The Evandelle gardens had always glowed brighter at night.
Moonlight scattered across silverleaf hedges and glass-petaled roses that shimmered faintly when touched by wind. The air was cool, carrying the scent of jasmine and the faint trickle of water from the marble fountain at the heart of the courtyard.
Zelene stood by it now — the same spot where she used to hide as a child during her lessons — barefoot against the grass, her gown whispering around her ankles. The stars above seemed almost too close, their light pooling softly across her shoulders.
She didn't turn when she heard the footsteps behind her. She didn't need to.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Kael's voice came from behind her, low and calm — the kind of voice that never intruded, only waited for invitation.
Zelene smiled faintly. "I was thinking."
"That sounds dangerous," he murmured.
She cast him a sidelong glance. "For who?"
His lips quirked. "Depends who you're thinking about."
She rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. "You're impossible."
He stepped closer, slow enough that the grass barely bent beneath his boots. His coat was gone, sleeves rolled, the moonlight tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the soft dark of his hair. Even here — away from the court and its masks — he looked every bit the duke: composed, untouchable.
And yet tonight, something in his eyes had softened.
"You'll be leaving in the morning," Zelene said quietly, fingers trailing the water's surface. "Back to Dravenhart."
Kael nodded once. "There's much to handle. The northern borders are restless again, and… the matters approaches faster than I'd like."
"You sound relieved," she teased lightly.
"Not relieved." His tone gentled. "Just… aware that I shouldn't stay where I'll be missed."
She frowned, looking at him properly now. "You make it sound as though you're intruding."
"Aren't I?"
"Kael," she said softly, "you're not a stranger to me."
He held her gaze for a long moment — and she wished he hadn't, because it made breathing suddenly feel like work.
Something passed between them then, quiet and fragile — the kind of stillness that asked to be broken, but neither dared to.
Zelene turned back to the fountain, watching her reflection ripple and reform. "I'll be staying here for the meantime," she murmured.
Kael nodded slowly. "Alright. Your father did tell me."
"You agree with him too easily."
"I usually do when it comes to your safety."
Zelene's lips curved faintly, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "You talk about safety as if it's something you can promise."
He stepped closer until his reflection joined hers in the water. "I don't make promises I can't keep."
That shouldn't have made her heart skip — but it did. The quiet conviction in his tone, the weight of his words, the way his gaze didn't waver.
It wasn't flattery. It wasn't charm.
It was Kael — steady, infuriating, unshakably sincere.
Zelene looked away first. "You'll make the nobles talk if you keep saying things like that."
"Let them," he said simply. "They'll talk no matter what we do."
She bit back a smile. "You've grown bold, Duke."
"I learned from you."
That made her laugh — soft and surprised. And Kael, hearing it, allowed himself a small smile too. It felt… rare. Precious.
The breeze stirred the petals around them, carrying her hair against his sleeve. She reached to brush it back — but Kael's hand moved first, fingertips barely grazing her cheek as he tucked the strand behind her ear.
The touch was fleeting — no more than a breath — but it lingered like warmth after light.
Zelene froze, startled not by the gesture but by the tenderness in it.
When she finally found her voice, it was barely above a whisper.
"You're leaving tomorrow."
"I am."
"Then… good night, Kael."
He held her gaze one heartbeat longer than necessary, something unreadable — and unspoken — flickering there. Then he inclined his head slightly, that familiar, quiet courtesy returning like armor.
"Good night, Zelene."
He turned to go, his footsteps soft against the path. The night seemed to follow him — heavy, slow — until the sound faded completely.
Zelene stood there long after he'd gone, staring at the reflection in the fountain where two figures had once stood.
Only hers remained now, the ripples fading to stillness.
And though she would never admit it aloud — not even to herself —
the stillness felt lonelier than it should have.