When the laughter finally faded and the clatter of silverware gave way to soft music, the manor exhaled into peace.
Servants cleared the last of the dishes. Elara had long since fallen asleep against Seraphine's shoulder, and Caelan had excused himself to his study with a half-hearted promise to "inspect the wine stocks."
Zelene lingered in the parlor, still chatting with her mother near the hearth, her soft laughter mingling with the low hum of the fire.
And just beyond that warm light — near the shadowed archway that led to the west hall — Kael stood speaking quietly with Lord Alaric Evandelle.
It wasn't a planned conversation.
But Alaric had always known when to speak — and when to listen.
And tonight, he intended to do both.
The corridor was dimly lit, the firelight from the parlor spilling just enough to gild the edges of the Duke's dark attire. Kael had removed his formal jacket; his sleeves were rolled, his posture impeccable even in ease.
"You wanted to see me, my lord?" Kael said quietly.
Alaric nodded once, stepping closer. "You've done well by her."
Kael inclined his head, a trace of confusion flickering across his features. "Lady Zelene is capable of taking care of herself."
"I'm aware." Alaric's tone softened, but his eyes — keen, unwavering — stayed fixed on Kael's. "But she also trusts you. That's a rarer thing than swordsmanship or strategy. Especially for her."
Kael said nothing, though his jaw tightened slightly.
Alaric turned toward the arched window, where moonlight poured across the polished floor. "You've noticed the tension in the city, I assume."
"I have," Kael replied. "More than tension. Something festering beneath the surface."
A small sound — half sigh, half growl — escaped Alaric. "You're not wrong. The capital grows hungrier by the week. Power shifts faster than reason. There are whispers even here — of those who would see the old houses fractured."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "Evandelle among them?"
Alaric didn't answer immediately. His reflection wavered in the glass, pale beneath the silvery moonlight. "Our enemies do not strike with swords anymore. They strike with names, with alliances, with the illusion of choice. And when the council convenes… every eye will be on her."
"On Zelene," Kael said quietly.
"Yes." Alaric turned fully to him now. "She carries more than she knows — and that makes her dangerous to those who covet power. I sent her to Dravenhart not because of your reputation, Duke… but because I trust your restraint."
Kael met his gaze steadily. "Restraint?"
"Others would have tried to use her. You've done the opposite."
Kael's expression remained unreadable, but his voice carried a weight that didn't need words. "She deserves peace. I'd see to it, no matter the cost."
That earned a small, knowing nod from Alaric — the kind that saw more than Kael wanted to reveal.
"You care for her," he said simply.
Kael didn't look away, though something flickered in his eyes — fleeting as lightning behind clouds. "I respect her."
"Respect," Alaric mused quietly, "is how love begins in those who fear to name it."
Silence followed — heavy and profound. The only sound was the fire crackling from the next room, and Zelene's faint laughter drifting from the parlor like a reminder of everything they were trying to protect.
At last, Alaric straightened, his expression once again that of the tactician, not the father. "Watch the Valemonts. And the Royal Family. They'll test you — and her. Don't let them draw blood, not even with words."
Kael inclined his head. "Understood."
"And Lord Kael," Alaric added, his tone softer now, "if anything happens — anything at all — you bring her home. Not to the capital. Not to me. Home. You understand?"
Kael's gaze softened, the faintest warmth threading through his composure. "I understand, my lord. Even if she fights me for it."
A quiet chuckle escaped Alaric. "She will."
"Then I'll fight harder."
For a long moment, they stood there — two men bound not by blood, but by a single promise:
To keep Zelene Evandelle safe, even if the gods themselves disapproved.
From the parlor, Zelene's voice rose again, calling softly, "Kael?"
Her tone carried that familiar mixture of strength and warmth that made his chest ache in ways he didn't dare name.
Kael turned his head toward the sound, then looked back to Alaric.
The older man smiled faintly. "Go on, Duke. Before she suspects we're plotting her future."
Kael inclined his head and stepped away, his footsteps fading into the light.
As he disappeared down the corridor, Alaric's expression shifted — the proud father replaced by the wary lord.
He glanced toward the window once more. Outside, the wind had changed. The torches along the outer wall flickered all at once, as if something unseen had passed through.
"Gods keep you, my daughter," he murmured.
"For soon, even home may not be safe."