“I made the choice for our people…” I repeated, a bitter taste on my tongue. A memory flashed: blood onmarble steps, a torch fading out. “I thought I was securing a future. Instead, I tied our fate to a gilded leash.” The admission scraped my throat raw.
I released the last strand of silk and stepped back, the space between us heavy with smoke, ghosts, and the faint scent of anise still clinging to my skin.
She turned to face me, the dim light catching the scar that traced her mouth and throat.
I looked past Aurelia, toward the glass. The words left a silence in their wake, one that sat heavy between us, thick with things neither of us had the language for.
Aurelia didn’t speak, but I felt the shift in her. Her expression held no pity. Just understanding.
“I was told my family was executed for treason while on a trip to Synnex—to broker peace between our realms,” I said. My reflection blurred in the window, replaced by their faces. “It was what we did, part of the Keepers’ charge. When the uprising broke, my parents believed words might mend what blades could not.”
The memory rose, unbidden—the sound of parchment tearing, my father’s voice breaking mid-sentence. I let the air burn in my chest. “I haven’t seen them since. Not in dreams. Not in the shadows.”
My voice faltered; the fire popped again, as if to fill the gap.
“My parents were just leaders. They wanted better—for both sides. My little brother and sister begged to go with them.”
A faint smile ghosted across my mouth. “They’d never seen the sun strike the ocean.” I swallowed hard. “I hope they got to.”
I stepped past her, moving toward the cart beside the fire, where a crystal decanter sat filled with deep amber liquid. Behind me, I heard her footsteps, light and hesitant. Then a pause.
“I’m sorry, Malachi,” she said quietly. The apology hit like a hand pressed to an old wound—gentle, but it still hurt.
“It was centuries ago,” I said, brushing it off. The lie tasted thin. “And yet it still feels like yesterday.”
Aurelia stepped closer, gently placing her hand at the crook of my elbow. Her touch steadied the tremor I hadn’t noticed until then. I let her turn me.
“I know that pain, Malachi,” she said softly. “When someone’s gone, but not in the way that lets you grieve them. When there’s no body to bury, no final word to hold onto. Just… silence where they should be.”
She trailed off, her hand sliding down to mine, fingers closing around it with the smallest squeeze before letting go. Her warmth lingered.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping back. “For your help with the dress. And for sharing that with me.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes shone like someone who understood too much. She turned toward the hidden door that connected our rooms.
“You could’ve just knocked there to begin with,” I said, arching a brow. The attempt at humor came out rough, but it worked. The corner of her mouth lifted.
She glanced over her shoulder, a small smile tugging at her mouth. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.
I poured myself a glass. “Would you care for a drink?”
“I’d prefer not to hallucinate while figuring out what to wear to this thing,” she muttered.
I lifted the glass. “This one’s safe, little dove. I promise.”
To prove it, I knocked it back in a single drink. The burn was familiar. Comforting. It reminded me of the Keepers’ toasts—fire on the tongue for those who couldn’t be buried.
Her gaze lingered. Then, without a word, she walked toward me, plucked the decanter from my hand, and took a much, much larger drink than I had.
I watched her throat work as she swallowed, the scar at her neck shifting with each movement.
When she finally pulled the decanter away, she exhaled slowly, blinking once. “That’s… terrible,” she rasped. “But effective.”
I blinked. “Do you usually drink like that before diplomatic events?”
She set the decanter down with a soft clink. “Only when I’m expected to smile at men who think dressing me like a gift means I’ll let them unwrap me.”
The honesty caught me off guard. For the first time that night, I laughed—a quiet, surprised sound that didn’t quite feel like mine.
A knock came at the door. Once. Twice.