The torches lining the corridor outside Lady Kaelith's chamber burned low, their flames swaying gently with the breeze sneaking through the stone arches. Shadows danced on the walls, long and flickering—like ghosts too restless to sleep.
Leon stood still, back straight, hands clasped behind him. His silver-and-black armor caught the firelight with a dull gleam. Around him, five other guards were stationed at intervals along the corridor—silent, alert, seasoned.
But he was the only one that mattered.
King Damon had said it himself: "I trust no one else. Not tonight."
The order was simple. Absolute.
Kaelith had retired an hour earlier. The door to her chambers remained shut.
And yet—
It creaked open.
Just a little.
Then wider.
Kaelith stepped out, barefoot, wrapped in a deep violet robe lined with gold thread. Her hair was braided loosely, eyes clear despite the late hour.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway, regarding Leon like one might a stubborn dog.
"I told you to rest," she said.
"You did," Leon replied without turning his head.
"I said I'm safe. Look." She gestured toward the others. "Guards like wolves. Any assassin would be a fool to come near this hall."
Leon didn't move.
Kaelith narrowed her eyes.
"I'm not a child, Leon."
"I know," he said quietly.
"And I don't need a nursemaid standing outside my door like some brooding statue."
"I'm not your nursemaid."
She gave a sharp huff. "Could've fooled me."
Silence.
She stepped closer, gaze narrowing.
"Go away"
Leon finally looked at her. "No."
"Do you think I'm frightened?"
"No."
"Then why wouldn't you leave?"
"Because the king gave an order."
She rolled her eyes. "And if I ordered you to leave?"
"You're not the king."
Kaelith scowled, pushed off the doorframe, and turned her back to him. She vanished back inside, leaving the door ajar.
But Leon didn't relax.
He knew Kaelith. Knew her strength, her pride, the fire that burned so bright people often forgot how easily fire could be snuffed out when it least expected.
He also knew the tremor she had tried to hide earlier that day. The flicker in her voice when she said that she was alright. The way her fingers had clenched the hem of her gown when she thought no one was watching.
A moment passed.
Then her voice floated from the room. Softer this time.
"You're going to stand there all night, aren't you?"
"Yes."
A sigh.
"Suit yourself." She said as she closed the door dramatically.
Leon allowed himself the faintest smile.
****************
Damon had been gone for two days.
Not that Neriah was counting.
Well… maybe just a little.
He had said something vague before leaving. Something about "a few hardened men" who "needed a bit of talking to." That was all he offered. No place. No time. No hint of danger. And maybe that was for the best, because if he had told her more—if he had looked at her with those wickedly calm eyes and said he might not return soon—Neriah wasn't entirely sure what she would've done.
She woke up in their chamber the next morning and found the bed colder than usual. She stretched, turned to the side Damon usually occupied, and found nothing but rumpled linen and memory. She hissed beneath her breath, then pulled the blanket over her head. That was yesterday.
Today, she didn't have the luxury of sulking. Lady Vax would be waiting.
The corridor was brighter than her mood. The tapestries lining the stone walls fluttered gently in the morning draft. Footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor, guards moving in shifts, chambermaids with trays of morning fare. Yet the absence of one particular footstep, one particular stride, made the whole place feel oddly vacant.
She muttered as she walked.
"I'm not missing him. I'm just… observant. Very observant."
She was dressed in a soft cream gown, cinched at the waist with a braided sash. Her hair had been tamed into some presentable fashion by her handmaid, but Neriah had barely paid attention. She spent longer than usual in front of the mirror—not to admire herself, but because she thought she might've heard footsteps outside the chamber. They weren't his.
Lady Vax was already waiting in the study when Neriah arrived.
They went over terrain maps, titles of visiting nobility, and issues of grain storage. Neriah was beginning to understand the politics of Arkenfall. Beginning to see how Damon's kingdom balanced on something fragile—something powerful, yes, but fragile nonetheless.
Still, halfway through Lady Vax's briefing, Neriah's mind wandered.
He didn't say how long he'd be gone.
He hadn't say where he'd gone.
She cursed beneath her breath as she refocused on the maps.
"…Lady Neriah?" Vax raised a brow.
"Hm? Oh. Yes. That's the—yes, I completely understood all that you've said."
Lady Vax stared for a moment too long. Neriah offered a tight smile.
She wasn't listening.
Not really.
Her hands moved, her mouth spoke, but her mind — her mind was somewhere else. On someone else.
She missed him.
In small, impossible ways.
She missed the sound of his voice — deep, low, steady — the kind that settled things in your chest without asking permission. She missed the faint, warm scent of him that lingered in their chamber: clean linen, leather, something faintly sweet beneath it all. She missed the way he'd sometimes pass close just to be near, even if he didn't touch her. The way his presence filled a room — quiet, firm, kingly.
But it was different when he was with her.
He didn't need to say anything. He just looked — and she felt seen. Like he understood something about her even she didn't know how to explain.
She missed that most of all.
She hated how empty everything felt without him.
Not because she was fragile. Not because she needed saving.
But because something about Damon felt... right. Grounding. And the absence of him left everything slightly off balance.
She wondered where he was now. What he was doing. If he thought of her. If he missed her, even a little.
She'd never say it. Of course not. But gods, she wanted to.
She'd never said she loved him. He hadn't said it either. But sometimes, love lived in the things left unspoken.