whispers, the knowing glances exchanged behind raised fans. And if his father, the ever-stoic King Frederic, ever caught wind of his son’s domestic endeavors, particularly for a strawberry merchant, no less…

The thought was cut short by Sonne’s laughter, a full-bodied sound that echoed through the small space. Caspian, his cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and something else he couldn’t quite place, glared at the strawberry merchant.

"It’s okay, Your Highness," Sonne said, his laughter subsiding into a soft chuckle. "I’ll take care of the rest. You just… get some rest."

Sonne’s voice, usually so full of playful banter, held a note of gentle authority that Caspian found surprisingly difficult to disobey. He watched, a mixture of fascination and something akin to envy, as Sonne moved with practiced ease around the small kitchen area, his movements efficient and graceful. It was clear that Sonne was no stranger to household chores, his familiarity with every task, every movement, speaking of a life lived far from the gilded cages of royalty.

Caspian sank back onto the couch, his gaze lingering on Sonne’s form as he worked. The sight, so mundane yet so strangely intimate, sparked a warmth in Caspian’s chest, a feeling that had nothing to do with the lingering heat of the meal and everything to do with the easy camaraderie that had settled between them.

Perhaps Sonne was right. Perhaps, for tonight at least, Caspian should simply allow himself to be taken care of, to rest and recharge amidst the unexpected sanctuary of the strawberry storehouse. He had a feeling that the days ahead would hold challenges far greater than navigating the complexities of courtly etiquette or unraveling the truth behind his brother’s illness.

And as he watched Sonne work, his movements a mesmerizing dance of efficiency and grace, Caspian couldn't shake the feeling that he'd stumbled upon something… different, something real, in the most unlikely of places. He just hoped, with a sincerity that surprised even him, that whatever bond was forming between them could withstand the storm that was surely brewing on the horizon.

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Caspian followed Sonne up a narrow flight of stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly beneath their combined weight. The upper floor, bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, was sparse but surprisingly tidy. A single bed, covered with a patchwork quilt, occupied one corner, a sturdy wooden desk tucked neatly beside it. The rest of the space was taken up by more crates, their contents a mystery to Caspian, but their presence a testament to Sonne’s industriousness.

"Well, as the guest, you can take the bed," Sonne announced, gesturing towards the surprisingly inviting-looking bed. "I’ll take the couch downstairs and… watch over the door." His words were casual, but Caspian caught the unspoken message in his tone, the silent promise of protection. It was a gesture that spoke volumes about Sonne’s character, about his willingness to offer sanctuary to a prince on the run, and Caspian found himself deeply touched by the strawberry merchant’s quiet loyalty.

"Good night, Prince," Sonne said, a hint of warmth in his voice. He turned to leave, his shadow stretching across the wooden floorboards before disappearing down the narrow staircase.

Alone in the small room, Caspian moved towards the bed, running his hand over the worn but surprisingly soft quilt. He cupped the mattress, testing its give. "Not bad," he murmured to himself, surprised by the unexpected comfort of his surroundings.

His gaze fell upon a worn leather-bound notebook resting on the desk. Curiosity flickered within him, a prince’s thirst for knowledge momentarily eclipsing his usual decorum. He reached for the book, his fingers hovering just above its cover, but then he hesitated.

Intrigue warred with respect for Sonne’s privacy. Caspian knew that trust, once broken, was difficult to repair. He couldn’t bring himself to violate the unspoken bond that had formed between him and the strawberry merchant.

With a sigh, Caspian turned away from the desk, his gaze lingering for a moment on the bed. It was then that he realized, with a strange mix of apprehension and anticipation, that the pillow, the sheets, even the air itself, seemed to hold the faint but unmistakable scent of strawberries and something else… something uniquely Sonne.

He extinguished the lamp, the room plunging into darkness save for the soft moonlight filtering through the small window. As he settled onto the bed, the mattress conforming to his weight with a sigh.

He shifted slightly, burrowing deeper into the surprisingly comfortable bedding, the scent wrapping around him like a comforting embrace. For the first time since the accusations had been leveled against him, Caspian felt a sliver of tension ease in his chest. He wasn’t sure what the morrow would bring, what challenges awaited him beyond the safety of Sonne’s storehouse, but for tonight, at least, he could rest. He could allow himself to be simply Caspian, a weary traveler who had found solace in the most unexpected of places, lulled to sleep by the faint, sweet scent of strawberries and the promise of a new day.