Sylas (pov)
There was no event that evening. No training, no study, no nobles watching from high balconies or servants whispering in polished halls.
Just a pale sky, fading into dusk.
And two cups of cooled tea.
Seraphina sat with her legs tucked beneath her on the edge of the terrace wall, hair unbraided for once, the wind tugging strands loose across her cheeks.
I sat cross-legged on the stone floor beside her, leaning against the outer pillar.
We weren't speaking.
We didn't need to.
---
She was the first to break the silence.
"You never slouch in front of anyone but me."
I didn't lift my head.
"I only slouch in front of people who won't stab me."
She smiled. "That's sweet."
"I meant it practically."
"Still sweet."
I let the corner of my mouth twitch — not quite a smile, but something close enough that she noticed it.
---
She sipped her tea. Wrinkled her nose.
"Cold."
"You waited too long."
"I was thinking."
I glanced at her.
"Dangerous habit."
She gave me a mock glare, then looked down at the gardens.
"Do you ever… not think?" she asked quietly.
"Only when I'm with you," I said, before I thought to filter it.
She blinked.
Then, slowly, smiled.
---
There was no tension between us anymore. No rigid posture. No line of formality.
Just two people sharing silence without expectation.
That was rare in this house.
Rare in any house.
---
She tilted her head, studying me now.
"You've changed."
I raised a brow.
"You don't coil up like you used to. Around people."
"Still do. Just… not around you."
That admission slipped out too easily.
But I didn't regret it.
She didn't mock it either.
Instead, she looked out at the sky and said, "I like that."
---
There was a pause.
Then:
"May I ask something personal?" she asked.
"You already do."
"No — I mean… personal for you, not just me."
I nodded.
"Ask."
She hesitated.
"Do you ever wish you had a home? Not a place you sleep — I mean… a place that was yours?"
I looked down at my empty teacup.
Then said:
"I thought I wanted that. For years."
"And now?"
I looked at her.
And didn't lie.
"Now I think I just wanted someone who didn't see me as useful. Or dangerous. Or invisible."
She met my gaze.
"Someone who saw you as you."
I nodded once.
She didn't say "I do."
She didn't need to.
---
The sky darkened.
The stars came slowly.
She leaned back against the stone, her shoulder nearly brushing mine.
"I never liked nights," she murmured. "Too many shadows. Too many thoughts."
"And now?"
"I like them better with company."
---
We didn't talk much after that.
The silence returned, but it was different this time — not full of restraint or waiting, but soft and shared.
The kind of silence that says: you're allowed to be here, exactly as you are.
---
At some point, she yawned.
I reached behind me and pulled off the outer cloak I'd brought, tossing it across her shoulders before she even asked.
She blinked at me.
"You were saving that for yourself."
"You're smaller."
"That's not a reason."
I shrugged, more relaxed than I ever used to be.
"It is to me."
---
She tugged the cloak closer and leaned her head slightly to the side — not quite on my shoulder, but almost.
She didn't ask permission.
She didn't have to.
And I didn't move away.
---
"I think I trust you more than anyone," she said softly.
"I know."
"You don't have to say anything back."
"I know that too."
Another beat.
"But I do trust you, Seraphina."
Her breath caught slightly — just a little.
Then she said:
"I won't break that."
"I know."
---
The rest of the night passed without words.
Just the sound of crickets, quiet breathing, and the warmth of shared presence.
The world outside the terrace kept moving.
But in that little space between stars and stone… nothing needed to.
Not tonight.
---
End of chapter