The next few days slipped by in a rhythm that felt almost rehearsed. Morning tea. Afternoon walks. Dinners where I smiled too politely at people whose names I barely remembered. Every day the same polite courtesies, the same routine.
If this was what being "honored" meant, I wanted none of it.
Even Kael had disappeared again — apparently buried under duties I wasn't supposed to question. I tried not to think about what his silence meant.
So, I found myself pacing the courtyard, restless, watching the faint shimmer of the morning fog curl through the training grounds. My fingers itched for movement — for something that wasn't embroidery or small talk.
And then there was Ray. Standing off to the side, arms crossed, still and solid as one of the marble pillars.
"Ray," I called.
He looked up with that flat, unimpressed expression that was quickly becoming his default.
"Let's spar."
His brow twitched — not a frown, but close. "No."
I blinked. "No?"
He didn't elaborate. He just resumed scanning the perimeter, like my request was a passing breeze.
I stepped closer. "You're my guard, aren't you?"
"Mm."
"Then guard me by making sure I don't forget how to fight."
"Not my duty."
I stared at him. "You talked more than one word this time. I'm honored."
He gave the faintest snort — or maybe I imagined it.
"Come on," I tried again, hands on hips. "You're obviously trained. The way you move gives it away. Don't tell me you're just here to look intimidating."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if assessing whether I was serious. "You'll get hurt."
I grinned. "Then you'll have failed your duty."
For a moment, I thought he might actually give in. His hand twitched near his sword — not quite drawing it, but thinking about it. Then he sighed, short and controlled. "No."
I groaned dramatically and threw my hands in the air. "You're impossible."
"Alive," he said simply.
I blinked again, caught off guard by his tone — calm, matter-of-fact, but laced with something that almost sounded like dry humor.
"Did you just make a joke?"
He didn't answer.
But the corner of his mouth did twitch.
I tried not to smile — and failed.
Fine. Let him have his secrets. I'd get him to spar eventually.
For now, it was enough that he was starting to respond. Even if his words were few, there was something steady about having him there — quiet, unreadable, but dependable in a way I couldn't quite name.
And maybe, just maybe, I was starting to get used to the silence between us.
---
Days bled into one another, smoothed by the same routine — morning tea, polite nods from maids, lessons she never asked for, meals that arrived too perfectly timed.
Everything was too calm. Too polished.
The kind of peace that started to feel like a cage.
Even Ray — her quiet, infuriatingly unreadable shadow — was beginning to show cracks of annoyance whenever she tried to start conversation.
"I could die of boredom here," I said one afternoon, pacing near the window. "Would you at least pretend to be interesting?"
Ray looked up from sharpening his blade. "No."
I huffed. "Figures."
Outside, the courtyard shimmered under the dying sun. The air was thick with summer gold, and the sound of steel — distant, rhythmic — caught my attention.
Curiosity tugged at me. "Someone's still training?"
Ray didn't look up. "You shouldn't go."
"Which means I absolutely should," I said, already heading for the door.
He sighed, but followed — because of course he did.
The training yard lay quiet at this hour, shadows stretching long across the sand. At first, I thought it was empty — until I saw him.
Kael stood alone near the far edge, blade in hand. No audience, no guards. Just him, the dull gleam of his sword, and the echo of his breathing.
He moved like a storm barely contained — precise, powerful, but brutal. His strikes cut the air with surgical precision. But beneath the discipline, I sensed it — that same edge of something raw.
I froze behind a pillar, watching as his sword slipped mid-swing — a small mistake, but his reaction was telling. He stopped instantly, jaw tightening, hand trembling just faintly before he forced it still.
The curse, I realized.
"Enjoying the view?"
I flinched. He hadn't even turned.
"You have an irritating habit of appearing uninvited," Kael said, lowering his blade.
"And you have an irritating habit of pretending you don't need anyone," I countered.
That earned me a sharp look — but not quite anger. More like disbelief.
"I was only curious," I added quickly. "I didn't know you trained this late."
"Because you don't ask."
I crossed my arms. "Would you have answered if I did?"
His silence was answer enough.
He sheathed his blade, gloved hands brushing the dust off his sleeves. "You should go back, Lady Evandelle. The nights here aren't kind."
"Oh? Planning to frighten me with ghost stories, Lord Dravenhart?"
"Something like that," he said — but there was a shadow behind it, something unspoken.
I tilted my head. "Then tell me one."
He exhaled slowly, the faintest curve of his mouth betraying amusement. "You're persistent."
"I've been told."
A pause stretched between us. The kind that almost felt comfortable.
Then, he said quietly, "It isn't a story. It's the truth."
He stepped closer, eyes dark under the lantern light. "The curse runs through the soil here. It feeds on what it touches. That's why no one comes to this yard at night."
"Except you."
He nodded once. "Someone has to keep it from spreading."
Something in his tone made my chest tighten. He wasn't boasting. He was admitting a burden.
I hesitated, then — gently — "You shouldn't have to do it alone."
He looked at me for a long moment. "You think your light can undo what centuries of darkness built?"
I smiled faintly. "I think it's worth trying."
His gaze softened — just barely — before he turned away. "You'll drive me mad."
"I'll take that as progress."
He huffed, and for the first time, it sounded dangerously close to laughter.
Ray was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, pretending not to watch — but I caught the faintest shake of his head.
Maybe he thought I was reckless.
Maybe I was.
But as I followed Kael's retreating figure, something inside me stirred again — that same whisper of warmth that had no right existing in a place so steeped in cold.
And just like that, boredom didn't feel so suffocating anymore.