The sun had barely begun its climb when the procession gathered in the courtyard.
Mist still clung to the stones, wrapping the castle in a breathless hush, the kind that made every hoofbeat and creak of leather feel too loud. The banners above hung heavy with dew. And the air, though summer-warm, carried the bite of something ending.
I stood just beneath the eastern arch, shadowed by ivy and marble, watching them assemble.
Kai was already mounted, his silhouette still and tall, but his grip on the reins was too tight. Cassian was checking over the guard formations, his mouth a grim line. My father stood between them, offering nods, brief words, a last tug of Kai’s cloak straight.
But my eyes weren’t on them.
They were on her.
My mother.
She wasn’t wearing her crown. Just a blue velvet cloak over her nightrobe, its edge damp where it brushed the stones. Her blond hair was pinned back, but not perfectly — a few strands had come loose, curling against her cheeks like the touch of an invisible hand.
She approached slowly. No fanfare. No titles. Just a woman walking toward the man she loved.
He saw her, and for a moment — just a heartbeat — the King of Valara vanished. All the years of war, of duty, of loss… fell away.
He looked at her like she was the first sunrise he’d ever seen.
They didn’t speak at first. Her hand came to rest gently on his chest. His fingers covered hers.
“I thought you wouldn’t come down,” he murmured.
“I almost didn’t,” she replied softly.
A silence stretched between them.
“I would stay if I could,” he said. And I think he meant it. “I—”
She cut him off with a shake of her head. “You can’t. And I wouldn’t ask you to.”
She reached up then, brushing her fingers across his jaw like she was memorizing it. “But you will return. Do you understand me, Tharion?”
He gave a rough exhale. “Yes, Lyssara.”
Her eyes softened, but they didn’t glisten. My mother rarely cried. But something in her posture… the way she leaned into him, just for a second longer than anyone else could see — that was enough.
He kissed her knuckles.
And then, without looking back, she turned and walked past me, her expression unreadable, her shoulders square.
But her hand — the one he had kissed — trembled as she passed.
And I knew: she was breaking in silence too.
I turned away from the fading image of my mother and father, blinking fast against the heat rising behind my eyes. The halls were thinning of soldiers and sound — soon, the gates would open and the riders would disappear beyond them.
And I still hadn’t said goodbye to him.
I found Soren near the stables, his armor dark with polish, his sword strapped high over his back. He was helping another soldier tighten a saddle before he caught sight of me. The moment our eyes met, he dismissed the man with a short nod and strode toward me.
“You came,” he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle. “I didn’t think you’d let me leave without a fight.”
I tried to smile. “I almost didn’t.”
He stopped a breath away, towering and calm, but I could see the flicker of hesitation in his gaze — the same kind I’d seen once when he stepped in front of me during an ambush.
“I’ll miss you,” I said softly, “so you have to come back. That’s not a request.”
“I wasn’t planning on dying,” he murmured, then hesitated. “But if I was… I’d regret not seeing you one last time.”
That made the tears sting again. “Then promise me.”
“I promise,” he said without pause. “But I need you to promise me something too.”
I blinked at him.
He reached forward, gently brushing a thumb against my cheek, drying a tear I hadn’t noticed fall. “Be careful. Adrian’s not what he seems. He hides behind flattery and perfect words, but there’s something… I don’t like the way he watches you.”
My stomach twisted. “He’s been kind.”
“So was the fox to the rabbit, just before the kill.”
I shook my head. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”
Soren smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Bonnie will stay behind. She’ll keep you safe until I return.”
“She always does.” I tried to laugh, but it wobbled. “But you… you’re not invincible.”
“No,” he said, voice lower now, “but I’ve never had something worth surviving for before.”
His hand brushed my hair back, lingering. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead — not like a soldier. Not like a friend. Something warmer. Sadder. Like he wanted to say more, but didn’t know how.
When he pulled back, he swallowed hard. “Goodbye, princess.”
“Goodbye, Soren.”
The gates had closed behind the last rider.
Their thunder was gone. The dust lingered.
And I was alone.
I wandered out into the courtyard, past the quiet halls and shuttered windows, until I found the old pear tree.
The garden had never felt so vast. Even with the soft hum of bees in the distance and the fountain’s gentle murmur, everything around me felt muted. Like the palace itself was holding its breath.
I sank down onto the stone bench beneath the tree, its familiar branches swaying in the breeze — the same tree Kai and I used to climb when we were children, when everything felt whole. I used to dream of growing up beneath these leaves. Dreamed of becoming someone worthy of the stories.
Now I just wanted them to stay.
Father. Cassian. Soren. Soon, Sylas.
They were all leaving.
And I… I was still here. Watching them vanish like mist. Holding tight to the echoes they left behind.
I curled my arms around myself, letting the silence settle. I could still feel the press of Soren’s lips against my forehead. The warmth of his gloved hand when he took mine. The weight of his gaze — steady, lingering, like he didn’t want to let go.
He hadn’t said it. Neither had I.
But it had been there. In the space between words. In the look he gave me like it might be the last.
Bonnie will stay, he’d said. She’ll keep you safe until I return.
Not if.
Until.
I clung to that. Let it settle in my chest like armor.
Because he had to return. He would. Because I needed him to. Because I didn’t know how to feel safe without his silent steps behind mine, his calm presence at my side — always watching. Always there.
It was foolish, maybe. He was my guard, sworn to the crown. But he was also… Soren.
Not just duty and sword and silence.
But something steadier. Something quieter.
My fingers twisted in my lap.
I should’ve told him. That I’d be waiting. That I trusted him more than I’d ever trusted anyone.
But the words wouldn’t come — not with the world cracking at the edges. Not with everything else unraveling.
I tilted my head to the sky, to the dappled sunlight through the branches, and whispered, “Valis… if you’re listening, keep them safe.”
The wind stirred.
Not an answer. But maybe a touch.
I closed my eyes and tried to memorize it all — the scent of honeysuckle, the faint warmth of stone beneath me, the way the shadows danced across my skin.
Soon, everything would change.
And I wasn’t ready.
But I would be.
I had to be.
Even if the people I loved were scattering like petals in the wind — I would be the one who stayed.
I didn’t hear him approach. Of course I didn’t.
One moment I was alone in the quiet corridor outside the royal stables, and the next—
“Well, this is tragic,” came a familiar voice, low and velvet-smooth. “You weren’t going to let me leave without a proper goodbye, were you?”
I turned, heart lurching.
Sylas leaned against the archway, all shadow and silver, wind-tossed hair half-falling into those impossible eyes — one golden, one violet, both catching the dying light.
His smile was crooked. Almost playful.
Almost.
“You came to find me,” I said, trying to sound steadier than I felt.
“Of course I did,” he replied, stepping closer. “What kind of villain would I be if I vanished without a final, overly dramatic goodbye?”
I gave a small laugh, but it caught in my throat. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
He studied me, the teasing light dimming into something softer.
“I do,” he said quietly. “He’s my father. My war. My curse to break.”
“And if you don’t come back?” My voice was barely a whisper.
He stopped in front of me. Closer now. Close enough to feel the warmth of him, the wildness he always carried like a second skin.
“I will,” he said, gaze locking with mine. “I have something worth coming back for.”
The silence between us thickened — not awkward, not uncertain, but weighty. Like the moment itself knew it mattered.
I reached for his hand before I could think twice, fingers brushing his. “Then promise me.”
He turned my hand over in his, stared at the palm like it held a map to something he’d never had. Then, he bent — gently, reverently — and kissed the inside of my wrist.
A hush passed through me like breath.
“I swear it,” he murmured against my skin. “On every shattered star above us.”
And then he lifted his head.
I don’t know who moved first.
Maybe it was both of us at once — closing the gap not with words, but with something deeper. Older. I felt his hands slide to my waist as mine rose to the back of his neck, and when his lips met mine—
It wasn’t theatrical. It wasn’t reckless.
It was real.
His kiss was slow, careful. Like he didn’t want to break whatever this was before it had a chance to bloom. But beneath that gentleness was fire — centuries of defiance and ache, all stitched into one impossibly fleeting moment.
And when we finally parted, neither of us said a word.
He rested his forehead against mine, breathing as if it hurt.
“I should go,” he said, not moving.
“I know.”
He stepped back first. Then smiled — softly this time. No mask. No dramatics. Just Sylas.
“Don’t fall in love with anyone while I’m gone, Princess.”
“I’ll try not to,” I whispered. “But you better hurry back.”
He gave a bow so elegant it almost looked like mockery — almost — then turned, his cloak catching the wind like the wings of a crow.
And just like that, he was gone.
The gardens were quiet now. Too quiet.
I remained in the alcove where Sylas had left me, the kiss still pressed like a phantom heat against my lips, the warmth of his hands still imprinted on my skin. I should’ve moved—gone back inside, rejoined the world—but my limbs felt heavy, my chest heavier still.
The hush of dusk settled over the palace like a held breath. Shadows stretched long between the marble arches. Somewhere, the faint chime of bells echoed from the temple, their call distant and somber. The sun dipped behind the towers, casting the sky in that strange mix of rose and bruised violet that always made me feel like the day itself was mourning.
One by one, they were leaving.
My twin, my brothers. My father. Soren. Even Sylas, who had danced into my life like a storm with mismatched eyes and too many riddles—gone, now, to kill a monster that shared his blood.
And I was still here.
Still.
Waiting.
Watching.
I sank onto the cool stone bench, tucking my knees up beneath my chin, fingers twisting in the hem of my sleeve. The garden breeze smelled of lavender and burnt cedarwood, but the scent only made my throat tighten.
I didn’t want to be brave anymore.
I didn’t want to smile and wave and say goodbye with dry eyes. I didn’t want to pretend that the ache in my chest was something I could carry alone. How could I?
How could the world go on, knowing they might not return?
A breath hitched in my chest. I let it. Let the sting behind my eyes blur the gilded sky and let the wind tug loose strands of hair from my braid. I thought of Soren’s quiet strength, of Kai’s stubborn grin, of Cassian’s hand brushing mine even as we argued. I thought of my father’s steady voice when he said goodbye, and my mother’s shaking hands even as she smiled.
I thought of Sylas’s kiss and how much he hadn’t said, and how much I hadn’t dared to feel.
And for a moment, in the hush between heartbeats, I let myself grieve.
For them. For me. For the childhood that was ending and the war that had already begun.
A lone star blinked through the haze of dusk. I watched it, knees hugged to my chest, and whispered a quiet promise into the darkening air.
“Come back to me. All of you.”
And then the wind carried it away.
I should’ve gone to my room. I should’ve locked the door and buried myself under pillows and grief and silence. But I couldn’t sit still. Not yet. Not when it felt like something inside me had been unraveled strand by strand and left in a heap on the floor.
I wandered instead — through the quieter parts of the palace, where tapestries whispered in the breeze and the sun made firelight on the stone.
That’s where he found me.
"You're still awake?" Adrian’s voice was soft, and too smooth. I turned to find him at the end of the gallery, a ribbon of golden light painting the side of his face.
"So are you," I said, not moving.
He approached slowly, hands tucked behind his back like he wasn’t sure if he was meant to console me or ask permission to be close. He looked calm. Kind. As if nothing had changed.
But everything had.
"You didn’t come to the courtyard," he said. "When they rode out."
"I said my goodbyes already."
"To all of them?" he asked carefully.
I flinched. Just slightly. “I don’t owe anyone a goodbye.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “But sometimes we give them anyway. For ourselves.”
A pause. He looked at me then — really looked at me. “You’ve been crying.”
“Everyone cries,” I muttered.
“Not you,” he said. “Not unless it matters.”
He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my cheek. His fingers were warm. Too warm. His touch careful, almost reverent.
Too careful.
“You don’t have to carry all this alone, Kira,” he murmured. “I’m still here.”
The words struck something in me — not because they were untrue, but because they were. He was here. He had stayed. And part of me hated how much comfort I almost found in that.
I didn’t speak. I just looked at him — at the boy who’d been a friend, a safe place, someone who always tried to mean well.
But it wasn’t the same anymore.
He stepped a little closer.
“I would never leave you,” he said. “Not like them.”
The way he said it — so gently, so pointed — curled unease through my spine.
"I know you're hurting," he added. "Let me help."
His hand brushed my arm. I stepped back.
"I don’t need help right now," I said. "I just need quiet."
Adrian’s smile faltered, but only for a second. Then it settled again — warm, patient, practiced.
“Of course. I just… wanted you to know. I’m not going anywhere.”
He lingered a moment longer, as if waiting for me to change my mind. But I didn’t.
Eventually, he bowed — not deeply. Just enough to be polite.
And then he was gone.
I stood there a while, long after his footsteps had vanished. The light faded from the gallery, leaving the world in cool shadow.
And still, I didn’t move.
I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for his presence.
Or afraid of it.
The corridor was nearly empty again.
I stood there in the silence, surrounded by sunlight turned gray, still reeling from everything I didn’t say to Adrian — everything I couldn’t say to anyone. My body felt like it didn’t belong to me. My head ached. My chest ached worse.
Then, footsteps. Soft, deliberate.
I turned.
A woman approached — one of my mother’s senior aides. Her expression was kind but taut, her arms full of parchment and sealed letters.
“Princess Kira,” she said, bowing slightly. “Forgive the intrusion. Your mother instructed me to find you.”
I blinked, startled. “Is something wrong?”
“No, Your Highness,” she replied carefully. “Just… redirected. The Queen wishes to place the oversight of the trial proceedings under your temporary authority.”
That caught me off guard. “The trial?”
I’d nearly forgotten it in the whirlwind — the upcoming final judgment for Lady Catherine and Duke Lanovo, the council that had been growing more divided by the day.
The aide’s lips pressed thin. “It was meant to begin next week. But with His Majesty and the council’s senior members now at war…” Her voice faltered, but only briefly. “She thought it best to delay. The new date is undecided.”
“And she wants me to—what—manage it?”
“Ensure nothing slips,” the aide said. “Manage documentation. Appear as presence, if not judgment. Her Majesty has left instructions, but she wants the court to see you holding the reins.”
I hesitated.
It wasn’t the responsibility that unnerved me — I’d already stepped into that space a hundred times without being asked.
It was the timing. The weight of it. Everyone else was leaving, and yet somehow… the crown was still anchoring me here.
I nodded slowly. “Tell her I’ll handle it.”
The woman bowed again, more deeply this time. “Thank you, Princess. And… she also asks that you visit her. When you’re ready.”
I said nothing as she left — just clutched the edge of the marble sill until the stone pressed cold against my skin.
A postponed trial. A shifting court. A mother who was slipping, and didn’t want me to see it.
And still… no time to grieve. No space to fall apart.
Only duty.