The air in the Sunreign mansion was thick with old incense and silence, the kind of silence that seemed to judge. Rayan lingered by the portrait of his mother, the weight of memory pressing too heavily on his chest.
But before he could drown in grief, a voice, sharp and venomous, cut through the stillness.
"Oh my, look who decided to return. The forgotten Sunreign."
Rayan turned slowly. At the top of the staircase, framed by the amber glow of the candelabras, stood Selvara Sunreign his stepmother. Her beauty was as sharp as ever, framed by raven-dark hair that fell over her shoulders like a curtain. But her eyes, cold and cutting, stripped away any softness her face might have promised. Her smirk deepened as if she had been waiting for this moment.
"Your grandfather has not been well these last ten days," she said, her tone coated with mock concern. "He wanted to see you. So try not to be your usual disappointment."
Without waiting for his reply, she turned gracefully, her gown trailing behind her as she vanished down the hallway like a serpent into shadows.
Rayan's jaw tightened until it ached, but he said nothing. Words against her were wasted breath. He had learned that long ago.
He turned his steps toward the one place in this house that still held warmth for him his grandfather's chamber.
The room was dim, lit only by a pair of lanterns and the soft flicker of a fire. The air smelled of dried herbs, old paper, and a faint metallic tang from the concoctions the healers left behind. His grandfather Aelric Sunreign lay upon the bed, swaddled in blankets, his once-broad shoulders now withered by age and illness. Yet his eyes, though sunken, burned with a familiar fire.
"Rayan," the old man whispered, lips curving into a frail smile. "You came."
"Of course, Grandfather." Rayan's voice softened in a way it never did with anyone else.
Aelric's hand, gnarled with age, reached for him. Rayan sat by the bedside and took it, holding it as though he might anchor the old man's spirit to the world.
"I wanted to see your wedding…" Aelric's voice broke into a weak chuckle. "But I don't think I'll make it that far."
"Don't say that," Rayan said quickly, his chest tightening. "You'll be there. You have to be."
But the old man only smiled faintly. "You've grown… even if the others don't see it. There's more to strength than magic or titles. Never forget that."
Rayan squeezed his hand, swallowing the lump in his throat. For a long while, they spoke quietly of childhood days, of simpler memories, of a world before betrayal and shame. But time moved too quickly, and soon Aelric's breaths grew shallow, his eyelids heavy. Rayan stayed until the old man drifted to rest, then rose silently, carrying a weight in his chest that words could not ease.
By the time the night settled over the estate, the dining hall was alive with chatter. The long oak table gleamed under golden candelabras, set with polished silverware and crystal goblets.
At the far end of the table sat Kaelen Sunreign, the patriarch, Rayan's father. His presence was commanding as ever, clad in black and gold, his face a mask of composure carved from stone.
Beside him sat Selvara, her eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction, and her son, Lucen, basking in the glow of attention as though it were his birthright.
Rayan entered quietly, earning more than a few sidelong glances. The whispers began almost instantly, but he ignored them and took the last empty seat at the far end. He had no illusions this seat was left for him not out of respect, but out of courtesy.
"Rayan," Kaelen said suddenly, lifting his glass. His voice carried easily across the hall. "It's been a long time."
Rayan inclined his head stiffly. "Father."
Kaelen's gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat before shifting. "Lucen received an engagement proposal recently," he announced to the table. "But your grandfather insists on seeing you married first. Sentimental old man."
Lucen, seated directly across from Rayan, wore a grin not cruel this time, but not warm either. A calculated smile, meant to remind him of his place.
Rayan managed a tight smile in return, more courtesy than sincerity. The weight of every eye upon him was suffocating, but he kept his shoulders straight.
Just then, a soft knock echoed against the heavy dining doors. A servant entered, bowing low.
"Apologies for the interruption," she said quickly. "The new maid has arrived."
Selvara waved a hand dismissively, though her eyes gleamed with amusement. "Bring her in. Might as well introduce her to the black sheep."
The doors opened, and into the hall stepped a young woman. her frame slender but poised. She wore a simple apron over a plain dress, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her eyes were bright yet wary, scanning the room without fear, only caution.
She bowed low. "My name is Lina. I joined two days ago."
For a moment, there was silence, the nobles regarding her as though she were a curiosity.
Then Selvara's voice cut through, smooth and cruel. "Her family once ran a well-known restaurant. They lost everything. And now she serves here." She sipped her wine, smirking. "How poetic."
Soft chuckles rippled along the table.
Rayan, however, did not laugh. His gaze remained fixed on Lina. Her posture was humble, yet in her eyes burned a quiet pride. Not arrogance something deeper. Strength that had not broken, no matter how far she had fallen.
And somehow, in that brief glance, he felt something stir inside him.
Something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Something human.
The laughter around the table faded into the background. For Rayan, the hall, the family, the shame they all blurred. Only her eyes remained, steady and unflinching, meeting his with a spark of recognition he couldn't name.
Perhaps fate had not entirely abandoned him after all.