I stared at him.
Not angry. Just tired. Processing.
"…So does that mean Sythriss is—what, a queen?" I asked. The word felt awkward in my mouth.
Teryn raised a brow, just slightly. "No. She was the Emperor's consort. There hasn't been a queen since before the fracture."
Why did that matter?
I didn't know.
"Ah. Yes," I muttered, brushing it off.
Teryn shifted his stance slightly, angled just enough toward me to signal something new. "Walk with me?"
I didn't move.
Every part of me screamed no. Not because of him, necessarily—but because of what followed. The crowd. The bows. The polite games. The hidden knives. I'd barely survived five minutes alone, and now I was supposed to play along with this court crawl, escorted by some heir with a smile too sharp for comfort?
I glanced toward the nearest corridor. I could probably slip out. Maybe find my way back to the chambers. Or to Vaelith. Or just... somewhere quiet.
But that would cause a scene.
And if I fled now, they'd remember it.
You're Elias, I thought. You used to fight your way out of worse situations than this.
But back then, Alaric was beside me. He always knew how to talk. How to pivot. I just had to stand behind him and scowl.
I didn't have that now.
I let out a slow breath, then nodded.
"I'd love to," I said flatly.
Teryn laughed, unbothered. "That convincing tone will carry you far." He stated sarcastically.
He stepped forward, waiting just long enough to make sure I followed. I did—because there wasn't really another choice.
The crowd parted around him.
At first, I thought it was just courtesy. Deference to some ancient's son. But they gave him a wide berth—too wide. Just like with my sister.
They bowed, too. Or nodded. Eyes lingered longer than they should have. Some curious. Some cautious.
Was this about him... or me?
I adjusted the sash again, tugging it just slightly tighter across my ribs. As if that would anchor me.
Teryn slowed near a marble column etched with coiling runes, pausing just before a small circle of younger nobles. Their conversation tapered off the moment we arrived. Polished expressions turned toward us like shutters swinging open.
One of them stood at the center—taller than the others, even in visage form. He wasn't in robes like Teryn or the rest of the room, but something more martial. A layered mantle of black and crimson over structured armor, every piece too perfectly fitted to be ceremonial.
Nice.
His eyes met mine.
Sharp. Cool. Measured.
Teryn gestured between us. "Elyssia, this is Kaelen. Firstborn of Vorrak."
I blinked.
Did I tell him my name?
I didn't remember doing that.
Teryn just smiled like nothing had happened.
Kaelen inclined his head in a shallow bow. "It's an honor, daughter of Sythriss."
His voice was smoother than I expected. Not cold, but deliberate. Formal. Like every syllable had been chosen, weighed, and spoken with care.
I dipped my head in return. "It's… good to meet you, Lord Kaelen."
The other nobles around us exchanged glances but said nothing.
Kaelen turned his gaze back to Teryn. "You're moving quickly."
Teryn's grin widened. "I'm being polite."
"That's new."
Teryn let out a laugh. "Give me a little credit. We're all trying to make a good impression tonight."
Kaelen's eyes flicked back to me. "Some of us don't have to try."
I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a warning.
They started trading words after that. Not idle ones—calculated ones. Each syllable slipped like a dagger wrapped in etiquette, parried with wit and a smile.
Teryn grinned. Kaelen didn't.
Names. Borders. Policy. Posturing.
I tuned it out.
What a waste of breath. I'd spent years carving meaning into stone with runes and blood—this felt like two men fencing with paper.
Their version of battle.
I'd rather take a real sword to the gut.
I glanced toward the edge of the hall, trying not to look like I was looking for escape. The crowd swirled, full of soft silks and sharp glances. Servants moved between them like ghosts.
Humans. Dwarves. Faun. Even something scaled and horned things I didn't have a name for.
But no elves.
Not one.
Lirian's voice surfaced in my memory, cold and calm.
"Your mother was thorough. There was… treachery. The clans broke trust. She culled them. I was spared."
My fingers twitched at my side. I stared a moment too long at a passing server with curved horns and downcast eyes.
That's when I realized both men had stopped talking.
They were looking at me.
Oh, Gods help me.
"…What?" I asked, reflexively — annoyed.
Teryn raised a brow, amused.
Kaelen, of course, didn't smile.
"I was asking your opinion," Kaelen said smoothly, "on whether favor from your line would shift support to the first or second prince?"
My brain spat out nothing.
Just white noise.
Court-speak. Politics. Alliances.
Why are you even asking me? I've been here five minutes and half of that was spent trying not to scream.
I could fake it. Try to play the part. Or I could…
I sighed softly and gave a polite, shallow nod. "I trust your judgment," I said, voice even. "You know more than I do."
There was a pause.
Teryn snorted. Not mocking—just surprised I said it out loud.
Kaelen's gaze lingered. Assessing. Maybe disappointed. Or just taking note.
He studied me a moment longer, then said, "You speak plainly."
The way he said it, I couldn't tell if it was a criticism or not.
I matched his tone. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"No," he replied, voice even. "It's… rare."
Not quite a compliment. Not quite neutral, either.
His gaze flicked briefly to the others in the circle, then back to me. "You'll draw attention, whether you want it or not. Best to decide now what kind. I look forward to it."
Then, as if that settled something, he turned away—already done with the conversation.
I didn't watch him go. Didn't care to.
I'm not in the mood to play these games.
The fabric itched against my skin again, too tight in all the wrong places. I adjusted the sash—pointlessly—just to do something with my hands. Just to feel like I had control over anything in this place.
Why was I still here?
I told myself I'd fight. I'd claw and kick and drag my feet the whole way. But here I was—bowing. Smiling. Nodding. Playing a game I didn't even know the rules to.
What happened to Elias?
But the answer never came. Just her — I felt her magic before I saw her.
Vaelith.
Her presence cut through the air like a blade through fog. Calm, controlled, sharp enough to silence a room without raising her voice.
"She's done for tonight."
Her voice was quiet, but final.
Teryn stepped back. "Of course. Rest well, Elyssia."
That name still felt foreign.
Vaelith's hand closed around my arm—gentle, but with intent.
I didn't pull away.
We left the circle behind, footsteps soft against ancient stone. Down a quieter corridor lit by runes, each one casting pale blue light against smooth walls.
Only once the door closed behind us did Vaelith let go.
"You didn't humiliate yourself," she said. "That's better than most."
Not a compliment. Not quite. Her tone was too flat for that.
I didn't answer. Just moved to the nearest bench and dropped onto it, spine folding in like a broken hinge. The robe tugged at my ribs as I sat, then loosened again. I breathed in. Let it go.
Vaelith didn't sit beside me. Of course not. She stood nearby, arms folded, eyes scanning the corridor like she was still braced for an ambush. Maybe she was.
"They were watching you," she said after a beat. "Every movement. Every breath."
"I noticed," I muttered.
"You handled it."
I scoffed softly. "Is that what that was?"
"You didn't run. You didn't snap. You didn't say anything stupid—until the end."
That earned her a glance. "I thought I was being honest."
"Honest doesn't survive long in these halls," she said. "Don't get used to it."
I leaned back, tilting my head against the wall behind me. The stone was cool. Steady. More real than anything I'd seen in that room.
For a few seconds, neither of us said anything. I let the silence stretch.
Then, quietly, I asked, "Did you know about all this? Before I woke up?"
Vaelith didn't answer right away.
Eventually, she said, "I was informed. After it was done."
"Convenient," I murmured.
She didn't rise to the bait.
My hands curled loosely in my lap. "I keep thinking there's going to be a moment. Where someone pulls me aside and says, 'Here's what this is. Here's what you are now. Here's what you're supposed to do.'"
"And it hasn't come."
"No."
Vaelith sighed. "You're looking for clarity. That's your first mistake."
"I'm looking for answers."
"Same thing."
I stared across the corridor, toward a high, narrow window carved into the stone. The night bled through it in dark blues and silver shadows. I caught a glimpse of the moon.
Beautiful.
Steady. Pale. Watching.
It was… soothing, in a way I didn't expect.
How many times had I looked up at that same moon through human eyes, not knowing what waited beneath it?
"How do you do it?" I asked. "Smile at people who may want to see your blood on the floor?"
"Because I've learned how to smile while thinking about it happening to them instead."
The statement shocked me.
I couldn't help but let out a weary laugh.
Not a full one. Just the edge of it—bitter, tired, real.
Vaelith didn't smile, but she didn't scold me either. That was something.
"You sound like someone who's been doing this a long time," I said.
"I have."
A pause. She shifted her weight, finally relaxing enough to lean one shoulder against the wall.
"Longer than you've been alive."
I glanced over at her. "Do you hate me for it?"
She blinked. "For what?"
"For existing."
The words came out softer than I meant. But I didn't take them back.
Her eyes narrowed. "If I hated everyone who complicated my life, I'd never get anything done."
"That's not a no."
"It's not a yes either."
I studied her. The calm surface. The composure that never cracked unless she wanted it to. Her armor was different from mine—more refined, built of reputation and expectations—but it was armor all the same.
"Did you want this?" I asked. "A sister?"
Vaelith looked away, toward the same window I had been watching. The moonlight cut across her cheek, casting her features in stark silver and shadow.
"I didn't have a say."
Neither did I.
But I didn't say it. Not this time.
She straightened. "Come. Your room's prepared."
We moved again—her strides silent and assured, mine heavier, slower. The halls narrowed as we walked, the ceilings dropping slightly, runes carved deeper into the stone. Older here. More Elven.
Eventually we stopped in front of a door shaped from darkwood and iron, wrapped in softly glowing script.
I recognized the language.
Old Elvish. Binding wards.
I didn't say anything, but the magic thrummed faintly under my skin. The part of me that remembered stone and circles and forgotten blood-runes twitched.
Could I break them?
Maybe.
Should I?
Not yet.
"For your safety," Vaelith said, voice flat again, "these wards will stay in place until the court thins out. There will be guards posted outside."
I studied the door. The runes. The slight shimmer of restraint.
"Not a prison," she added, before I could ask.
"Sure," I said. "Feels like home already."
She gave me a sidelong look but didn't push back. Maybe she was tired too.
I crossed the threshold and paused just inside. The chamber was warmer than I expected. Softer. There was fur layered over stone benches, heavy curtains drawn partway over the high windows, and a low table etched with a pattern I didn't recognize.
It was a nice room.
Too nice.
I turned back to her. "What about Lirian?"
Vaelith tilted her head, brow twitching just slightly. "He's where he's needed."
"Which means not here."
"That depends on our mother's plans."
My lip curled. "Of course it does."
Something inside me stirred—low and slow. A weight behind the ribs, pulsing with a dull ache. The kind that crept up the spine and settled behind the eyes. Not pain. Not yet. But hunger.
The other heartbeat.
I swallowed thickly and shifted my stance.
I'd need to eat soon. Not tonight. But soon.
Vaelith's gaze sharpened, just briefly. Maybe she sensed it. Maybe not.
"Is there anything else you need?" she asked.
I shook my head, though I wasn't sure it was true.
She turned to leave—but stopped, just before the threshold.
"For what it's worth," she said without looking back, "you did better than I thought you would."
"High praise."
"No," she said, "just honest."
And then she was gone.