After the fight, the road seemed quieter, as if even the forest had decided to respect the trail of bodies they had left behind. The wind died down, carrying only the metallic smell of blood already beginning to freeze on the snow.

Damon shoved his hands into the pockets of his makeshift cloak and whistled, striding after Ester. "Well, that was a warm welcome. I wonder if all travelers receive such a welcome."

"They were just bandits," Ester replied, without turning her head. Her voice was effortless, as if the confrontation had meant nothing to her. "Winter makes them hungry. They attack anything that seems to breathe."

"Mmm." Damon smiled, looking at his hands. He still remembered the strange sensation of ice coating his fists. Strange and... addictive.

Time passed slowly, but little by little the horizon began to change. The forest thinned, the trees became more spaced, and the distant sound of voices, wagon wheels, and hammers began to echo on the wind.

Damon looked up excitedly. "Look at that... civilization!"

Ahead, finally, the road opened up toward a town surrounded by low stone walls, covered in drifting snow. The main gate was open, guarded by two soldiers who seemed more concerned with keeping warm than keeping watch. Inside, the movement was intense: vendors shouting, children running, horses huffing smoke in the cold.

Ester stopped at the top of a small rise, surveying the town with calculating eyes.

"Hm. We're much closer to the Duchy than I imagined."

Damon, who until then had only thought of mulled wine and a real bed, blinked in surprise. "The Duchy?"

He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. "Wait a minute... I'd forgotten. Why are we going there again?"

Ester glanced at him sideways, as if reminding him of something obvious. "To fulfill the mission we were given."

"Mission..." Damon repeated, clicking his tongue as if searching his memory. "Oh, right... the Countess."

"Countess Elizabeth," Ester corrected firmly. "We're going to make the Duke understand that he must stop bothering her with his marriage proposals."

Damon raised his eyebrows. "Marriage, huh? A Duke wanting to marry the Countess... That sounds strange to me." He sighed theatrically, spreading his arms. "I mean, what would make such a powerful man insist so much?"

Ester didn't hesitate. "Because Elizabeth isn't just anyone."

There was weight in her words.

Damon, intrigued, stopped joking and focused on her. "What do you mean?"

Ester looked away at the city below, but her voice remained firm, leaving no room for doubt. "Elizabeth isn't just a Countess. She was the Princess Consort of the kingdom."

Silence fell between them like a thunderbolt.

Damon blinked several times, trying to process what he'd heard. "Wait, wait…" He held up his hands. "Are you telling me that Countess Elizabeth… the same one who asked me to help her with some boring business… was a Princess?"

"Yes," Esther confirmed simply. "Princess Consort, to be exact."

Damon's eyes widened, laughing in disbelief. "Good heavens… and here I thought she was just a rich, bored noblewoman."

His heart raced a little. Since his reincarnation, he'd never heard anything like this about Elizabeth. He'd always seen her as just that woman with impeccable posture, a calculating gaze, and a voice laden with authority. But now… now she had gained another dimension. A former Princess.

"That changes a lot…" he murmured, almost to himself.

Ester continued walking toward the city entrance, without turning around. "It changes. And it also explains why the Duke is so insistent. A union like that would give him not only prestige, but also political legitimacy."

Damon ainda estava tentando juntar as peças. — Então, basicamente, o cara quer se casar com ela pra poder dizer ao mundo que tem sangue real na cama dele?

— Grosso modo, sim. — Ester assentiu, fria. — Mas Elizabeth recusou. E agora ele está pressionando, insistindo de maneiras… inconvenientes.

Damon esfregou o queixo, pensativo. — Hm. Faz sentido. Mas… — Ele estreitou os olhos, curioso. — Por que ela não me contou isso? Quer dizer, se ela é tão importante assim, por que nunca falou nada?

Ester o encarou de relance, seus olhos frios como sempre. — Porque não era da sua conta.

— Ai, que gelada… — Damon colocou a mão no peito, fingindo estar ferido.

Damon colocou a mão no peito fingindo estar ferido, mas Ester já havia virado de costas, descendo a encosta rumo ao portão da cidade.

— Vamos. — disse ela, seca, como se não houvesse espaço para piadas.

O loiro suspirou teatralmente e correu alguns passos para alcançá-la, as botas rangendo na neve endurecida. — Tá bom, madame frieza. Mas pelo menos lá dentro deve ter vinho quente, né? — sorriu de canto.

Quando se aproximaram do portão, os dois guardas olharam para eles apenas o suficiente para confirmar que não eram mendigos ou bandidos, depois voltaram a esfregar as mãos com luvas grossas perto de uma tocha fumegante. Não havia formalidade ali — a cidade parecia mais preocupada em sobreviver ao inverno do que em manter protocolos rígidos.

Do lado de dentro, o contraste era marcante. As ruas estreitas estavam cobertas de neve pisoteada e lama, mas o movimento era intenso. Carroças carregadas de lenha e fardos de feno, comerciantes gritando sobre tecidos importados, caçadores vendendo presas congeladas e crianças correndo entre os adultos, rindo como se o frio fosse apenas parte da brincadeira.

O cheiro de pão recém-assado e carne salgada escapava das tavernas, misturado ao fedor de estábulos. Para Damon, parecia quase aconchegante depois de dias na floresta.

— Ahhh… — ele abriu os braços, respirando fundo. — O doce aroma de civilização. Um cheiro de suor, fumaça e promessas baratas!

Ester ergueu uma sobrancelha para ele, mas não comentou. Seus olhos estavam atentos, percorrendo cada detalhe, como quem já calculava possíveis rotas de fuga, pontos de observação e riscos ocultos.

Damon notou, mas preferiu não quebrar o clima. Ele andava alguns passos atrás dela, assoviando e olhando ao redor. — Sabe… é engraçado. Depois de quase congelar e lutar contra bandidos famintos, uma cidade assim parece um paraíso.

— Você só pensa em conforto. — Ester respondeu, sem desviar os olhos. — Se não aprender a sobreviver na dificuldade, não passará de peso morto.

Ele deu uma risadinha. — Peso morto que você não quis largar naquela nevasca, né? — provocou, olhando-a de lado.

Ester parou por um segundo, encarando-o como se fosse atravessá-lo com o olhar. Depois, simplesmente seguiu em frente, sem responder.

Damon ergueu as mãos, rindo sozinho. — Tá, entendi. Assunto delicado.

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