The glow of the chandeliers had faded, and the last notes of music hung like whispers in the air. The grand ball was over. Guests spilled into the courtyard beneath a star-scattered sky, voices softened by the lateness of the hour. Carriages lined the drive, their lanterns casting golden pools of light across polished stone.
Eleanor walked beside her parents as they descended the steps, her heart tugged between the glittering memories of the evening and the sadness she had fought to hide. Tonight had been meant for celebration, but for her, it also marked an ending.
David was already waiting at the foot of the stairs, his dark cloak drawn tightly against the night. He had come only for the ball, to stand once more beside his family before duty reclaimed him. His eyes lit when he saw her, though a trace of sorrow shadowed his smile.
"You look lovely, little sister," he said warmly, taking her hand. "I am glad I came, if only to see you shine tonight."
Eleanor's throat tightened. "And now you leave again," she whispered.
He gave a soft laugh, though it lacked its usual playfulness. "I must. The king does not wait, and neither do his men. But know this—though I march with them, part of me will always remain here, with you."
Their parents embraced him briefly, her mother pressing a kiss to his cheek, her father clapping his shoulder with pride. Words of encouragement, of honor and duty, were exchanged — yet beneath them lay the sorrow of parting.
Eleanor lingered as the farewells drew to a close. "Will you write?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"As often as I can," David promised. His hand tightened around hers, his gaze steady. "But you must promise me something too — do not let loneliness make you small. You are stronger than you know, and you have friends who will keep you company until I return."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the Hawthornes, waiting near their own carriage, before returning to hers.
Then, with one last embrace, he stepped away. The driver's call rang out, the horses shifted, and in moments David was gone, swallowed by the night road.
The Beaumont carriage was summoned soon after. As Eleanor settled inside, her mother dabbed at her eyes, and her father spoke quietly of duty and pride. Eleanor sat in silence, the image of her brother burned into her memory — tall, resolute, and already lost to the path ahead.
As their carriage wheels turned and the host's estate slipped behind them, Eleanor pressed her hands into her lap. The night had ended in glitter and music for many, but for her, it carried the heavy ache of farewell.
And though she told herself she would be strong, she knew the emptiness of his absence would follow her long after the ball's laughter had faded.