[SORRY! It took more time than usual time]
The night stretched wide, stars tumbling like sparks across black velvet, watched over by Zephyros and Luthienn. Their twin light poured silver and gold across the quiet streets — a peace too fragile for a man like Vaelen.
He spoke — calm, certain:
"Turn. Head toward the library. The one on 106th Street."
The old man flicked a glance over his shoulder, then gave a quiet nod. With a tug on the reins, the horses shifted, the wheels grinding as the carriage veered onto a narrower road. The lantern light swung with the turn, and once more the night closed around them — deeper, quieter, and far less forgiving.
The journey pressed on beneath shifting lantern shadows. Hushed alleys slid past like half-remembered dreams, the horses' hooves striking a steady rhythm against the silence of the hour. Each turn, each breath, each flicker of moonlight only reminded Vaelen how thin his walls had become.
"We are here, your Highness," the elder's voice came through the window.
Vaelen stepped out into the night. The air bit cold, sharp as steel, curling against his skin. Breath steamed faintly from horse and man alike, the pilot tightening his reins with practiced calm. The old man stayed still by the carriage, torchlight burning across the furrows of his weathered face.
Vaelen's boots rang against the stone as he crossed to the library doors. He pushed them open — bronze groaning against the silence — and the interior unfolded like a cathedral of shadows and dust.
There she was. Velza.
Slumped against a desk, asleep, her chest rising and falling steady. The sight tugged at something unguarded in him.
From the corner, the attendant looked up. Her violet eyes gleamed in the lamplight, unbothered, unreadable. She didn't speak. Instead, she raised her hand above the counter — casual, almost playful — and gave a slow thumbs up, a signal that all was well.
Vaelen met her gaze, silent, and gave a single nod.
He walked near her, his boots making little more than a whisper against the stone floor.
Something flickered in her — Velza's sleeping face, softened, unguarded. Before he could name it, his hand was already resting lightly atop her head.
"What are you…" the words slipped out, softer than breath.
A pause. His jaw tightened.
"Now what," he muttered under his breath, drawing his hand away.
From the counter came a low, drowsy voice.
"Take her to her home. I need my blanket."
Vaelen turned his head toward the attendant, both hands lifting slightly as if to say and how exactly am I supposed to manage this?
The attendant stepped from behind the counter. Without a word, she hooked her arms beneath an invisible figure, demonstrating a perfect cradle.
His brows arched. "You're joking."
Her violet eyes didn't waver. "Do it." The words were barely audible, yet firm.
He exhaled through his nose, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. "Of course. Why not? Add nursemaid to my titles."
Still, he stooped, sliding one arm beneath Velza's knees, the other beneath her shoulders. As he lifted her, her head nestled softly against his chest, hair brushing against the of his cloak.
For a fleeting moment, his expression shifted — less prince, less cynic, something quieter, almost human.
"…Fine," he muttered under his breath. "But if she drools on me, that's on you."
The attendant gave a lazy thumbs-up, then walked over, her steps soft against the library's stone floor. With delicate care, she peeled the blanket from Velza's shoulders, folding it once before returning to the counter without another word.
The moment the blanket slipped away, Velza stirred. Her fingers clutched instinctively at Vaelen's cloak, holding on as though the world itself might pull her from him.
Velza's whisper tangled in the stillness, fragile as glass:
"Please don't make me leave."
Vaelen's face didn't change. Not for the attendant's eyes, not for the world that always expected him sharp-edged and unyielding.
He scoffed under his breath, tone clipped, almost careless:
"Pathetic. You're half-asleep and still troublesome."
Yet his arm tightened around her without command, his body betraying what his voice denied.
He felt her grip, small but stubborn, as though she clung to more than just him — as though she clung to not being abandoned.
And for the briefest heartbeat, the words she'd spoken weren't hers at all.
They were his.
A boy's voice from another lifetime, begging to stay, begging not to be cast aside.
The sound that left him was not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh — something raw between.
His hand brushed once, lightly, against her hair.
"…Sleep," he murmured, quiet enough that even the attendant might miss it. "I'll carry you home."
He turned, steps unhurried, and swung open the heavy library door.
The night spilled in around him.
Stars scattered like diamonds across an ocean of black, some streaking downward as if the heavens themselves were exhaling dreams. The twin moons hung apart but watchful:
Zephyros — golden, sharp, unwavering.
Luthienn — silver, softer, half-veiled by drifting clouds.
Yet tonight, something in their glow felt altered.
Not because he bore her weight in his arms.
But because of the warmth pressed against him — faint, fragile, and stubbornly real.
A warmth that seemed to cut through the cold in ways the moons never had.
The old man straightened at the carriage as Vaelen approached, saying nothing, simply holding the door open. His eyes, however, flickered with a quiet knowing. In all his years of service, he had never seen the prince carry anything so carefully. Not a sword, not a crown, not even himself.
Vaelen stepped closer, shifted slightly, and with careful precision laid Velza across the seat within. His hand lingered a moment longer than it should have, before he drew it back into the shadows of his cloak.