The moment Valerie stepped into the kitchen, the low hum of conversation died. Wooden spoons scraped lazily against pots, knives tapped on boards, but no one spoke. Wendy's lip curled into a smirk as her eyes flicked up, full of disdain.
"Outsider," she muttered under her breath, loud enough to sting.
Then, as if rehearsed, the servants turned back to their work, as though the silence had never existed.
Weird. Valerie rolled her eyes, brushing off the weight of their stares. She'd been called worse, in far crueler places. Emily shot her a sympathetic glance across the chopping block, a soft squeeze of the lips that almost made Valerie laugh. Sympathy was something she neither needed nor knew how to process. Years as an assassin in her past world had carved away her ability to mimic emotion—eventually she stopped even pretending. Her job had demanded steel, not softness.
"I'll fill you in later," Emily whispered, sliding a bowl toward her.
Valerie only nodded, settling into the rhythm of work. They chopped, scrubbed, and prepared until the bells called them to bathe and ready themselves for supper.
After their showers, the four of them claimed their usual corner at the servants' table. Steam rose from bowls of stew as they settled in. Wendy sat across the room, glaring daggers at them as if their laughter soured the air.
"What's got her skirts in a twist?" Valerie asked dryly.
"Have you guys heard?" Mealis leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
Everyone nodded—except Valerie.
"What do you mean?" she asked, raising a brow.
The three stared at her like she'd grown a second head. Emily sighed. "You didn't notice? Everyone stopped talking the moment you came in."
"That bitch," Mealis muttered, stabbing her bread.
"Push-over," Liora added under her breath.
Valerie smirked at their back-to-back outrage. "Charming. But you mentioned a reason for the sudden storm?"
Emily's voice lowered. "Apparently… something's been disturbed."
"Disturbed?" Valerie repeated.
Emily gestured for her to lean in. Valerie did, her assassin instincts sharpening at the secrecy.
"There's a lake at the edge of the forest," Emily whispered. "The Lake of Lumeris. A magical place. It hasn't stirred since the kings' separation, when the Celestial Holder first appeared."
Valerie tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "And?"
"It only reacts to power," Emily continued. "When storms rise from its waters, it means either a great danger is coming… or a powerful being has awakened. Lightning, wind, floods—it doesn't happen without cause. And now?" She gestured at the crack of thunder that rattled the hall's windows. "Something big is coming."
"Celestial Holder?" Valerie pressed.
Emily's lips tightened. She glanced at the other two, who exchanged a look. It was Liora who answered first.
"Lady Isolde Valebright," she said quietly. "Daughter of Duke Alaric and Duchess Rowenna. She has a younger brother, Cedric. But she is the one who matters. The Holder of the Celestial Light."
"Blessed by the sun itself," Mealis added, her tone edged with awe. "Her affinity is rare—unheard of, even. Fields thrive where she walks. Crops flourish. The sick recover faster. Entire kingdoms prosper in her presence."
Valerie frowned. "So she's some kind of living charm?"
"More than that," Liora whispered. "There are rumors. That all four kings are… smitten with her. And some whisper she may not become queen to one of them."
"But… all of them?" Valerie blinked. She wasn't easily shocked, but her face betrayed confusion. "Wait, people here share wives?"
"It's rare," Mealis explained quickly. "Almost forbidden. But among nobles? If two women refuse to give up a man—or two men refuse to give up a woman—then a truce can be struck. A shared bond. It doesn't happen often… but in Isolde's case?" She shrugged. "She might be the exception."
Valerie leaned back, whistling low. "She must be a real looker if kings are willing to break rules for her."
The table fell into soft laughter, though unease lingered between the cracks of it. The storm outside growled like a warning. They lingered a while longer, whispering until fatigue called them back to their quarters.
One by one, they wished each other goodnight, snuffed out their candles, and let the dark swallow the whispers whole.