They spent the rest of the morning preparing for the afternoon event. Jolthar was provided with formal attire appropriate for a temple gathering—not quite as elaborate as court dress, but respectful and well-made.
They got ready by the end of the morning hour, and Andrion was in a fully joyous mood and was eager to enter the temple walls.
*
Afternoon - The Journey to the Temple
The carriage rolled through Cahns’ar’s streets toward the temple district. It was a large carriage with extravagant decor, led by four giant horses. Andrion had gone the extra length to ensure they arrived in style, wanting to make a good impression at the temple gathering.
Inside, Milan explained more about the temple’s traditions and the god it honored. Though Jolthar had his mixed feelings about their God, Inadrys.
"Inadrys is one of the more prominent deities in the Illumarhen pantheon," Milan said.
"God of power, ambition, and strength. The temple dedicated to him is one of the largest and wealthiest in the capital."
"And the Chief Priest?" Jolthar asked.
"Thessarim is... unique," Milan replied carefully.
"Gender-ambiguous, unnaturally friendly, and rumored to have a divine blessing or heritage. He wields considerable political influence and is known for being both shrewd and ruthless when temple interests are at stake."
"Sounds delightful," Jolthar said dryly.
"Just be respectful and watch what you say," Milan advised.
"The temple—"
The carriage suddenly slowed, then stopped entirely.
Milan looked out the window with confusion.
"Why are we stopping?" he called to the coachman.
"There’s a crowd blocking the road, my lord," the coachman replied.
"So kind of commotion up ahead."
Jolthar leaned on his window, peering out at the gathered people. They had ford a circle around sothing, voices raised in a mixture of curiosity, disapproval, and entertainnt.
Then the crowd shifted, and Jolthar saw her.
Elsona.
The woman from the market—the one who had made his heart race with just a glance. She stood in the center of the gathering, her elegant composure barely maintained despite the obvious distress in her eyes. Her beautiful face was tight with suppressed emotion.
And beside her, grabbing at her arm, was a man Jolthar instantly recognized from Milan’s earlier description. Lord Tyren of House Saeona—her soon-to-be-forr husband. He was dressed expensively but disheveled, his face flushed with what looked like day-drinking and anger.
"You can’t keep avoiding this conversation!" Tyren was shouting, loud enough to be heard even inside the carriage.
"We’re still married! You’re still my wife! You don’t get to just pretend I don’t exist!"
"I’m not pretending you don’t exist," Elsona replied, her voice strained but controlled.
"I’m trying to conclude our legal separation as quickly as possible so we can both move forward with our lives."
"Move forward?" Tyren’s laugh was bitter and mocking.
"You an so you can take everything I helped build and leave with nothing?"
"You helped build nothing," Elsona said, her composure cracking slightly.
"You married into my family’s business and proceeded to gamble away whatever money you could access. The only reason the brand survived was that my mother and sister locked you out of actual decision-making."
Several people in the crowd murmured agreent or nodded. Clearly, Tyren’s reputation was well-known. But nobody was ready to intervene in the affairs of nobles.
"This is getting ugly," Andrion observed from inside the carriage.
"Should we intervene?"
Milan looked at Jolthar, who was staring at the scene with an expression that was carefully neutral but had underlying tension.
"That’s Lady Elsona," Milan said quietly.
"The woman you noticed at the market. And her husband is making another scene."
"I see that," Jolthar replied, his voice tight.
"We could keep going," Milan suggested.
"Drive around the crowd. This isn’t really our concern."
But even as he said it, he knew what Jolthar’s answer would be.
Because Jolthar’s hand was already on the carriage door handle, and his expression had shifted from neutral to determined.
"Or," Jolthar said, opening the door, "I could do sothing about it."
"Jolthar, wait—" Milan started, but the young baron was already stepping out onto the street.
"This is going to be interesting," Andrion murmured, also exiting the carriage to watch.
Milan sighed and followed, recognizing that whatever happened next was going to complicate their day significantly.
In the center of the crowd, Tyren was still berating Elsona, his voice growing louder and more aggressive. Neither of them had noticed the carriage or the n erging from it.
Not yet.
But that was about to change.
Jolthar moved through the crowd with a calm expression on his face but a faint smile started to appear as he approached her. The more he got closer, the more focused he was on her.
She was a sight that he couldn’t forget, an art sculpted by the gods themselves.
A woman of rare elegance, her delicate presence commanding attention without effort.
People parted instinctively as he approached; sothing in his bearing commanded space without demanding it. Milan and Andrion followed a few steps behind, close enough to support but far enough to let him handle the situation.
Though Milan wasn’t happy about it. He knew that ddling in their affairs would bring nothing but trouble.
Tyren had grabbed Elsona’s wrist now, his grip clearly tight enough to hurt based on the way she tried to pull away. His voice had risen to the point of public spectacle.
"You think you’re too good for now? You and your precious family business? I gave you the best years of my life!"
"The best years of drunken gambling and embarrassnt," Elsona replied, still trying to maintain dignity despite the humiliation.
"Please, Tyren.
People are watching. Let go of my arm."
"Let them watch! Let everyone see what kind of cold, heartless woman abandons her husband!"
"Excuse ."
Jolthar’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the commotion with quiet authority.
Both Tyren and Elsona turned to look at him—Tyren with irritation at being interrupted and Elsona with surprise and sothing else... recognition, perhaps, though they’d never formally t.
"This is a private matter," Tyren said dismissively, not releasing Elsona’s wrist.
"Move along."
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