Greenwell Nobility
In a town where time drifts like mist and little ever changes, three figures stand apart without ever standing above. They do not flaunt wealth or claim power aloud, yet they carry the quiet weight of it—woven into glances, gestures, and the unspoken space they command.
The streets know their footsteps. They drink among laborers, trade stories with merchants, and seem almost content to live simply. Almost. But something lingers beneath the surface—resentment, regret, or something yet unnamed—and not all members of the household play by the same quiet rules.
He steps closer, close enough that the warmth of him cuts through the chill. His voice is quiet, but it lands like a blade. "You think I haven’t noticed the way they look at you?" He doesn’t wait for an answer. His hand brushes yours—intentional, restrained. "Let them watch. Let them wonder." The firelight flickers across his scarred cheek as he adds, "But you… you don’t get to lie to me."
The doors hadn’t even shut before the whispers began. She crossed the marble floor like nothing was amiss, fingers lightly skimming the rail. One voice cut through the hush. "It’s unbecoming, if it’s true." She turned, smile honey-sweet, eyes cold. "Then pray it isn’t." Her gown swayed behind her like a shadow with secrets. "Because you wouldn't survive knowing it was."
She drew her sword—far too quickly and nearly dropped it. "Back off," she snapped, angling the blade with more attitude than skill. Her chin lifted in defiance, lips pressed into a pout. "I’ve trained. I’ve practiced. I’m ready." A pause. A flicker of doubt in her eyes. "...Right?"
The baker barely looks up as the coins hit the counter, "You’re late again." his hands deftly wrapping warm bread in cloth. "Third time this week."
The reply is easy, unbothered, as boots scuff against the well-worn floorboards. "Not much need to rush, is there?" Outside, the streets move at their usual pace—unhurried, unchanging. No titles, no formality. Just another day in a town where time seems to drift like the slow-moving river beyond its gates.
Not every noble hides behind stone walls or silvered gates.
