Orielle sat curled on the couch in her chamber, dressed in a soft nightgown, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the door as she waited for Tirian.
The minutes stretched. Then, the chamber door creaked open. Orielle straightened slightly, hope flickering across her face, only for it to dim just as quickly when Lissia stepped inside, her expression apologetic. "Your Majesty… the king may be late again tonight. He sent word for you to rest."
The words landed heavier than they should have. Orielle's shoulders sank, and she looked away, her voice slipping out in a quiet, irritated whisper."He couldn't at least say goodnight… or come tell me himself…"
She pressed her lips together, a faint pout forming despite herself.
Lissia offered a gentle, sympathetic smile as she stepped further into the room. "The king has been quite busy these days… with the start of the new year, and the Feast of Varkon approaching…"
Orielle turned her head sharply, her brows knitting together."I already handled most of the feast arrangements myself," she muttered. "What exactly is left for him to approve?"
Lissia hesitated for a moment, her smile softening with something closer to pity. It does seem the king keeps himself occupied on purpose these days… "I'm sure His Majesty only wishes to ease your burden," she said carefully. "Or perhaps… ensure your safety. After what happened, after you were taken...I doubt he would risk being careless again."
Orielle's expression shifted. The irritation didn't vanish, but something deeper slipped through, concern, tangled with unease. "If he were only worried about my safety…" she murmured, her gaze drifting back to the door, "…he'd be here. Keeping me safe himself."
She exhaled slowly, fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of her sleeve. "No… something's bothering him."
Lissia watched her quietly now. Orielle shook her head, frustration building again as she pushed herself upright."He keeps bottling everything up—telling me to trust him." Her voice rose slightly before softening again. "And I do trust him. Of course I do… why wouldn't I?"
She paused, her expression tightening. "But this…" she continued, more quietly now, "something happened in Veridelle. I could see it."
Lissia tilted her head gently. "Your Majesty…"
"Am I just supposed to sit here," Orielle cut in, her voice wavering between irritation and helplessness, "and let him push me away again?" She let out a small, frustrated groan, dropping back against the couch. "This tiring king… why is he so set on handling everything alone?"
Her gaze shifted to Lissia then, softer now, almost uncertain. "Even if I can't help him physically…" she said, quieter, "…can't I at least listen?"
There was a brief pause. Then, more vulnerably "Lissia… can't I?"
Lissia's expression warmed, and she stepped a little closer. "Of course you can, my lady. But… perhaps he does not know how to lean on you in that way yet."
Orielle frowned faintly. "Then he should learn," she muttered under her breath.
Lissia let out a soft chuckle at that, the tension easing just slightly. "Then perhaps… you could teach him? Speak to him first?"
Orielle immediately huffed, crossing her arms tightly. "Always me…" she complained, her pout returning in full force. "Why do I have to teach him how to talk to me?" She shot Lissia a look, half-annoyed, half-exasperated. "Do you know how much pride I swallow every time I bring things like this up? It's like he doesn't even realise what his… clueless behaviour does."
She paused, then added flatly— "He's emotionally constipated I tell you! He'd be perfect if he would just-." She stopped herself, biting her lip "can't he just talk to me a little...?"
Lissia blinked, clearly caught off guard, before covering a smile. Orielle waved a hand dismissively, already retreating from the topic. "No, forget it. Lissia, prepare the bed."
She turned her face away, though the anger lingered. "I'm not waiting up for him tonight. Ten days, and he still can't even say goodnight himself…"
A beat passed. Then, quieter, fondness through her frustration. "But he'll come in later… and tuck me in when I fall asleep, like he always does."
A small huff escaped her. "That king…" Another, softer this time— "Ah… that king…"
Lissia said nothing as she moved to prepare the bed, a gentle smile resting on her lips. She truly cares for him, she thought, glancing back at Orielle. I wonder if he understands just how much.
Later that night, Orielle slept soundly, her hair sprawled wildly across the pillows, strands tangled and untamed.
The chamber door creaked open. Tirian stepped inside quietly, closing it behind him with care. The dim light caught the strain in his face, the tension he carried, but the moment his eyes fell on her, it softened.
A tired, fragile smile touched his lips. He moved closer to the bed, his steps slow, almost hesitant, as if afraid to disturb the peace she held so effortlessly.
Carefully, he leaned over her, gathering the strands of her hair and lifting them free from beneath her shoulder, spreading them gently across the pillow to keep them from tangling.
A small exhale left him. I'm glad… you went to bed properly this time… He lingered there for a moment before finally lowering himself beside her.
For a while, he simply watched. Her face was calm, but her brows twitched faintly, then pulled together in a soft frown, as if even in sleep she had found something to argue with.
A quiet chuckle slipped from him. "…Even in your dreams…" His hand lifted before he could stop himself, his thumb brushing lightly over the crease between her brows, smoothing it away. "Orielle…" he murmured, his voice barely more than breath.
The smile faded. "How…" he began, then faltered. His gaze dropped, his hand still resting against her skin. "How can you still care for me… knowing what I've done?"
The words came slower now, heavier. "That I followed the will of the gods… that I—" He stopped, his jaw tightening. "That it could lead to your death…"
Silence filled the space between them. "I'm sure Sol told you…" he continued more quietly, almost bitterly. "You should know everything by now."
His thumb came down resting against her cheek. "And yet you still…" His voice weakened. "You still chose to stay. To love me… to want to see me…"
Orielle let out a soft, frustrated sound in her sleep, her expression tightening again.
Tirian huffed a faint breath through his nose, something close to a broken laugh. "Still arguing…" His hand shifted fully against her cheek this time, feeling her warmth beneath his palm.
Instinctively, she leaned into it. And just like that, her expression softened. A small, peaceful smile replaced the frown.
Tirian froze. Something in his chest tightened painfully. "My little fox…" he whispered, the words barely holding together.
His gaze lingered on her, searching, uncertain. "…Is this fate something I can overturn?"
The question hung in the air, fragile. "Can I save you… by going against them?" His eyes darkened slightly. "Am I even capable of that… if their plan was always your death?"
No answer came. Only her quiet breathing.
Slowly, he turned onto his back, dragging a hand over his face, exhaustion and conflict bleeding through every movement.
Then—
A shift.
Orielle moved in her sleep, her arm slipping across him, resting lightly against his chest as if she belonged there. Tirian stilled. His breath caught. You always do this too me... For a moment, he didn't move at all.
Then he turned his head slightly toward her, his voice breaking into something softer, something far more vulnerable. "Even if I could…" The words came out uneven. "Do I deserve to stay by your side… knowing everything now?"
His eyes shut tightly. "Am I allowed to be happy… with you?" His hand rose again, covering his face as if to hide from the weight of his own thoughts, his breath unsteady.
"…Am I allowed to be greedy… with you?" The silence stretched. Slowly and reluctantly he reached for her arm.
Gently he lifted it from where it rested against him and placed it back onto the bed between them.
The emptiness felt immediate almost cold He turned onto his side, facing away from her now, his back tense. "No…" he whispered into the darkness. Because it's you. I can't be greedy. His voice dropped further, barely there. "I'm not allowed to be."
*****
Orielle jolted awake, her breath catching as her heart pounded against her ribs. For a split second, she didn't know why. Then it hit her and her hand shot out to the other side of the bed.
Warm.
Her eyes widened. "It's still warm—!"
She pushed herself up too quickly, her hair a tangled mess falling into her face as she scrambled out of bed. The blanket caught around her foot, and she stumbled forward with a small gasp before yanking herself free.
One slipper made it on.
The other didn't, but she didn't notice. She was already moving. The door flew open as she rushed into the corridor, bare foot slapping softly against the cold floor as she hurried forward. Then suddenly she collided straight into a maid carrying a stack of freshly washed sheets.
The linens slipped, the maid stumbling slightly before quickly lowering her gaze.
"My—my apologies, Your Majesty, I wasn't—"
"Did you see the king?" Orielle cut in, her voice rushed, breath uneven.
The maid blinked, startled by the urgency. "N-no, my lady, I just passed through—"
Orielle was already looking past her, scanning the corridor as if he might still be there.
"Please… the bed was still warm…" she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "He has to be close…" She stepped past the maid, her pace slowing only slightly as she searched.
"My lady…" the maid followed after her, hesitant. Then she looked up properly, and froze. The queen stood there in nothing but a nightgown, hair in disarray, one slipper on, the other foot bare.
Without thinking, the maid dropped the linens and quickly pulled a sheet free, draping it gently over Orielle's shoulders.
"You can't be seen like this, Your Majesty," she said softly. "Please… let's get you dressed first."
Orielle blinked, glancing down at herself as if noticing it all for the first time. The single slipper. The sheet now wrapped around her. A small, breathless laugh escaped her. "I don't care…" But the words lacked weight.
Her shoulders sank slightly, her gaze lowering. The maid's expression softened, pity flickering through her eyes. "After you're dressed," she offered gently, "I can send word to the king—that you wish to see him."
Orielle stilled. Then slowly, she looked up, really looking at the maid this time, as if suddenly remembering herself. "Ah…" Her voice softened, almost apologetic. "No… it's alright. Thank you."
For a moment, she just stood there. Then her lips pressed into a deep pout. Something shifted behind her eyes. Frustration. Stubbornness. She turned sharply, bending to gather the fallen linens before clutching them to her chest. "I'm not going to chase him," she declared with a huff, already walking back toward her chamber. "I've made up my mind!"
The sheet slipped slightly as she walked, the entire sight just disordered enough to be endearing. The maid quickly looked away to hide the smile threatening to form.
She watched the queen disappear down the corridor, her expression lingering somewhere between fondness and concern.
Should I send word to the king anyway…? she wondered. He did ask us to keep watch over her… to report anything unusual…
Her gaze drifted in the direction Orielle had gone. If he cares this much… A small crease formed between her brows… then why is he keeping his distance?
The corridor fell quiet once more.