Of Tea And Tenderness

Izana brought her to a cozy teahouse—a quiet place he frequented. He greeted the owner, a young man dressed in green robes, his long blond hair pinned back neatly. His green eyes held a calm indifference as he offered a small bow, then called for a waiter to guide them to a private booth.

Izana leaned in, murmured a few quiet words to the owner, and then followed the waiter.

Their booth was simple yet elegant. A small oak table stood at the center, flanked by two low chairs cushioned in soft green fabric. Bamboo curtains hung halfway over the window, which opened onto a garden glistening as though it had just been touched by rain. A few tasteful adornments lined the room, adding to its quiet charm.

Izana stepped forward and pulled out a chair for her. As Nyra sat, he gently adjusted it, the closeness of the gesture catching her off guard. With the low seat and the nearness between them, it almost felt as though she were wrapped in his embrace.

A soft, woody scent lingered in the air—fresh, with a hint of citrus. For a brief moment, she could hear nothing but the drumming of her own heart.

Izana sat down, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment longer than usual.

“Are you alright? Your face is flushed,” he asked gently, reaching out to brush his fingers lightly against her forehead.

Nyra's blush deepened. Izana leaned back, a faint look of confusion in his eyes.

“You don’t seem feverish.”

“I’m alright… don’t worry,” she said quickly, almost stumbling over her words.

He handed her the menu card, and after a few moments, the waiter arrived to take their orders. Once their choices were made and the server departed, silence returned to the room—comfortable, but charged.

Izana tilted his head slightly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Tell me, Princess… is my pendant more handsome than I am?”

“What?” Nyra blinked, confused.

“Your eyes linger on it more than they stay on my face.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not coveting your precious pendant,” she replied, lifting her chin slightly in mock offense.

“Too bad,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady. “I was pondering on gifting it to you, since you seem to like it so much.”

A flicker of surprise danced across her face before she laughed softly, a sound that blended easily with the gentle rustle of the bamboo curtains.

“The Silver Prince sure knows how to choose words,” she said, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

Izana's eyes glinted with quiet amusement. “Only when the listener is worth the effort.”

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There was a pause, soft and lingering, filled only by the faint sounds of the garden outside—the trickle of water, the distant call of a bird, the rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze.

“I heard the prince can play the piano?” she asked, curiosity threading her voice.

“A little…” he replied, his voice lowering, tinged with quiet recollection. “Mother loved it, so I learned… a little.”

The shift in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. Nyra softened her own, trying to lift the weight that had momentarily settled between them.

“Archery and piano—seems the prince has many talents,” she said lightly, offering a small smile.

Izana raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk returning to his lips. “Is the princess currying favor to get her hands on my beloved pendant?” he asked, deliberately drawing out the word beloved.

Nyra laughed, unbothered, leaning slightly forward. “I wouldn’t dream of plotting for something so dear to your heart.”

“Oh?” he murmured, amusement flickering in his eyes. “That sounds exactly like something someone plotting would say.”

The mood lightened once more, and after a while, their order was served.

Before they followed the waiter into the private booth, Izana had leaned in to speak with the teahouse owner. His voice was low and deliberate.

“For the lady’s tea, osmanthus oolong—lightly steeped. Add a spoon of wild acacia honey, not the usual blend. And one more thing—have the palace send over the honeyed almond blossoms.”

He paused, almost as an afterthought. “She has a particular fondness for honey.”

The owner nodded, a brief glint of amusement flashing in his calm green eyes.

Soon after, seated comfortably in their quiet booth, Izana handed Nyra the menu, and as he predicted, she chose the osmanthus oolong. They placed their orders: Silver Needle tea for him, osmanthus oolong for her; a small selection of herbed cheese pastries, thinly sliced pears, pickled vegetables, and a mooncake each.

Not long after, Izana excused himself with a soft, “I’ll be back in just a moment,” and stepped out, his robes brushing softly against the bamboo curtain as he exited to pay for their order.

Nyra was left in the serene room, the stillness broken only by the faint garden breeze and the rustle of the curtains. She gazed out the half-open window, lost in thought.

The server returned silently, setting down the tea and the light refreshments they had ordered. Then, without a word, he placed a small plate in front of her—a delicate arrangement of golden pastries, shaped like petals, their surface faintly glazed in honey, perfumed with almond and saffron.

She stared at them for a moment, caught off guard.

“These weren’t on the menu,” she murmured.

The server gave a polite nod.

“His Highness requested them specially for you. Honeyed almond blossoms, from the palace kitchen.”

Nyra blinked, her hand pausing halfway to her teacup. A soft breath of laughter slipped from her lips—quiet, warm.

She reached for one of the blossoms and took a bite. Crisp on the outside, tender within, the honey melting gently on her tongue.

“He notices far too much,” she said quietly to herself, setting the rest of the pastry down, a smile tugging at her lips.

Izana returned a moment later, calm as ever, his steps unhurried. He took his seat and reached for his tea, as if nothing had changed.

But Nyra glanced at him with narrowed eyes, the blossom still in her hand.

“So you were watching me at breakfast.”

He raised a brow, amused.

“Should I not have been?”