Leyla's eyes those sharp, hawk-like things snapped toward the king, who barely glanced up from his meal.
"See that, Your Majesty?" she hissed, her voice drenched in bitterness. "Look at how he talks back to me. I'm sure years of not having a mother have taught him not to be respectful to his elders."
Her words clung to the air like smoke.
Amira stiffened, the back of her neck prickling as silence thickened around the table. She didn't look at Zyran not directly. She didn't need to. He sat there, still as stone, the calm in the eye of this miniature storm. Then, with deliberate grace, he let his spoon fall to the plate, the quiet clink louder than any retort. He dabbed at his mouth, casual, cold.
Queen Miranda's voice came next cool, clear, and deliberate.
"You didn't expect him to be quiet while you questioned his wife, did you?"
Amira's heart skipped. Wife. The word still felt foreign. Like it belonged to someone else, someone stronger, someone who wasn't just… surviving the day.
Leyla turned her fury to Miranda, but Amira could only stare at her lap. The clash of voices rose and fell around her, yet she felt like she was underwater, the world muffled and too loud at the same time.
Then Zyran stood. No words. No fire. Just a smooth push of his chair and a bow that felt more like dismissal than respect. His figure faded from the hall, and with him, the faintest sense of protection she hadn't known she was clinging to.
Alone again.
She watched his back until it disappeared through the archway.
After breakfast, they all drifted off like dandelion seeds, scattered to their own duties, their own games. Amira didn't know where she was supposed to go, but Novalie's presence at her side came like a tether.
"I'm having tea with some friends later," Novalie said, cheerful but not forced. "Would you like to join us?"
Amira hesitated, her fingers curling around each other. Her mouth opened, then stalled. "Umm…"
"It's just a casual thing. A bit of chatting, catching up small town news, light gossip. You know how it goes. Especially with my sister Katia." Novalie leaned in, her whisper edged with mischief.
That earned a small smile from Amira. Not polite. Real.
"I don't think I'd fit in," she confessed. Her voice came out quieter than she wanted. "I'd just... sit there. Not knowing what to say. Or how to say it."
Novalie nodded, not pressing. She seemed to understand the strange, jagged edges of people.
The rest of the morning passed in quiet exploration. Novalie led her through the castle with a patient gait, telling stories about each corridor, each painting some made up, some probably not. Amira soaked it in, nodding, sometimes laughing. But something tugged at her chest as they approached the Northern wing.
Zyran's wing.
It looked different. Not just in layout but in spirit. Maids swept and straightened as if they were afraid of dust offending him. The building itself stood further away from the heart of the castle, like a lone watchtower. And the walls black. Not a soft onyx or glossy obsidian, but a matte, heavy black. It drank the light, reflected nothing.
Yet outside, the garden bloomed.
Lush, full, bursting with life like it belonged to someone entirely different. There was a strange kind of tenderness in the careful arrangement of vines and petals like someone had reached out from inside the cold walls and tried to coax something beautiful into being.
How could someone so... frigid, be the same man who nurtured this?
No words passed between her and Novalie as they moved on. Just questions Amira's, curled tightly inside her chest.
When the tour ended, Novalie took her leave with a gentle smile. Amira returned to the North with Nora.
"Princess Novalie is delightful," Nora said brightly as they walked. "Such a sweet soul. I can see you two becoming good friends."
"Of course she is," Amira said softly, thinking of Novalie's warmth. "She's my favorite so far."
Night came fast.
Amira curled into the couch in the quiet living room, her feet tucked beneath her, the fabric of her loose nightdress pooling around her legs. Her hair was pulled back, not perfectly, a few strands slipping loose to tickle her cheeks. A book rested in her hands, but she wasn't reading. Not really.
Her eyes kept flicking to the door.
She didn't know what she was waiting for. Not a conversation. Not kindness. Just... him. To see him again. To remind herself he was real. That she hadn't imagined that moment in the dining hall, when he'd stood not for her but not against her either.
The minutes passed like stretched thread.
Then hours.
Her eyes grew heavy. The words on the page blurred. Eventually, the book slipped from her hand as she drifted, head tilted to the side, lips parted slightly in sleep.
The door creaked open.
Zyran entered, and the first thing he saw was her, asleep and frail. Her chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, one arm flung across her stomach, the other dangling limply off the side of the couch.
He paused.
Then moved forward, footsteps silent. He crouched beside her. Reached out.
"Isn't the bed comfortable enough?" he muttered half to himself.
Then, without another word, he slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her as though she weighed nothing. She didn't stir. Her head rolled lightly against his shoulder, her breath warm against his collarbone.
He carried her down the corridor, into the chamber and Into het bed.
Morning light spilled across the room.
Amira stirred, lips brushing against her pillow. Her eyes blinked open to soft linen sheets and the sound of birdsong. She sat up slowly, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
Wait—bed?
She frowned, brushing hair from her face. She remembered sitting on the couch and waiting For Zyran to come back home.
Not this.
Her feet touched the ground just as Nora swept in with fresh clothes.
"Good morning, Princess! Oh, look at that glow. You must've slept wonderfully."
Amira rubbed her eyes, distracted. "Where's Zyran?"
"Prince Zyran? Hmm. Didn't see him in morning court. He might be in his—"
But Amira was already gone.
"She's fast," Nora muttered with a chuckle.
Barefoot, half-dressed, she padded through the corridors like a ghost. Her nightdress clung to her knees as she ran. She didn't knock. Zyran's door was ajar so she peeked in.
It was empty.
She turned to leave—
And slammed straight into a solid chest.
"Ow—!"
Strong fingers caught her arm just before she toppled. Her breath hitched as she was yanked back into balance. Her face stopped mere inches from Zyran's his eyes, steady and unreadable, boring straight into her.
"What are you doing sneaking around like a raccoon?" he asked, voice low, his breath brushing her cheek.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs. Her eyes flicked to his lips, then darted away.
"I—I was going to—" The words jammed in her throat like broken glass.
"Do you need something?" he asked, and she shook her head far too quickly.
"You should get ready. The king doesn't favor people who aren't punctual to breakfast."
She nodded, the movement sharp. Her bare feet scurried down the hallway like she was fleeing a crime scene.
Zyran watched her vanish, then pushed his door open and stepped inside.
At breakfast, Queen Miranda smiled faintly between sips of tea.
"Zyran, why don't you take Amira into town today? Let her pick up some essentials. Show her around Oaken Vale. She's been stuck in here long enough."
Amira's stomach clenched. Her hands froze around her spoon.
Town?
The word dropped like a stone in her chest. No. No. She didn't want to go back there. Not to the sounds, the smells, the too-loud laughter, the memories clinging to every wall.
Before she could speak, Katia leaned in with her usual venom-coated honey.
"Locked up?" she echoed. "Oh, come now. Amira looks as lovely as a doll, doesn't she, Queen Miranda?"
A doll. That's what they saw.
"Why send her running errands?" Katia continued. "Let the maids do that. Why not have her attend lessons with Novalie and me? I'm sure she's behind."
Novalie's voice cut in, gentle but firm.
"You don't need to be so harsh, Katia. Amira's still adjusting. Let her go at her own pace."
Katia's smile was all teeth.
"That's exactly why she needs to start learning. Quickly."
Queen Miranda narrowed her eyes at Katia, but it was Leyla's voice that delivered the final blow.
"The sooner she learns, the better," she said. "We can't afford to have her disgracing the royal family."
Amira looked down at her lap, her appetite gone.
Disgracing.
The word rang like a bell in her chest, echoing louder than any other.