The day had started like any other.
With a palace too beautiful to be honest.
With white walls, quiet corridors, and glances that slid over me before moving away again, as if I were a detail people preferred not to look at for too long.
I was walking through the study wing with my bag over one shoulder when Eira finally slowed down.
She was still holding onto my sleeve from the courtyard, as if she was afraid I might disappear between two columns.
"You can let go," I said.
"No."
"Why?"
She looked up at me with all the seriousness in the world.
"Because you walk fast when you want to run away."
I looked at her for a second.
"I'm not running away."
"Mmh."
I hated that little sound.
Because it meant she didn't believe me.
We reached the main crossing of the east wing. From there, the corridors split toward the teaching rooms, the lower library, the inner gardens, and the galleries reserved for the children of the main bloodline.
Eira finally stopped.
"This is it."
"I know."
"Are you coming to get me later?"
"You have three guards and two nurses."
"That's not the same."
I sighed.
"Yes."
Her face lit up at once.
Then she finally let go of me and ran toward her room, only to stop short, take three steps back, and point at my bandaged hand.
"Don't do it again."
"I'll try."
"Wrong answer."
She ran off again without waiting for mine.
I watched her disappear behind the arch.
Then I stood still for a moment.
The palace was fully awake now. Teachers' voices drifted out from the open rooms. Shoes struck the stone floor. Servants hurried past with their heads lowered. Farther away, a tall window let in pale sunlight that broke against the marble pillars.
Everything looked normal.
And yet something had still been bothering me ever since Aurek's gaze.
Not what he had done.
What he hadn't done.
He had looked at me.
And then nothing.
Like always.
I pushed the thought away and started walking again.
My room was at the end of one of the quieter corridors, near the secondary library. It wasn't a real school yet. Just the study wing reserved for the children of the palace and a few allied bloodlines. Not enough students to call it a real class. Just enough for everyone to already know who was worth something and who was worth nothing.
When I stepped inside, several heads turned toward me.
Then looked away.
I already knew that silence.
It wasn't respect.
It was the polite version of contempt.
I took my place near the back, beside a white column that hid me a little from the center of the room. It was easier that way. The seats closest to the window were already taken. The best ones, as always.
Kian was there too, two rows ahead. He didn't even need to turn around to remind me he was there. The way he sat already said he belonged to this place.
A teacher entered a moment later.
Master Oren.
Tall, thin, his hair already gray despite the straightness of his back. He always kept his hands inside his sleeves when he spoke, as if he had never needed useless gestures to make people listen.
Silence fell at once.
"Open your tablets."
The sound of polished wood and hinges briefly filled the room.
The lesson began.
History of bloodlines.
Again.
I already knew a good part of what he was saying. Not because I liked it. Because you grew up in this palace with names, laws, deaths, and oaths hanging on the walls like family portraits.
Clan Solis ruled in the name of white light.
The other great bloodlines served the stability of the kingdom.
The minor branches upheld order.
It always sounded clean when Master Oren said it.
Much less so when you heard servants speaking at night.
"Power never comes alone," he said. "It comes with a debt."
Some students were writing.
Others were pretending to.
Kian, however, was truly paying attention.
So was I.
Not for the same reason.
"The great houses do not stand by strength alone," Oren went on. "They stand because they manage to make their power look natural."
My hand stopped.
That sentence had no place in an official lesson.
I looked up.
The teacher's expression had not changed.
As if he had said nothing unusual at all.
Then he continued, more slowly:
"And when that illusion cracks, kingdoms burn."
No one moved.
The silence lasted just a little too long.
Then Oren turned a page.
"Let's continue."
The lesson resumed as if nothing had happened.
But I wasn't really listening anymore.
The words kept entering my ears.
My mind, however, had caught on to something else.
When that illusion cracks, kingdoms burn.
I lifted my eyes toward the window.
The light had changed.
A cloud was passing in front of the sun.
At noon, we were given a short break.
The others left in small groups. Some stayed with each other. Others joined tutors or guards. Kian left without a glance in my direction.
I stayed in the empty room for a while, sitting with my closed tablet in front of me.
Then I stood up.
Instead of going to the courtyard, I took the hallway toward the library.
The silence there was different. Not the silence of rejection. A real silence. Calm. Dense. Bearable.
The secondary library occupied an entire wing of the palace. It was smaller than the great archive hall, but I preferred it. The ceilings were lower, the light less cold, and the windows opened onto an inner garden where nothing tried too hard to be impressive.
I passed between two rows of shelves.
The smell of paper, polished wood, and warm dust calmed me at once.
I already knew the quietest corners.
The one by the south window was the best.
I went there without thinking.
Then I stopped.
Someone was already there.
A girl sat on the inner ledge of the window, an open book resting on her knees. She had drawn her feet up against the stone, as if she were at home there, or as if she simply didn't care whether anyone would scold her for it.
Dark hair fell messily along her shoulders. Not the kind of mess nobles wore when they wanted to look effortless. Real mess. Her clothes were simple, well-cut, but without visible wealth. Not a servant's clothes. Not the clothes of some great heiress either.
She lifted her eyes to me.
And closed her book.
"Do you always stare at people like that?" she asked.
It took me one second too long to answer.
"No."
"Liar."
Her voice was neither aggressive nor gentle.
Just direct.
I stepped closer.
"I thought this place was empty."
"So did I. Then you arrived."
I looked at her again, more carefully this time.
I had never seen her before.
Or at least not enough to remember her.
She must have noticed I was trying to place her.
"You can stop thinking that hard," she said. "It looks painful."
That time, I truly felt the beginning of a smile.
Not much, but enough for her to notice.
"Ah," she said. "So you do know how to smile."
"Rarely."
"It shows."
She finally climbed down from the window, holding her book against her chest.
"Elora."
I blinked.
"What?"
"My name," she said. "It's more practical if you're going to keep looking at me like you're trying to solve a riddle."
I lowered my eyes briefly to the book in her hands.
The leather was old. Worn around the edges. Not the kind of book children were given without reason.
When I looked up again, she was still waiting.
"Vaelen," I said.
She tilted her head slightly.
"I know."
I didn't entirely like that.
"Then why ask?"
"To see if you would say it yourself."
I crossed my arms.
"And?"
"And you did."
I looked at the place by the window.
Then at her.
Then at the window again.
Elora followed my gaze and let out an exaggerated little sigh.
"Go on."
"What?"
"You want to sit there."
"No."
"Liar again."
Before I could answer, she moved a step aside and left me half the space.
I sat down anyway.
The inner garden stretched just beyond the glass. There was a round basin, a few white stones, two trees too thin to cast any real shade, and at the back a small wall covered with moss.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
It wasn't awkward.
It was new.
Elora opened her book again.
Then she glanced at my hand.
"You did that to yourself again?"
I followed her gaze.
My bandage.
Poorly tied.
Of course.
"Yes."
"That's stupid."
"I know."
"Then why do you keep doing it?"
I stayed silent for a moment.
Because I didn't have a clean answer.
Or rather, I did have one, but I hated the thought of hearing it leave my mouth.
"Because if I stop, I'll have nothing left."
Elora looked at me from the side.
Not with pity.
Thankfully.
"That's not true," she said.
I turned my head toward her.
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough to tell you that people who say that are always wrong."
I almost answered something sharp.
But she had spoken with a strange calm.
As if she wasn't throwing me a line to comfort me.
As if she were simply stating a fact.
I lowered my eyes to my hand.
Then I asked,
"What are you reading?"
She lifted the book slightly.
"Stories about vanished houses."
"Why?"
"Because the houses that disappear tell more truth than the ones still standing."
I looked up sharply.
She gave a faint shrug.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You've been making that face for a while now."
"What face?"
"The face of someone who listens more than he speaks."
I looked away toward the garden.
The silence returned.
This time, I was the one letting it last.
In the distance, a bell rang to mark the end of the break.
Voices from the other students drifted up the corridor.
The moment was about to break.
I could already feel it.
Elora closed her book.
"You should redo your bandage."
I lifted my hand.
"You know how?"
"Better than that, yes."
"It isn't difficult."
"That's exactly why it's sad."
I let out a quiet breath through my nose.
Then she held out her hand.
"Give it to me."
I looked at her for a second.
Then I untied the cloth and handed it over.
Her fingers moved quickly. Cleanly. She tightened the cloth around my palm without hurting me.
The gesture was simple.
But precise.
Nothing like Eira's.
"There," she said when she finished. "At least now you don't look like you lost a duel against a curtain."
I looked at the result.
"It's better."
"I know."
I turned my head toward her.
"You say that a lot."
"Because I'm often right."
This time, my smile showed a little more.
Not enough to call it a real smile.
But enough for her to notice.
And for some absurd reason, that bothered me less than it should have.
Footsteps approached in the corridor.
Heavier.
More regular.
Guards.
I straightened at once.
So did Elora.
Two men passed the open entrance of the library without looking at us. But their presence was enough.
The calm of the moment broke.
The palace had returned.
With its rules.
With its eyes.
With what it expected from everyone.
Elora slipped her book under her arm.
"We should go."
I nodded.
We stepped out together into the corridor, then she slowed at the crossing.
"Vaelen."
I turned toward her.
"Yes?"
She looked at me for a second.
Then her eyes dropped to my hand.
"If you want to train again before dawn tomorrow, do it."
I frowned slightly.
"And?"
"And use a real cloth this time."
She started walking again before I could answer.
I watched her walk away until she disappeared behind the row of columns.
Then I lowered my eyes to my hand.
The bandage was clean.
Simple.
Useful.
I didn't know why, but its presence felt heavier than it should have.
As if something small had just changed.
Something I would not understand for a long time.
I started back toward the study room.
But before I entered, I stopped in front of one of the corridor windows.
Below, the palace gardens were still calm.
Too calm.
And in the glass, for a fraction of a second, I thought I saw something move behind my reflection.
A shadow.
Thin.
Fast.
Like a flame without light.
I turned around at once.
There was nothing there.
Only the corridor.
Only stone.
Only silence.
When I looked down at my bandaged hand, a faint chill had already begun to crawl up my fingers.
Then it vanished.
As if it had never existed at all.