Chapter 3 — The Hour Before Dawn
The palace slept like a creature guarding secrets.
Asha woke before the bells, the air a cool hush that smelled of stone and night rain. She dressed in gray linen and a charcoal shawl, the color of clouds waiting to choose their weather. The corridor outside her chamber hummed with the low pulse of distant clocks.
Kairon stood there as if the silence belonged to him. No soldiers, no aides—just a tall figure in a dark waistcoat, hair still damp from a brisk wash. A candle in his hand made his eyes catch fire for a moment before he lowered it.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.
"I prefer beginnings to endings," he said, voice quiet enough that it touched the walls but didn't wake them.
They walked together through the labyrinth of hallways. Marble gave way to old wood that whispered under their steps. Tapestries carried stories in muted reds and deep blues: wars, coronations, forgotten feasts. Asha counted the beats of their footsteps and realized he had slowed to match her shorter stride.
At the small chapel, dawn found them first. Thin light seeped through tall windows, turning the dust in the air to gold flecks. A single priest waited, eyes lowered as if he understood that the ceremony belonged more to silence than to him.
The vows were brief.
Kairon's voice stayed even, but when he took her hand, the warm press of his palm betrayed a heartbeat quicker than his words. His scar brushed the inside of her wrist like a secret he couldn't help sharing. Asha felt the ring settle—plain gold, cool as moonlight—until her skin warmed it.
When the priest dismissed them, Kairon didn't release her hand immediately. He held it a heartbeat too long, eyes searching hers not for permission but for recognition, as if he was making sure this moment would stay real even if a memory someday wasn't.
Breakfast waited in a sunlit room overlooking the inner gardens. Steam rose from tea like a slow dance. Servants came and went without sound. Asha sat across from him, studying the man behind the Regent.
"You dislike ceremony," she said.
"It wastes time," he replied, but a corner of his mouth admitted a smile before discipline returned.
"You planned this entire morning."
"Some things deserve precision," he said. "Even if they last an instant."
A soft knock interrupted them. A young officer bowed, eyes carefully averted. "Your Majesty, the Council requests a meeting regarding the eastern corridor repairs."
Asha watched the smallest tension slide through Kairon's shoulders—the name of that corridor again, quiet but weighted.
"Later," he said. "Not this morning."
The officer withdrew. The door shut with a sound like a sealed envelope.
After breakfast, Kairon guided her to the workshop set aside for her. It smelled of fresh wood and lemon oil, a language she knew. Tools lined the walls in neat rows. Brass gears lay waiting like patient stars.
"You said you need a clock that forgets," she began, running her fingers across the smooth edge of a gear. "I'll need complete freedom of design. And time."
"You'll have both," he said. He stepped closer, the subtle scent of cedar and winter following. "If you need materials, you tell me. If you need silence, you take it."
Asha turned to face him. "And if I need answers?"
His eyes held hers, unreadable and steady. "Ask. I will give what I can."
The morning light found his scar again, and she thought of the locked east corridor, the memories he might want erased, and the mystery of her own name already etched in his world.
The gears on the table caught a shaft of sun and turned it into a small, perfect star.
The clocks are still ticking in the shadows. Step closer and hear them first on patreon @rosavyn.