The banquet had ended, but the air within Arkenhall was far from calm. Like a stone dropped into still waters, the Crown Prince's intervention stirred ripples that reached every corner of the palace and every heart that beat within it.
Jorik Alaric stood by the banquet hall's arching pillar, arms folded across his armored chest. He had seen Caelum react to countless provocations in silence, endure far worse with the same impassive expression he'd worn since boyhood. But today, he had stepped in. For a maid.
He narrowed his eyes, tracking the retreating figure of Caelia as she disappeared behind the side doors.
"She's different," he muttered to himself, unaware that Lord Thaddeus Varek had stepped beside him.
"She's foolish," Varek said smoothly. "But it's not her foolishness that worries me. It's his reaction."
Jorik tilted his head. "He saw a girl being humiliated."
"He sees hundreds of things every day and reacts to none." Varek's voice was low, cold, calculating. "Why now?"
Jorik didn't reply. But he watched. He always watched. And tonight, Caelum had offered something that looked too much like protection. Not even the wolves of the court missed that.
In the servants' quarters, the buzz had become a roar.
"He what?" Eliza squeaked, still holding the empty pitcher she had nearly dropped in shock.
Isobel grabbed Mira's wrist. "Did you see it? Did you see it?"
"I was in the kitchen!" Mira snapped, throwing her apron onto the counter. "Tell me everything, now."
Caelia sat silently, trying to shrink into herself. But the girls wouldn't allow it.
"He stood up," Eliza said, spinning as though reliving it. "Like...stood up. For her!"
Isobel's blue eyes glittered with excitement. "And his voice. It was like a blade wrapped in velvet. 'That will not be necessary,' he said. And Mistress Ilena? She almost fainted!"
Mira looked at Caelia. "You were in his line of fire. What happened? What did he say to you afterward?"
"Nothing," Caelia muttered, face burning. "He didn't even look at me. He just... stopped them."
Eliza leaned in, elbows on her knees. "Girl, you have no idea what you've done. Or what's coming."
...
Mistress Ilena was pacing.
In her many years at court, she had managed to avoid disgrace with an elegance most admired. But now she was flustered, red-faced, and biting her tongue to keep from screaming.
How dare he override her?
No, she corrected herself, he's the Prince. He could override the sun if he so wished.
Still, the message had been clear. Caelia was untouchable. For now.
She stormed into her chamber and slammed the door.
---
Lysandra sat alone near the reflecting pool, staring into its moonlit surface, her lips curled in disdain.
"She's from a village even the crows have forgotten," she hissed to no one. "She cleans floors. And yet..."
She had replayed the moment over and over in her mind. The way Caelum had cut through the air with nothing but words. And all for Caelia.
Why her?
Lysandra's nails dug into her palms.
"This isn't over," she whispered. "You'll trip. And I'll be waiting."
---
In the Prince's chambers, the fire crackled low. Caelum sat by the window, the moonlight soft against his profile.
He hadn't meant to intervene. But something in him had bristled at the tone, the way they had spoken to her. Like she was less.
"She didn't flinch," he murmured, fingertips tracing the rim of a goblet. "She stood there."
The silver wolf on the crest above his mantle gleamed under the moonlight.
Caelum closed his eyes.
Wrenford. Forgotten, yes. But not her.
He would not let himself think about the way her voice had trembled. Or the way she had bowed so quickly, so carefully, like she feared simply being in his presence.
He was not a man who noticed such things. He was the sword. The heir. The midnight shadow of Karethia.
But even shadows sometimes looked toward the light.
---
Back in the servants' quarters, Caelia curled into her bed as the others finally quieted down.
Everything had changed in a single breath.
And the palace would never look at her the same again.