Her gaze flicked toward the dais. She shifted the tray on her shoulder, wings fluttering in a short, restless motion.
“They look like hope,” she added quietly, eyes flicking toward the shadows where Gabriel lingered. “And we know how that ended last time.”
I didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the glasses, watching the bubbles claw their way upward, only to shatter into nothing at the top.
Because I remembered.
I remembered the last time hope had walked into this place.
When King Talon had stood before us—cloak heavy with snow, crown glinting in the torchlight—and promised sanctuary. Promised that if we laid down our blades, if we dedicated ourselves to protecting his family, and Nyxarra, there would be peace.
A future still worth having.
I remembered the sound of silk banners catching fire as his soldiers stormed our camps while we slept. The scent of blood soaking into fresh snow. The way the youngest among us had looked up from the rubble—still searching for the promised safe haven—as the world caved in around them.
We hadn’t just buried bodies that day. We’d buried our faith. Our future. Ourselves. Bound to Nyxarra and unable to do anything to stop the hope we had from being crushed.
And now, staring at Aurelia, I felt it rise again.
Hope.
“She wears the past like it remembers her,” I said finally, voice low.
Seraphine’s expression shifted slightly before she masked it again. “Poetic. Brooding. Predictably you.”
I huffed, offering her a mock bow. “My thanks.”
She waved a hand, turning away. “Go. Before your hesitation gets mistaken for rebellion. Again.”
I gripped the glasses tighter, the delicate stems biting into my palms as I turned back toward the dais.
The crowd had shifted again, parting just enough for me to see her.
Aurelia sat beside Kaelith, perched on the smaller throne to his right. Her posture was regal but wary, hands folded loosely in her lap. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t smile. She wore that dress, that pendant, that impossible gravity.
Kaelith lounged beside her.
As I approached, Kaelith lifted his goblet lazily in greeting, eyes gleaming with that same infuriating, knowing smile.
“At last,” he drawled.
I handed him one glass without a word, eyes still locked on Aurelia’s.
And then—because the gods are cruel, and because Kaelith loved nothing more than twisting the blade—he turned to Aurelia. "For my nýchta," he murmured, offering her the glass.
Aurelia hesitated.
I saw it—the flicker of distrust in her eyes before she masked it behind a careful, cool smile.
She accepted the glass with a slight incline of her head, her fingers brushing Kaelith’s just long enough to appease him.
The knot that had begun forming in my chest only tightened.
Kaelith watched her for a moment longer before settling back into his throne.
"Sit, Malachi," he said, gesturing to the vacant seat at Aurelia’s other side. "Enjoy that glass in your hand. We have much to discuss before the night ends—before I allow you to escort our queen to retrieve her brother."
Aurelia’s hand tightened around her glass.