The corridors had long gone quiet when Father summoned me.
The palace felt different at night — stripped of its politeness. Shadows stretched thin along the walls, and the ever-burning sconces gave off a dim, amber glow that flickered like held breath.
I stood before his study door, steadying myself before knocking.
"Enter," came his voice — low, weary, unmistakably firm.
Alaric Evandelle sat behind his desk, papers forgotten, a single lamp painting the sharp lines of his face in gold and shadow. He didn't look up immediately. That was worse than anger; it meant he was thinking.
I closed the door behind me. "You wanted to talk."
"I always want to talk, Zelene," he said quietly, still not looking up. "But lately, you seem to prefer disappearing."
"I didn't—"
He raised a hand — not to silence me, but to steady his own tone. "Sit."
I obeyed, though the air between us felt heavy enough to press against my ribs.
When he finally lifted his gaze, his eyes weren't angry. They were tired — the kind of tired that had nothing to do with sleep.
"The man you brought," he began, "he's being kept under heavy ward and watch. No one knows who he is, where he came from, or what ties he might have."
"I told you, Father," I said carefully. "The Aether led me to him. He's not—"
"The Aether," he interrupted, "has led our family into enough danger for one lifetime."
His words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they came from fear. The same fear that built walls around our name.
He leaned back, hands steepled. "You understand why this must remain quiet. No one outside our family must know."
"I understand," I said. "But—"
"No," he said, voice softening, though the command still sat beneath it. "Listen, Zelene."
He rarely used my full name unless he needed me to hear him as both father and lord.
"The world already whispers too loudly about our bloodline. If they knew how far your Gift had developed..." His expression darkened. "The court would not call it a blessing. They would call it a weapon."
I looked away. "You think they'd use me."
"I know they would." He rose, crossing the room to stand by the window. Beyond the glass, the moon caught faint reflections of the palace gardens — calm, pristine, untouchable. "You are powerful, Zelene. Too powerful for their comfort. And power like that makes men nervous. Nervous men make dangerous decisions."
He turned back to me, eyes softening. "That is what I'm trying to protect you from."
For a moment, I forgot to breathe. There it was again — the weight behind his words. Not control. Not pride. Love. Terrified, protective, aching love.
"Then what happens," I asked quietly, "when the truth comes out anyway?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached across the desk, setting a hand over mine — a rare gesture for him.
"Then," he said, voice almost a whisper, "we make sure we're ready for it."
---
The palace always felt too bright after a night like that.
Sunlight poured through the tall windows, bouncing off marble and gold, turning the air itself into something sharp. Servants moved quietly, though I caught the sideways glances — curiosity thinly veiled as politeness.
I ignored them.
The guest chamber where they kept him was far from the main wing, sealed under layered wards of both steel and spell. My Aether still hummed faintly at the threshold — restless, like it wanted to touch what waited inside.
The guards straightened when I approached. "Lady Zelene," one greeted cautiously, bowing. "His Grace said you may enter, but—"
"—not to wake him," I finished. "I know."
They stepped aside.
The door creaked open.
The air inside was cooler, scented faintly of herbs and linen. Morning light filtered through half-drawn curtains, painting the wounded man in fractured gold. He was still unconscious, though his breathing had steadied since last night.
I approached slowly, studying him properly this time.
Even in sleep, he didn't look peaceful.
His features had the kind of sharpness that once belonged to portraits — the kind painted to immortalize lineage and pride. High cheekbones framed a face too gaunt for his age, the faint hollows beneath his eyes telling more about exhaustion than vanity. His skin was pale — not porcelain, but the kind that had once known the sun before months of confinement stripped it away.
His hair, though cut short in uneven lengths, carried that pale ash-blond shade that caught the morning light almost silver. Strands brushed against his forehead, clinging to his temples damp with sweat.
There was an old nobility to him — not the polished, perfumed kind that filled court halls, but something worn, faded, buried beneath scars and grit. His nose was straight, patrician, marred only by a faint line across the bridge that spoke of an old break. His mouth, firm even in sleep, was drawn into the faintest frown, as if his body refused to surrender to rest.
His hands were calloused — not from field work, but from fighting. The kind of wear that comes from wielding steel and surviving it. Veins stood out faintly against his forearms, the pallor of his skin making them seem carved rather than grown.
He didn't look like a common fugitive.
He looked like a fallen knight who had outlived his oath.
Someone had cleaned his wounds overnight — the bandages were fresh. Still, the faint shimmer of darkness clung to his skin like smoke that refused to disperse. My Gift stirred in recognition, though I kept it restrained.
He wasn't ordinary. Not by any measure.
I circled him slowly, noting the remnants of his clothing — worn leather, travel-torn, with insignias half-burned away. I didn't recognize the pattern, but something about it whispered of old allegiance.
Whoever he was, he had once belonged to something... powerful.
I found myself speaking softly, almost without realizing. "You said I was led here. That the forest wanted me to find you." My gaze flickered to his face. "Why?"
He didn't answer — not yet. His expression remained unreadable, caught between sleep and pain.
The Aether inside me pulsed once, faint and cold.
Something was coming.
Something tied to him.
And as I stood there, alone in that sunlit room with a stranger who shouldn't have existed, I couldn't shake the feeling that Father was right — when the truth finally reached the court, it wouldn't just threaten my power.
It would change everything.