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His gaze never left her, not when she spoke of blood, nor when she spoke of fools, nor even when she offered that careful lie and dressed it in enough truth to make it difficult to separate one from the other. for a moment, silence settled between them once more. the warm heliophrian wind stirred the loose fabric of his sleeves, carrying distant music from somewhere below. “no,” he said at last, voice low and even. “i don't think that's all you can do.” his attention lingered on her fingers where they tightened briefly against the stone before relaxing again. “in fact, i suspect you're capable of considerably more than most people realize.” there was no flattery in the observation, if anything it sounded like recognition. then came the rest, the wanting, the pining, the insult. beric allowed every possibility to hang between them without rushing to catch a single one.

for the first time, something faintly thoughtful crossed his expression. “maybe,” the word arrived calmly. “though if that was your attempt at convincing me you've spent the last month longing dramatically from a mountain window, i fear you'll have to work harder.” the corner of his mouth curved slightly. “i've always found you capable of more convincing lies than that.” his gaze followed her as she turned away, dismissing him as though she had not spent the last several minutes doing the exact opposite. “you think i'm asking the wrong question,” a small pause followed as he stepped closer. hunter to his prey. “i don't particularly care whether you missed me, lenore.” quieter now as his hand lifted to coil a curl on his finger. “because for someone who insists none of this matters, you spend an awful lot of time trying to convince me otherwise.”

Lenore seemed to have developed a habit of starting games she could not win. How many times had she tried to string him up, only for him to entrap her instead? She let the silence stretch between them, half-noose, half-chain, while she smiled faintly, her eyes devoid of mirth. “You flatter me.” Lifting her head slightly, she took a deep breath, registering the barest trace of honeysuckle in the air, cloying and sweet in the cool night. In the distance, the music lingered on a single trembling chord. “Whether or not I am capable of more, the true question is whether I will.” Her voice was its own hushed melody, a silver bell. “Instead, I am here, speaking with you in circles again, and gaining little that is of use to me.” From her periphery, she watched his eyes cloud. They were still the deepest blue she had ever seen. Lenore wanted to lean in, to read his thoughts, to unspool him, to learn him. Why could she never tell what he was thinking? Perhaps if she finally could, she would grow tired of him, and then this affliction would cease.

More words. He curled a lock around his finger, and she let him. Something inside her coiled in answer, cold and dangerous. “The image does not appeal to you? What a pity.” She met his eyes and did not blink. “I made the lie pretty, just for you. Of course, I should have known better.” Her finger traced the edge of the banister, discovering the invisible grooves worn by time into the stone. “You like raw truths you can cut your teeth on.” She let the words settle before continuing. “You know what amuses me most about you, wolf? How you seem to enjoy the hunt, and yet, once you seemingly have captured your prey, you do not seem quite to know what to do with it.” Her hand lifted then, smoothing a wrinkle from his tunic with a feather-light touch. “I did not come here to convince you. I came here to play.” A soft sigh left her lips, scented faintly like jasmine. “But you have bored me.”

The words struck harder than they should have. for a moment seraphyna simply stared at him because love was not something hiran had ever spoken of like this. not like a farewell, or like a eulogy spoken over something not yet dead. the heaviness in her chest deepened, grew even. his voice carried grief where warmth should have been and suddenly she hated it, hated the distance in it. hated the careful way he looked at her as though she were already becoming a memory. when he stepped away, instinct moved faster than thought. “no.” the word left her softly, breathlessly, as panic began to settle in. her hand caught the sleeve of his tunic before he could put more distance between them. for perhaps the first time since he had arrived, composure slipped. silver eyes searched his face desperately now, glossed with something dangerously close to tears. “hiran, stop.”

her grip tightened only slightly. as though she feared letting go would somehow allow him to disappear entirely. “what are you talking about?” the question came quieter this time, less patient and more frightened. because some terrible part of her already knew this conversation was no longer about promises, or hope, or philosophy. it was about them and she did not understand why. “why are you speaking to me as though something has already happened?” her voice faltered despite herself. “as though you've already decided something and i'm the last person being told.” the lantern light flickered across her features, illuminating the growing distress she could no longer entirely hide. her chest felt tight, every answer he gave seemed only to create more questions. seraphyna shook her head once. “you're frightening me.” the admission emerged barely above a whisper, honest in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. her gaze never left his. “please.” the word caught painfully in her throat. “tell me what you mean.”

Stop, she said. Pleaded. He could not. Because he was the one who had done this, he who had sworn her only the greatest happiness, and yet had already brought her such sorrow that she had been reduced to weeping at a single phrase. The sound of it carved into him, a quiet, unbearable thing. Something inside him hardened all the same, a final, desperate defense rising up against her so he would not collapse at her feet. If he let even a shred of feeling in now, he knew he would never leave. He would stay with her forever, surrender entirely, and continue to taint her with his unworthy hands until their love blackened like overripe fruit and fell, spoiled beyond saving. She would either come to despise him once she realized his failings, or she would perish because of them, and then the world would truly burn, for he would be the one to set the pyre. So instead, for her, for the realm, for his oath, he would kill his heart. Murder their love. Once, he would have crawled through glass to reach her, died a thousand deaths to hold her hand. Now he would suffer her parting instead, sever himself from her, and suffer the gaping wound of her absence.

He carefully took her wrist, as though it might shatter, as though he might, removing her touch from his sleeve. “Seraphyna, it’s over.” The words fell from his mouth like sulfur, a confession phrased as penance. “I cannot be with you.” Quickly, almost reflexively, Hiran dropped her hand, as if her touch itself were poison. “It was unfair of me to promise you my heart, when in truth it was never mine to give.” His eyes lifted to her, smothered, deadened, devoid of feeling. “I made a mistake and made you suffer for it.” His words came out neatly, almost courteous, as if he had rehearsed them for many nights. “I thought I could be both man and knight, but I forgot myself, my duty, and I cannot betray my name.” He bowed then, deeply, formally. “I cannot ask for your forgiveness,” he whispered, the slightest fracture in his voice, “but I hope one day you will come to understand.”

.✦ ݁˖ ⸻ Efigenia sat precariously close to the edge of the balcony's precipice. It felt as though if she leaned far enough, she could spill out over the side and the stars would carry her afloat, their essence burning brightly, starkly, madly, within the evening sky. She'd barely spent her time in Heliophra, the golden sands and ivory pillars the complete antithesis to the grayscale of her home within Drakathar. One of her pets was perched upon her knee, the beetle chittering into the quiet buzz of the night. She had tossed everything to the wayside by throwing her name into the battle for Chosen - a losing battle - but one she fought madly to entertain. Her sister had chosen a life within Vexmarsh, a deliberate act of silence against Efigenia for all her recklessness. She was ruling lady of the house and though she had opened the door for Amarei to walk away, a means of refuge against Graveholt, the silence screamed louder than ever before.

Though she heard the other approach, she did not address them directly, speaking to the beetle which was one of the only one's left within the empty embrace of Graveholt; it made sense she would not leave them behind in her journey to Elaris Keep.

" Who will be next to fall ? " Cooed to the creature perched on her leg, her eyes finally wandered to the one who joined her on the balcony. " Who joins the Lady of Sheer Castle in her sacrifice ? " An inappropriate laugh escaped her for if Efigenia was to meet the hands of death before her name was offered vengeance then all would be for naught.

Lenore drifted closer. The hem of her dress whispered against the stone as she moved. Her sleeves hung silently at her sides, hiding her fingers, a wingspan held close to her body. She cocked her head, features blank, devoid of color.

The story would go thus: Lady Efigenia Velwyrn, moon-drunk, maddened, had leapt into the air. Naturally, she had laughed the entire way down. Lenore could almost see it, how for a moment, caught within the spill of her dark skirts, she would become a thing of flight and beauty, hair caught in the wind like ink in water, before the night grasped at her ankles and pulled her into the abyss.

She stepped closer. Her hand lifted, only to find the balcony’s edge instead. “The slaughter is yet to start, Lady Velwyrn. First come the rites.” Lenore stepped beside her, crossing her arms upon the banister. “All sacrifice must be accompanied by ceremony,” she added softly, almost like a lullaby sung to a maddened child. “Else it is only butchery.” She took note of the small creature cradled in the woman’s lap, spoken to like a nursed babe. Fascinating. Such a tangled mind she seemed to have tonight, so ripe for the plucking. “You seem most devoted.”

Cian had shut himself in a birdcage of his own making—golden gilded crystal windows, tall and open to the night sky; distance, from the world outside. A necessity due to his own brittleness, waiting for the craftsmanship of Lenore’s hands to fill the cracks of him with her stalwart silver. But now, here is a man that could break past those walls and shatter him with nothing but a whisper. Cian had gifted him that power as if it were nothing but a common flower, after all, and had done so with glad hands.

Sheng had never been one that Cian had ever feared, not until now. And so the soft words are an absolution, one that he is slow to trust—not due to the man’s own faults, but his own desperate desire for them making him doubt it being so easily got. It is the touch that breaks through the madness. Cian does not stand, but rather turns his head and allows himself to burrow into the safety of Sheng’s arms. He hides there, breathes him in, lets the comfort of it drown him enough until the dam within him overflows and snaps. Cian does not shake nor sob, but his eyes well up with practiced silence, leaving tear-tracks over Sheng’s heart.

He is peeled raw in front of Lenore. That, in itself, is more soothing than their shared quietude had been. If she were to find him wanting now, it would be for the whole of him. There would be no ambiguity to hide behind, and no more to give.

If the world was kinder, he could hide in that safety forever, and yet, it is not. Still, he lingers as he looks up, meeting Sheng’s crimson eyes with his bloody own. “There is nothing to forgive.” Rather than to cut, Sheng had come to mend. This is a bond that Cian would not allow to break.

Already he had prepared himself to cross the boundary and had been interrupted mid-step. Now, they would both be witness. Cian stands—leaving both their affections behind as he walks further into the balcony, now with the background of the nearby stars. “My father has refused to see me.” A pause. “And all I've got are news, twisted as they have passed through countless hands. I am ignorant to what he plans, and neither do I have the luxury to wait for him to deign to let us find out. When I took to the title of Council Lord, I did so believing that I would turn what is considered a weakness within Braxigar into a strength without. Let my meekness match theirs, so that they would find me an equal, and finally understand.” He turns to them. His voice breaks at the admittance that follows. “I was wrong.”

Weakness, it had remained. No longer. Cian’s gaze hardens.“I am no old fool, set in my ways out of pride and stubbornness. If this method does not work, then I must find another. These killers have furthered their reach, and now they tear into our flesh and render us into nothing. They’ve lit a pyre which they wish to use to drown us in the darkness it casts; for our foes dwell in the shadows, speak in whispers, linger in the walls—but so do you.” He steps forward, towards her. “Lenore.”It had always been her. Cian would learn to walk with the wind of the storm that would follow her. “They have tipped the scales in their favor through blood and fear. Let my weight be the one that brings the balance.”

He bows, deep and supplicant. “Let me be your hands in the light.”

There's nothing to forgive.

Wasn't there? He had failed, he realizes now, as he watches his body grow cold and his posture rigid. Not the boy he loved—but the vestiges of something he had failed to keep safe. That was always the point, wasn't it? Of every compromise, every cruelty, every stain upon his conscience—he had endured them with grace, bowing his head for every lash feasted on nothing but darkness for years—it would all be worth it if people like him, if he should never have to carry such burdens. But now he asks to be a scythe, asks to be yielded. Will that hand reap life too? Will it cast others into damnation? Will it stain red with sins he cannot wash away?

He wants to warn him: once you cross over, there are things in the darkness that can keep your heart from ever feeling the light again.

But he would not heed his warning, would he?

He watches Cian slip away from him little by little, gone, drifting, and he knows he has failed, in every way there was to fail. He lets go, fingers curling reflexively at his side, old scars pull taut beneath pale skin. He is a night that raves and moans, restless, uneasy, filled with dread—the loss of purpose leaves him without aim, floating in the emptiness of himself. He says nothing more, not a word, not a sound, and the way his hand falls feels final, an unspoken relinquishing hope as he surrendered to his own quietude, his head turns from her, from him, a final act of resignation.

The moon paints him in melancholy's image, perched high in the skies, and like Cian, entirely out of his reach; the pale ghost of his face full of woe, absent of mirth. His heart bleeding, aching, pinned to his throat. He can taste bile, in his head a pounding of a drum, and his rage—his rage will not slumber, but it feels deflated as his shoulders curl inward, spine wilted with defeat, his mouth was a smear of seeping sadness. It seemed to invade every part of him, down to his very marrow. He mourns him like wolves mourn their own, standing over their bloodied caress, howling in grief. Where was he when their innocence was torn asunder?

I am ignorant to what he plans, he says. and neither do I have the luxury to wait for him to deign to let us find out.

He wants to laugh at the absurdity of the sentiment. Did he not know? How could he not know? He could tell him now.

He'd scorch the earth searching for what he lost. And if he could not find it, he'd scorch it all the same, for daring to deny him. He would have done the same, he almost had. A man driven mad with grief, a man willing to burn the world down for the one person they care about—that's a man he could understand.

He is smiling—but it's a beast's baring teeth, soulless, quiet footsteps leading him to a deserted corner of the opposing side of where the shadows could cloak him in their familiar embrace. He leans there, without speaking, hunched, where bloody eyes can wander off into the darkness, hands gripping at the railing. For the first time he feels tired, alone. That crippling, aching loneliness that had crawled into him during his years of isolation crawls back to him, reminding him it never left. How could he forget it? The dry, sharp exhale is almost laugh, dead too soon, a chill against the warm weather as the wind rustles with the inky blackness of his hair.

He approached, her lamb with carmine slaughter in his eyes, the blood-cost that would now surely follow in their wake, for no good intentions ever came without sacrifice. But he was right about one thing. His hands would remain as pristine as the day he first came into this world, screaming into an endless night, lungs bellowing the promise of survival. That would be his role, his oath: the man who dipped the world into baptismal waters and, willing or not, would bring on rebirth, no matter the pains of growing, the ache of that first gasp into new tomorrows. For he had sacrifice writ inside the script of his veins, a prodigal prince in everything but name, and she would be his inkwell, his quill, to tell the tale of him until they both lay buried beneath the same banner, if it ever came to such tragic endings. She would carry the stain, the blot, sully her good name to keep his rejoiced on others’ lips. For he’d seen her. He’d chosen her, just as surely as she had chosen him. All along, she’d thought herself the servant, but here he was, lowering himself before her. He would lower himself in the dust for her sake, if need be, and that is why she would elevate him from the rabble. Because of all those born to grander names, only he understood that nobility came with obligation, would lash his flesh for the good of them all.

Lenore said nothing, an effigy carved from ivory and slashed with blood, the maroon of her dress pooling at his feet like a spreading stain. She took his hand, larger in hers, etched with calluses, yet handled with a reverence reserved for sacred vessels. She pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “My lord.” Her eyes lifted, silvered in the night. “My crown.” A step closer. Her other hand reached out to briefly caress the line of his jaw. “We shall serve each other, and with it all of Nocturnia.” She loved him, she knew then. A pure sort of love, that of one kindred heart to another, bound in a purpose larger than themselves. As a brother, as a king, as a destiny. “I will be the shadow to your light, your knife in the dark.” Her voice did not raise. Her words carried no excess. Only certainty.

Lenore held his eyes for a moment, as serene as a spill of moonlight. “The work will be heavy, we may yet suffer greatly in our pursuit, and there will be no reward at the end.” She continued, voice steady. “No laurel wreaths, no songs of victory, no praise nor thanks. We will not deserve such graces, Cian. We will need to make ourselves undeserving, do you understand? Once we do this, the world that comes to pass… it may well be that there will be no place for us there.” She did not speak for Cian’s sake then, but for another’s. Her monster had turned to stone, a memorial monolith, a cenotaph. She watched the sepulcher of his form, the weight engraved into his bones in the form of their names. While they had chosen their path, he had been dragged into its depths. Her warning came as close to an apology as she would ever give.

Love was the death of duty, so the common saying went. But Sheng’s love had become his death, and now he would be resurrected unto duty. Cian had been the knife sliding between his ribs, and Lenore the hand that had held him down during it all. And so, she stepped towards him, carefully, the way one tried not to spook an animal in the process of succumbing to his wounds. “Sheng.” Her voice was a soft cruelty. “Do not turn from us.” Her hand, gently beckoning. “Please, come here. Speak.” Perhaps she was wrong, she reflected. Perhaps Sheng himself was the rib, parted from them, their third, to be hewn into a better shape. She could do that for him. For them all.

even in darkness, the heat of the still permeated everything in heliophra. something that had her yearning for him. it wasn’t the only time she had thought such in the little time they had been in the hollow. but this wasn’t necessarily a new feeling. everywhere they traveled as of late, left her wanting. wanting to be with vryn, in the wild. free. no care in the world but their own survival. as taste of blood on her tongue. viscera on her hands.

but…

she walked shortly behind her sister through the market. quietly keeping an eye on her and ysolde as she often did most days. a loss of someone high in the chain of hollows danced across her mind. with her sister’s plans there were enemies that could not be seen. morella would not allow her sister to be caught unawares. even with her dedication in this mission, she was tempted by the vendor as well. perhaps she could not be hunting on her own or with her preferred partner… she could certainly enjoy a bounty from another with the right coin.

sharps eyes watched lenore pay for three skewers. three. a soft sound danced in her chest that wasn’t meant for anyone else to hear when frozen eyes met their match in morella’s. for a moment, she feigned indifference for a beat. soon her feet carried her close to her sister, reaching for her hand that held the skewer meant for her.

Lenore took a small bite, the meat so tender it seemed to dissolve upon her tongue. She did not often indulge in such visceral pleasures, yet her sister, blood of her bone, seemed wont to draw out these small excesses. They had been less shaped by girlhood than forged into their respective armors, one of silk and one of steel; and yet, beneath the iron in their mouths, the taste of youth still lingered. For instance: Lenore’s favored honey cakes, neatly sliced into six, passed between them in equal measure. They would chew in tandem, ensuring not a single crumb went undivided. Every bounty was savored in slow indulgence. It was not their habit to hurry—not when the sisters possessed the self-control of those thrice their age. Not with Lenore’s quick tongue and Morella’s quicker feet. They had been born into a world they knew to be dying, and so took from it no more than it granted—only what they might coax from it themselves, through patient, steady hands, like the wind that carved through mountain stone.

Taking another bite, her teeth closing neatly around the fat without spilling a drop, Lenore chewed in thought. She swallowed, then said, “I thought I should buy a blade.” She spoke as one might remark upon the choosing of a ribbon. “Your expertise would be most appreciated. Ysolde?” Her handmaid stepped closer, deep brown eyes quiet, attentive. “Perhaps you might go on ahead and continue our other shopping?”

it was strange, to not leave his quarters in search of the kaelvorn heir and have to consider his every move. to not look over his shoulder and ensure there was no one following, or paying attention too closely. if there was any positive to the truth being exposed regarding their relationship, it was that he no longer had to move with paranoia. and it seemed the same could be said for their staff. when he sought out lenore at the kaelvorn lodging, one of her attendants did not bother to hide where she had snuck off to.

when he approached the pond, varyn couldn't help but feel for a moment like he was back at vexmarsh. near the uncharacteristically warm waters that surrounded his home. at her invitation, varyn did not hesitate to sit down and dip his fingers into the pond. it was refreshing in this heat. something he had grown used to experiencing when he visited heliophra in the past. specifically that of crowreach. "you know i can never turn you down, lenore." he said, looking towards the woman he had grown to think of as not only an ally, but a friend. "and it's not just because you terrify me," he joked, with a laugh. knowing her well enough, knowing how she was often steps ahead of the rest, he only asked, "what are your thoughts?"

“That is because you’ve always known what’s in your best interests, Varyn,” Lenore replied lightly, the soft tenor of her voice woven with the barest trace of mirth. Her eyes followed the movement of his fingers with languid observation, his posture bearing a comfort he had not usually worn in her presence. Another change among many, something to be folded away for later recollection. For a moment, she said nothing, lifting one foot slightly out of the water and watching liquid beads of moonlight glide down the slope of her ankle.

Finally, her gaze shifted, misted with thought. “I have been considering how best to move forward.” Each word was slow and measured. “I need not state the obvious. Vaelor Malaric on the throne could potentially cause us further trouble, for we still cannot tell where he stands, and I doubt he will share his confidence with you anytime soon, despite your cordial connection.” Her voice lowered. “A crown-wearer’s wife may hold no title of her own, but she does hold his heart and ear.” Her attention returned to the water then, as if she might read the future in its mirror, or at least glean her friend-turned-enemy's thoughts. “Did you know your sister-in-law-to-be would apply? If you did not, that is no fault of yours, but it would give me cause for concern.” Her eyes lifted again. “The intentions of your marriage were to unite your houses, after all—to stand as one against those who might act against you.”

For the first time, something closer to genuine amusement touched beric's expression, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. “how reassuring.” his gaze lingered on her as she spoke, settling for a moment on the faint curve of her smile before drifting back toward the lanterns below. “i'd hate to think i had inspired cowardice.” the reply came calmly, absent of any real concern for the threat itself. at the mention of the council, however, his attention returned fully to her. he listened, allowing the words to settle between them. “perhaps.” he did not dismiss the observation, nor did he entirely agree with it. “though people spend so much time studying the throne that they forget to watch the ones circling it.” a small pause followed, thoughtful. his gaze drifted briefly toward the garden below before returning to her once more. “you included.” there was no accusation in the words. if anything, they sounded almost curious. as though he had noticed something and was waiting to see whether she would notice it too.

beric's eyes narrowed faintly, not in irritation, but in consideration, as though he were examining something from a different angle now. “missed you?” he repeated, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. “i don't recall saying that.” the wind shifted between them, carrying distant music from somewhere far below. for a moment he said nothing, only held her gaze with that same patient attentiveness. “though i find it interesting that your mind arrived there before mine did.” his head tilted slightly. “did you want me to miss you, little bird?” the question settled between them, lingering longer than it should have. not because he expected an answer, but because he wanted to watch what she did with it. his gaze remained steady upon hers, unhurried, predatory in the way wolves often appeared most dangerous when standing perfectly still. “or have i misunderstood?” quieter now, though no less deliberate. “because for someone who claims not to care for crowns, councils, or the people chasing either, you seem remarkably interested in where my attention rests.”

Lenore grew still. Beric had phrased his observation with idle curiosity, but she knew better than to trust his calm. She knew exactly the sharpness that lingered beneath, had more than once needled it to the surface, played with it, courted it despite her better instincts. She did not hide her face, keeping her eyes on his, the blue edging into something deeper, less the ice of winter and more the mist rolling through the mountains—fleeting and unknowable. “Blood has been shed in pursuit of that throne.” Her chin inclined by a fraction. “All our lives forever changed by the event, no matter if we think ourselves above it.” For the first time in months, she remembered the warm, sticky liquid painting her skin, the wet slice of the knife, the Chosen’s bodies strewn like discarded offal. “Only a fool would avert their eye now, at this pivotal moment. So yes, I am watching carefully.” A beat, then the lie, phrased like an afterthought: “It’s all I can do.”

Her fingers tightened against the stone for a moment, but only a moment. Then a soft laugh escaped her, light, airy. “That’s not an answer, Beric,” Lenore began, eerily feeling as if she were treading darker waters, trying her best not to let the depths take her, even as she knew she chose the plunge. He would not master her. “Maybe I did,” she continued softly, her voice like watered silk. “Maybe I wanted you sick with want.” Her eyes met his, unblinking, while she leaned in just enough to close the distance without bridging the gap completely, as if the wolf’s teeth were of no concern to her. “Maybe I’m insulted by how you did not come to see me, after all you said to me in Vallarion.” Her breath wove between them. “Maybe I pined for you myself, all alone in those distant mountains.” A moment passed, and then she turned away with deliberate dismissal. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Please. You can do better than that."

Seraphyna fell silent. for a moment, only the lantern light moved between them, flickering softly across pale stone and memorial faces carved into eternity. her gaze followed his briefly toward the statues before returning to him once more. whatever answer she had expected, it had not been this. the crease between her brows deepened faintly. she could feel the fracture beneath his words now. not the shape of it. not yet. but enough to know it was there. “neither is a simple thing,” she answered quietly. her voice carried no judgment. only thought. for a moment she lowered her eyes, considering the question with the same care she might have given a prayer. “but i think breaking one's word is the greater sin.” the admission came softly, without hesitation.

when her gaze lifted again, it settled fully upon him. “hope is not a kindness we should fear giving.” a small pause followed. the warm breeze stirred loose strands of silver hair across her shoulder. “sometimes promises cannot be kept through no fault of our own. sometimes circumstances change. sometimes fate is cruel.” there was something sad in that. something born from recent months. from scrolls reduced to ash. from homes lost overnight. from names now carved into stone around them. “but to abandon a promise before it is tested...” her voice softened further. “to decide for someone else that hope is not worth having...” seraphyna shook her head gently. “i do not think i could call that mercy, but cowardice draped in silk.” her gaze lingered on him with concern. searching. “if i gave someone my word, hiran, i would rather fail trying to keep it than surrender it before the day arrived.” a small silence settled between them.

Each word was another arrowpoint delved deep into his flesh. Fate. Abandonment. Cowardice. Once more, she proved herself the better between the two of them. By all rights, the balm of her voice should have salved his fears instead of pulling at the fragile stitching that kept his composure together. “I know you would, Sera. You would never turn from a promise, no matter how much it might cost you to keep it.” His eyes remained on the hollow faces of the long-dead. His mind lingered on the dusted remains of all he'd once worshipped. “It is why I love you.” Warmth should have touched his voice, the carnelian of his eyes, as it had so often in her presence. Instead, his voice spoke as if grieving, and his gaze held the hue of cooled amber. “Even now, with what the world has taken from you, you hold onto hope. Your faith remains strong.” Nothing would break her spirit, he knew, not even him. She would endure. She would survive. She would come out stronger.

At last, he turned his face toward her, a careful mask replacing the man she knew. Beneath it, his heart slammed against his ribs in a manic rhythm. The realization descended like a hammer’s blow. He was a man of empty vows, a knight made of tin, who would choose a woman over his world, even if it burned—let alone that she might burn with it. He had coveted. He had taken what could never have belonged to him, for it was not for him to want such things, especially not her—she who was more precious to him than the stars and moon. His hand reached out again, his thumb stroking her cheek once. Selfishly, he would steal this last moment and safeguard it forevermore. A moment that lived on a single breath, the most precious one he would ever take. Then he stepped away. “I truly am sorry.”

she leapt to her feet, then, and settled on the bed beside lenore, allowing for enough distance to hold her gaze comfortably. "had you questioned my determination before?" a quirk of her brow. "i would find affront in that, were i not weary from travel." she hardly would; if she were to nurse a grudge, it would be selected with more precision. "varyn has responded to my advances, at last. or perhaps i responded to his." settling into a nest of pillows, she exhaled a half-laugh, more so to herself than to invite response. "his tenderness is more than i bargained for."

“You can’t,” Lenore replied mildly. “As no one knows the end of the jest before it's been told.” Her measured gaze remained on the other woman. “For one, you would not be smiling so.” A brief thought flit across her expression. “You’d be weeping.” Not that she expected Amarei to be easily reduced to tears. Hysteria ill-suited women of their ilk, who could not afford to wear such sorrows plainly. At court, the scent of salt was a siren call to all sorts of carrion, eager to pick apart the ruins.

The half-jest evoked a half-smile on Lenore’s part, all pale porcelain. “While names can be forgotten, blood has a way of making itself known, despite the span of centuries.” Her voice softened then, slender as pressed silk. “But while we may not be able to escape our history, the future remains a tale we may yet write ourselves.” Amarei did not need to be reminded of this fact, as she had begun to pave her own path, had cast off the scraps of a name that did not quite belong. Still, with recent developments, there was no harm in emphasizing her own approval of the direction she had chosen. Lenore turned on her side to better observe the other woman, who now rested beside her. This close, she could perceive each individual eyelash, long and inked, and how they emphasized the ebon of her eyes. “No insult intended, Amarei—merely observation. You know I cannot help it.”

She folded the fan with a delicate snap and briefly rested the tip against her lips, as if in thought. “My…” The faintest trace of amusement laced her voice. “Last we spoke of this, you seemed resigned to a life of chastity.” A slight tilt of her chin. “But wonders never cease. Tender, you say?” Tales of Varyn’s arts in the bedroom did not quite interest her, but Amarei did, and this union rested on the three of them working in tandem, though Lenore would leave the more intimate pursuits to the happy couple. “Your union seems to have done you many favors, after all.” Some small curiosity surfaced. “You are pleased?”

As he turned to her, Leyla’s eyes shown with gratitude, nodding at his question. “ Yes, of course I am. How fortuitous that it was you coming this way, my lord. I believe it all turned out for the better because of your presence. But, no, they did not harm me. They barely noticed me before you appeared. I’m not entirely sure their intentions were foul, but one cannot be too careful. ” It would be like her to not assume the worst of others. Her caution had her ready to defend herself if necessary, and seeking the help of another when they presented themselves, but Leyla could acknowledge a world in which the loiterers were not a real threat. At least, if they were inebriated enough they would not have been a terrible obstacle for her to overcome. Still, she was grateful to not have to have reacted in such a way. Her lovely dress would have likely been soiled, and how was she to present herself at the jewelers in that case?

She did not see the oddity in his demeanor, did not know to look for it. While she had been well acquainted with the youngest Tripathi before, she had not known the brothers as well. Leyla felt a certain camaraderie with those of her hollow, and felt it the same with him. But she could not see what was clearly bubbling under the surface within Hiran, more focused on being thankful for his presence overall. That was until he’d brought up an escort. Her brow furrowed. Surely he hadn’t meant her lady’s maid. He did not know Esma, but the thought of her being the escort in this situation amused Leyla greatly. If she were there, then the maid would be cowering behind Leyla as she either drew her own steel or talked her way out of the situation. But her amusement at the mental image died down with the tone and the suggestion she shouldn’t have been out on her own.

She scoffed lightly, but bit the inside of her cheek almost instantly after. He was unaware of how she could handle herself, but it didn’t stop her from being a little offended at the thought. “ An escort? I’m not a child… The previous situation aside, I’ve never had great issue walking the city on my own. I am appreciative of you and your concern, sir, but I think I am still capable of roaming by myself. ” She paused, “ Perhaps going down an alley was my biggest flaw, I shall remember not to repeat that the next time. ”

Hiran swallowed the reply that formed bitterly on his tongue. Those had not been men of honor. They had been inebriated before midnight and had carried weapons for nefarious purposes. He knew of merchants who wore blades at their hips, but their attire had been too slovenly for such a public profession, the padded armor beneath their vestments revealing men familiar with violence. If he were to venture a guess, they were enterprising robbers at best, mercenaries with an appetite at worst. The former would have earned them a quick beating; the latter, a breadth of steel between their ribs. His blood sang at the thought. Some part of him still wished to turn, search them out, and discover their intentions himself. These streets ought to have been safe at this time of night. How could the Altinsoy safeguard the hollow if they could not even sweep the debris out of their own city?

Dismissing his desires, Hiran looked at Lady Leyla with faint concern. “Perhaps you are right,” he lied. “Even so, you were wise to be careful. One should always stay on guard. Though I cannot take full credit; it was your quick thinking that got you away from whatever they had intended for you.” Hiran quickly took her in—the fine material of her dress, the way she gleamed like a jewel in the dark. No wonder she had stood out. He watched the twinkle in her eye and thought it suited her quite prettily. He knew little of the youngest Altinsoy’s character, but she had always seemed quick to smile and eager to charm.

When she scoffed, the gesture reminded him, oddly, of Luz. His heart slightly softened at the thought. “You are no child, no.” Though he could not deny she was so young in his eyes, the same way Aeliana would forever be a girl to him. Softness such as this hurt him far more than any cruelty ever could. How easily the world soiled the petals of those who dared bloom. How easily innocence was plucked and crushed. “But in dangerous times such as these, I would advise anyone against traveling alone.” His voice was soft, yet touched by melancholy. Buried beneath it, untold pain. “Or without any form of protection.” As he spoke, he could feel the temporary distraction fading. Already he felt the familiar howling sorrow pulling at him, and with it, the thought of her, who lived within him like a shard of glass, ever bleeding.

He could not even think her name.

And so, he found himself stepping forward, offering his arm. “Perhaps I could escort you, my lady? I am in no hurry, and I would feel better knowing you arrived at your destination safely.” After all, was this not why he had done what he had? To return to his vows and purpose? Protect the innocent. Be their shield. He now held onto these ideas as a drowning man clutched driftwood. He tried his best smile. “I promise not to be a bother.”

It would be easier to attend to these small courtesies, to do what was expected of him.

Here,  deep  in  the  belly  of  the  woods,  hung  the  verdant  leaves  of  the  ancient  oak  trees.  All  glistening  like  glass,  slightly  dewy,  each  one  burdened  by  the  tear  like  beads  that  gathered  along  their  edges,  bowing  them  all  earthward  under  their  weight.  By  now,  as  Diya  walked,  she  could  feel  the  muscles  in  her  thighs  burning,  the  ache  born  of  exceeding  her  longheld  endurance.  Still,  she  was  grateful  for  the  gentle  shadow  of  the  moss  like  sage,  where  they  were  all  sheltered  beneath,  the  woodland  breathing  in  a  cooling  murmur  as  the  leaves  stirred  with  the  wind. 

Woven  sacks  were  carried,  each  one  of  them  all  bundled  up;  one  with  flasks  of  sweet  wine,  bread  and  hardened  cheese  and  fruit.  Even  a  few  goose  eggs  that  Diya  had  to  politely  beg  the  kitchen  maid  of  Elaris  Keep.  It  took  her  two  days  of  heavy  pleading  before  they  relented.  The  other  sack,  carrying  their  ancient  lore,  its  spine  bound  with  heavy  thread,  the  pages  filled  with  tales  of  all  knightly  Tripathis.  At  early  rise,  she  had  dressed  not  fully  plated,  though  silver  still  adorned  her  frame;  around  the  curve  of  her  shins,  the  softness  of  her  midriff,  and  the  bones  of  her  shoulder.  On  the  rest  of  her  limbs,  she’s  hidden  by  silver  chainmail. 

And  so  came  to  be  the  youngest,  full  of  spirit  and  newfound  zest,  the  attribute  of  a  dreaming  swan.  " I  believe  this  spot  of  green  should  do  nicely  for  our  fire! "  Voice  high  with  excitement,  for  she  wore  joy  as  one  would  glory.  Diya  puts  down  her  sack,  a  spring  in  her  step.   " I’ll  see  what  dry  wood  I  can  find  nearby. "

Some forests ran so deep that the longer you walked, the more all sound dampened, as if you were being held underwater. He could faintly hear the rhythm of their breaths, the whisper of leaves, the occasional snap of a branch, but no echo reached him. The air around them seemed to choke on its silence, quiet enough to hear the sound of your own heart breaking. Hiran followed his sister’s silver shape without thought, the heavy weight in his arms reduced to a distant resonance, mere physical feedback. There was a lightness to her step these days, as if she might spread her wings and take flight at any moment. The image stirred the remnants of the brother within him. For her, he would journey into the wild, into the heart of memory, even if the hopes of youth seemed so far away it might as well have been a dream. His eyes drifted to Arun, finally returned to their lands. What did he think of it all? Did it fill him with longing for simpler times, or did he too feel the weight of his years away?

Diya chirped a command phrased as a suggestion, which was the prerogative of the youngest. Fondness faintly touched his expression, small and tired. “I do not remember any downpours as of late, so it should not take long.” He carefully placed his own sack on the ground, readjusting Diya’s where it threatened to fall over. When he rose again, vertigo overtook him. Black spots swam before his eyes, as if someone had taken a needle to his retina. Hiran blinked away the haze. Though his sleep had been fitful, one might say haunted, he would not let his exhaustion ruin this moment. Forcing normalcy back into his limbs, Hiran turned and began to look for dry branches. “Are you going to stand there, brother, and watch us work?” His light jest left his lips with a habitual flicker of warmth.

Beric listened without interruption. his gaze remained on her as she spoke, lingering on the smile that hid more teeth than warmth. the warning about his back. the puppet. the collar. all of it offered with the same effortless elegance people often mistook for harmlessness. for a moment, silence stretched between them. then his eyes drifted briefly toward the shattered remains of the goblet below. “i appreciate your concern,” he said at last, voice low and even. “though at present, the only dagger i'm particularly concerned about seems to belong to you.” the corner of his mouth curved faintly, not with amusement, but with recognition. his attention returned fully to her. measured. “as for the council,” he continued, “i find it interesting how quickly everyone decided they understood my reasons.” a small pause followed. “especially the people who never bothered asking.”

the warm heliophrian wind stirred between them, carrying distant music from somewhere below. “you call it a collar.” his gaze held hers. unwavering. “perhaps because that's what a crown would feel like on your neck.” there was no cruelty in the observation. which somehow made it worse. only quiet curiosity. the sort a wolf might display before deciding whether something was prey. “personally, i've never found much use in letting other people tell me what my choices mean.” his eyes drifted briefly toward the city beyond the terraces before returning to her once more. “but do tell me, lenore.” the question arrived softly yet dangerously. “if you're so certain i'm dancing to someone else's tune... why does that disappoint you?” for the first time, something almost resembling amusement touched his expression. “because from where i'm standing, you seem far more offended by the fact that is not your tune i chose to dance to.”

A quiet curl touched her lips, as if he had delivered her exactly what she wanted. Him. His attention. His stubborn mouth. “Oh, Beric…” Lenore turned her head and graced him with a hint of ivory canine. “After all we've shared, I would never do you the discourtesy of attacking you from behind.” Her voice wove between them, soft and sealed with promise. “I would look you in the eye.” Faint notes carried along the wind, an echo of strings rising from down below. Her gaze returned to the terraces, watching the lanterns blink in the distance, as if the tune had already reached them and the audience held its breath to see who would move first. “Though not with something so common as a dagger.”

Placing her hands on the banister, Lenore leaned forward slightly, the faint breeze stirring the curls along the line of her throat. Below them, a stream of bodies passed in diffused shapes. High above, the current would not touch them—but they could yet reach one another. Though her gaze was averted, she could still feel him near, the heat of him pressing against the edges of her composure. “True power need not announce itself. To climb upon a pedestal is to make yourself visible, and to make yourself visible is to limit your movements.” A slight shrug, elegant, careless. “That is why, while their proxy sits the throne, the council operates behind closed doors.” Realization struck her then. Lenore drew her lower lip between her teeth. She was revealing far too many truths, yet she could not help answering him, defending herself from the accusation even as it struck some deeper chord within her. “Are you not already? Did you not just scale the walls to reach me?” Her tone was light, faintly mocking, as she added, “Or did you miss me that much?”

Seraphyna’s expression softened the moment his hand touched her cheek, but the apology drew a faint crease between her brows. confusion. genuine and immediate. for a moment she simply looked at him, silver eyes searching his face as though the answer might already be written there. slowly, her hand lifted to cover his where it rested against her skin. “sorry?” the word came quietly. carefully. as if she feared she had misunderstood him. her thumb brushed lightly against his knuckles before stilling. “for what?” there was no accusation in the question. no demand. only bewilderment. she could see the grief in him. the exhaustion. whatever burden he had carried into the garden tonight. but none of it explained the apology.

none of it explained why he looked at her as though he had already failed her somehow. “hiran.” his name was spoken softly. fondly. the way one might speak to someone standing too close to the edge of a thought they should not be carrying alone. “what are you apologizing for?” her gaze never left his. steady. patient. and quietly concerned. for a fleeting moment the memorial, the lanterns, even the grief surrounding them seemed to fade from her attention entirely. there was only him. and the strange sorrow behind a word she could not understand, and that growing pit in her stomach she kept trying to push away.

His touch stilled on her face. A shuddering breath left him, as if he had just been gutted. The grace she bestowed upon him was undeserved. This close, he could feel the warmth emanating from her skin. Her scent filled him, scraped him raw from the inside out. He had always known he loved her so dearly he might die of it, but now he learned what it was to burn in worship, to cast oneself upon a pyre and let lowly flesh be stripped from bone. True exaltation, he now realized, was never about pleasure. To have faith in something higher than oneself was to suffer. His eyes traced her features, retracing them over and over, as if to capture the memory, so he might preserve her in amber. If only he could. If only he could keep her away from the world, and for himself alone.

His hand dropped; he looked stricken. What a wicked thought. What an unworthy desire. He shamed her with his want. Shamed himself, his name, his vows. Hiran stepped away, running a hand through his hair. “Everything.” The word shattered the peace between them. He gritted his teeth. “Sera, I have to ask you something.” His eyes averted from her form, landing on a marble memorial. Dead faces surrounded them. Stone corpses stretched as far as the eye could see. “What do you believe is the greater sin: to hold onto a promise one can never keep, or to break one’s word before hope takes root?”

It was not uncommon to see the marketplace so full of faces. It had always been bustling, with vendors lining the streets selling wares and trinkets unique to their hollow and sometimes from far beyond. Beneath colorful banners and pennants which flickered as an evening breeze rolled through, the market square was far more congested as new faces now flooded the area beside the usuals, and Heliophra answered in kind. Every tavern door was wide open, the smells of hearty meals drawing travel weary patrons to their dining halls. Inns boasted being at near capacity, other establishments moved their finest wares to be visible at windows or on stalls right outside their stoop. The marketplace had come alive with the momentous occasion that they had been given the honor to host.

But Leyla Altinsoy was not among the throng flocking to the marketplace. Walking swiftly up an uneven path sloping behind the buildings that lined the bustling avenue, she had taken to the laneways which ran parallel to the market instead. These paths were empty, less traversed alleys which still lead through the busier parts of town. They were perfect alternatives to getting around for those that knew how to navigate the labyrinthine side streets, and she was one such Heliophrian on a particular mission of sorts. In the midst of all that was happening she had commissioned new jewels, the artisan all too eager to design a set that was to be adorned on the youngest Altinsoy. She could have sent anyone to fetch them, but Leyla liked to see to such things personally. She wanted them to see her gratitude within a radiant smile that always took to her features when claiming a new piece. It suited her image at court, that of a beautiful girl who was more occupied with such simple things than the intricacies of politics. Let her elders play their games; Leyla would instead shine in ballrooms and grand halls, forever that little pretty thing to admire.

Such a task should have been fairly simple, but the large crowds made it impossible to navigate the marketplace quickly. So she took to the alternative routes, going against the protestations of her lady’s maid in the process. Esma was to go pick up her new gloves at the haberdashery while Leyla pressed onwards to the jewelers. Splitting up meant getting through their respective tasks quicker, after all. And besides — this particular path lead straight to the back door of a bakery Leyla had frequented since she was a child, taking her allowance to waste on simit and poğaça. Why not take the opportunity to find her way to their back door and indulge while she was at it? It was this thought that added a certain pep to her step as she traversed the path. But coming to a sharp turn, she was startled when she almost walked head first into two tall hooded figures loitering at the back door of a tavern. Their breaths held the reek of ale as they laughed at the near collision, a voice echoing through the alley when one spoke up. “ Well, well, what have we here? Not the typical alley cat we would expect to find. Where are you off too? Perhaps we can escort you? ”

Her nose wrinkled, Leyla lifting her chin haughtily in defiance even though they towered well above her. She reached for a dagger she luckily had thought to conceal within her cape but as she began to contemplate unsheathing it for her own protection, Leyla’s amber eyes caught another face coming down the laneway opposite them, and felt relief swell within at the familiar visage. “ Oh — there you are! ” she cried out, side stepping the two and rushing up the incline towards the velkynar approaching. She ignored the confusion on their face, flashing a look that said ‘do not ask questions’ before smiling and continuing, “ When you said we would meet up in an unorthodox place, this was hardly what I had imagined. Shall we go, then? ” She lowered her voice, barely nodding her head back as she added, “ Just play along until we are rid of them, hm? ”

Hiran’s eyes widened in slight surprise, but only for a moment. He quickly took in Leyla’s features before his attention shifted to the cloaked men who stumbled closer, daringly leaving the safety of the alley walls that might have protected them. By rote, he analyzed their posture, inspecting the places where a weapon might be hidden. One disguised the outline of a blade in his boot, the other a knife in his sleeve. Smaller weapons, useful in close combat, but no true threat to him. Hiran moved, stepping in front of Leyla, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He said nothing, merely shaking his head, as if warning the men against choosing their own end. One of the two, clearly more intoxicated than the other, seemed eager to take the challenge, until his eyes landed on the house sigil embroidered on Hiran’s sleeve.

No men born of their lands would ever fail to recognize House Tripathi's emblem.

Without a word, the men quickly fled, tails between their legs. Hiran watched them leave, swallowing his disappointment. In his current state, he would have relished the feeling of their jaws breaking beneath his knuckles. He shook off the thought. A lady was present. “Are you all right?” Hiran said quietly, turning back toward Leyla. “They did not harm you, I trust?” Worry temporarily relieved his sorrow, that dark presence that had hounded him ever since… since… No. He could not. Hiran regarded her with somber contemplation, the courtesy he usually wore still present, yet thinned—hollow. “Where is your escort, Lady Altinsoy?” His voice turned to steel. “You should not be on your own.”

Heliophra had always felt brighter than vallarion. even in mourning. the winds carried warmth where her hollow carried mist, and yet grief seemed capable of settling anywhere if given enough reason. the grand memorial garden beyond elaris keep stood quietly, lanterns burned softly amongst pale stone pathways, their light flickering against engraved names and marvel statues depicting the altinsoy who were now gone. seraphyna knelt before one of them. for a long moment she remained silent, silver eyes lowered toward the stone before her. firuze. the name alone felt heavier now than it should have. she had not known her as deeply as others had. not enough to claim any special place amongst those left grieving.

her hands folded loosely within her lap as she offered a quiet prayer, spoken too softly for anyone beyond herself and the gods to hear. for a while she remained there, unmoving beneath the lantern glow, the pale fabric of her gown stirring gently in the warm breeze. there was something almost sacred about the stillness of her then. grief worn without spectacle. devotion offered without expectation. it was only after several moments that she felt it. not a sound. a presence. seraphyna lifted her gaze slowly from the memorial stone and turned her head. silver eyes found him almost immediately. for a brief moment she simply looked at him. then something softened. the sort of smile reserved for those she was quietly relieved to see. “my heart” she greeted softly.

His voice had died in his throat. He could not bring himself to move either, captured as he was by the sight. Her locks were wreathed in an aureole of light, her skin seemingly spun by the hands of saints, though he could not say whether she was lit from within or without. Not when her image seemed to burn him by its sheer presence. Hiran thought of the dream again, as he had every night since—how she had crumbled in his arms, like an effigy worn away by the hand of time. She, whom he knew was immortal in name only; that knowledge was his greatest curse.

Hiran swallowed, grief lodged in his chest like a blade, the flesh grown around it until its weight could no longer be separated from him.

What was he doing? What had come over him? She was his succor and shelter, yet now, when those eyes fell upon him, he felt trapped. Hiran’s brow lowered, a tight line set to his mouth. Love beat inside his chest, painfully so. Love drowned him. He could not breathe. He could not—

He forced the air into his lungs and stepped forward. “My heart,” he said, his voice thick. “How I’ve missed you.” Hiran tried to shake off the spell, telling himself the same thing he had since his return to Solari Sanctum. She was his destiny, meant for him; she was safest by his side. No harm would come to her if he was near. It could not. It could not. It could not—

Hiran reached out with trembling fingertips, tracing the smooth skin of her cheek. “I’m sorry.” For I will fail you. I will lose you. Whether by my own hand or another’s, you will be cleaved from my side.

Heliophra suited beric as much as any other place that wasn't his ancestral home. too full of people pretending they were not measuring one another every time they crossed a room. every corridor seemed occupied. every conversation carried three meanings instead of one. every gathering felt like a performance waiting for an audience. he had escaped it at the first opportunity. the outer terraces offered a degree of peace the halls could not. elevated above much of the noise below, they overlooked the sprawling city beyond elaris keep's walls, lanterns scattered across the darkness like fallen stars. beric moved along one of the lower walkways at an unhurried pace, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his attention fixed more on thought than destination. which was precisely why the sound of shattering glass arrived before the object itself.

instinct acted faster than reason. the crystal goblet struck stone where he had been standing only moments earlier, exploding into glittering fragments across the terrace floor. silence followed. beric looked down at the wreckage. then upward. his gaze landed immediately upon the balcony above. and there she was. watching. waving. for a long moment he simply stared. then, very slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched. not quite amusement. but close. without a word, he crossed toward the stone wall beneath the balcony. one hand caught the edge with practiced ease before he pulled himself upward, finding footholds where others might have seen none. a few moments later he swung himself over the railing and onto the balcony beside her as though the climb had required no effort at all. “either your aim is deteriorating,” he observed calmly, dusting an invisible speck from his sleeve, “or that was the most dramatic greeting i've ever received.” his gaze shifted toward her then, steady and entirely unbothered.

Seen through another pair of eyes, perhaps they would have looked the perfect storybook picture: a maiden leaning over the balcony’s edge, a lord climbing up to meet her. But she was more thorn than rose, and he was more teeth than poetry. Lenore felt the pull as he approached, and her hand lifted on reflex—though whether to help him up or push him down, she could not say. In this sun-soaked heat that roused the senses, she felt her restraint loosen, like a creature that had tasted blood and wanted more. Whatever happened, ruination would soon follow, whether hers or his, for this throne held only one seat, and she would bury them both for Nocturnia’s sake if she had to.

Her hand lowered, and she merely stepped aside to make room for him, cocking her head, the fullness of her lips slipping into the guise of a smile. “I was doing you a favor, Beric. You seemed so very lost in thought.” Lenore clicked her tongue. “You should be more attentive to your surroundings.” Resting her elbow against the balcony, her head tilted in idle interest. “After all,” she said airily, “your unguarded back will soon be a most tempting target.” Her eyes glinted, though not with amusement—something sharper than that. “Though I must say, the news surprised me. I did not take you for a willing puppet.” Her dress billowed around her form, the silks gossamer and flowing, as if she had draped herself in mist; as if she had nothing to hide. “I never expected you to mistake their collar for a crown, pretty as it is.” The phrase left her lips in a sigh.

She contemplated him for one held moment, then turned her face back to the view of the terraces, as if dismissing him.

“What a shame… just as you'd become interesting.”