The portal winked out of existence, plunging us into a chamber awash in the ethereal glow of moonlight and starlight that spilled through its generous windows. A vast bed, heaped high with what looked like cloud-spun blankets and pillows, dominated one flank. Dust motes, ancient storytellers, danced in the faint light, illuminating ornate, yet undeniably timeworn, furniture. Opposite the bed, a massive, cold fireplace stood sentinel. A small, perhaps long-forgotten, table held a leather-bound book and a quill, beside which sat an inviting armchair, a faded velvet blanket draped artfully over its back. An air of forgotten grandeur, of time holding its breath, clung to every surface.

My gaze settled on Thalia. Her regal bearing was subtly undermined by a profound weariness, a shadow haunting her eyes that spoke of long-endured neglect, even as her capable hands suggested a quiet resilience. It was then I noticed the unnerving stillness—not merely the quiet of an old room, but a profound absence. No hum of mana, none from the ancient stones of the room itself, and startlingly, none from Thalia. Even Adrix, who typically radiated a mere whisper of it, seemed a void beside her.

“May I ask something?” I ventured, my voice softer than intended in the charged silence.

“Proceed,” she replied, her gaze still fixed on me, analytical and unreadable.

“How is it that I sense no mana? Not from this chamber, nor from you?”

A flicker of something indecipherable crossed her features before she seemed to weigh her response. “That,” she murmured, lifting a slender hand, “is because of this.” She revealed an intricate silver bracelet clasped around her wrist, its delicate links glinting like captured starlight. My mother gifted it to me. I have never removed it, though she passed away long ago.

I nodded slowly, a knot of dawning understanding tightening in my chest.

“Alright, both of you,” Thalia announced, her gaze sweeping over us, a newfound, if reluctant, authority resonating in her voice. “Lyra, you will be my maid. Adrix,” her eyes softened as she turned to him, “you are my servant.”

Adrix flinched, a grimace tightening his lips at the stark pronouncement of his status.

“I am truly sorry, Adrix,” Thalia said quickly, her voice laced with what sounded like genuine, painful regret. “I do not condone this, but circumstances bind me for now.”

He offered a stiff nod, though the shadow of resentment didn’t fully recede from his eyes.

“Listen carefully,” Thalia went on, her voice dropping to a hush, drawing us closer. “If anyone—anyone at all—approaches you, you must act cowed. Submissive. Frightened. It is our best defense against suspicion.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “This wing is quiet, at least,” Thalia continued, her voice still low. “Few venture here, besides the occasional patrolling guard or a passing maid. For the most part, it’s just Amelia and I. If a true emergency arises, you must ask for me or Amelia. Understand?” Her gaze was firm, compelling. “I may not wield the kind of power others do, but I possess enough to ensure your safety within these walls. Now, it has grown very late. You both should try to find some rest while I attend to a few remaining tasks.”

Amelia, who had remained a silent observer throughout, offered a simple nod and a quiet “Goodnight,” before slipping out into the hallway. Thalia then moved towards her own door. “Follow me,” she instructed. “You’ll share the room next door. It has two beds; you should be comfortable enough for the next few days.”

Sharing a room again, I mused. This time, however, no trace of nervousness pricked at me; instead, a surprising, almost welcome, sense of comfort settled in. Thalia opened her door, the hinges groaning a mournful protest, to reveal a long corridor, sparsely illuminated by flickering sconces mounted on the cold stone walls. Great, shadowed archways yawned at intervals down its length, and the air hung thick with the faint, dry scent of centuries of undisturbed dust.

She led us a short way down the passage to a door on the left. “In here,” she said, pushing it open. With another brief “Goodnight,” she retreated into her own chamber, the click of her door a soft punctuation in the ensuing silence.

I scanned our new quarters. The beds were imposing, crafted with an old-world grandeur that echoed the suite’s furniture. A massive fireplace, with a plush, if faded, loveseat angled invitingly before it, promised warmth against the stone’s chill. Stepping to the window, I discovered we were on the third floor. Below, a manicured garden spread out like a dark tapestry, complete with a charming pavilion furnished with a table and chairs. I could almost picture a princess, perhaps Thalia herself in younger, brighter days, hosting elegant tea parties there.

When I turned back, Adrix was testing the give of one of the beds. He let out a soft sigh, sinking into the mattress, then looked over at me. “That bracelet of hers…” he mused, his gaze distant for a moment. “It completely suppresses mana.”

I nodded, moving to the bed adjacent to his. “Her mother must have been incredibly powerful. Or perhaps,” I added softly, “incredibly desperate.”

Adrix laced his hands behind his head, propping one ankle over the other knee. “Perhaps a measure of both,” he conceded, his eyes tracing the ornate patterns on the ceiling. “Especially in a palace such as this. These places might appear as fairytales from without, but for those trapped within their walls, the beauty often conceals constant peril.”

“That’s true enough,” I murmured, turning onto my side to face the empty hearth, “I miss my shop and home.”

A soft silence settled, thick with unspoken thoughts, before Adrix spoke, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “You know, Lyra… you’re beautiful.”

I stilled, the word ambushing me. He continued, “Especially when you speak of your home, your shop. There’s this light that ignites in your eyes…”

Heat crept up my cheeks, a warmth that spread down my neck. Beautiful? No one had ever… The word felt foreign, startling, almost too precious to touch. My mind fumbled, a simple acknowledgment seeming an impossible task. 

“Th-thank you,” I managed, the words a mere whisper, my gaze instinctively dropping, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on the blanket.

I could hear the smile in his voice even before I dared to glance back. “You’re always so shy, Lyra,” he said, a teasing warmth lacing his tone. “It’s rather endearing.”

I truly cannot handle these compliments, I thought, wishing the fluffy blanket could swallow me whole.

I pulled the blanket completely over my face, heat radiating from my cheeks. “I don’t remember the last time I felt this embarrassed,” I mumbled into the fabric, my heart thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I heard the rustle of movement, then the mattress dipped beside me as Adrix sat down. His voice was low, gentle as a breath. “Did I say something wrong?”

Lowering the blanket just enough to peer out, I met Adrix’s violet eyes, now laced with genuine concern. “No one’s ever…” I paused, my gaze drifting away from his intense stare for a moment before returning, finding courage in his sincerity. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

A soft, understanding smile touched his lips. “I’m merely speaking the truth, Lyra. I truly believe you are beautiful.”

The blanket ascended once more. Why am I being so shy now, after everything we’ve endured together? Get a hold of yourself, Lyra! 

His voice broke through my thoughts, still soft. “Hey, Lyra… can you come out so I can see your face? Did I make you uncomfortable? I genuinely apologize if I did.”

No, he didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t let him believe that.

Taking a steadying breath, I pulled the blanket down completely, hoping my smile looked more confident than the tremor I felt inside. My hand reached for his, where it rested on the bed between us, a small anchor. “No,” I said, my voice clearer now, firmer. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all. I’m fine.”

The worry hadn’t quite vanished from his eyes, so I squeezed his hand. “Really, I’m okay.” A little spark of courage, perhaps borrowed from his earlier directness, ignited within me. “And… well, I think you’re handsome.”

His reaction was immediate and astonishing. He looked away sharply, one hand flying up to momentarily cover part of his face. When his gaze returned to mine, his usual steadfast composure had crumbled; a distinct flush crept up his neck, and his violet eyes held a new, surprising vulnerability, a shy wonder that mirrored my own.

Seeing him so flustered was so unexpected that my own earlier embarrassment momentarily evaporated. “It’s not as if it’s your first time hearing that, is it?” I teased gently.

His blush deepened, and he looked down at our joined hands as if they held a profound secret. “It actually is,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes not quite meeting mine.

A soft smile touched my lips, tender and true. “I’m glad I was your first then,” I said quietly, my voice a breath, yet seeming to fill the hushed space between us with a newfound intimacy.

Adrix leaned slightly closer, his gaze unwavering now, a silent question in its depths as it held mine. I could feel the warmth radiating from him, the air growing thick with unspoken emotions. My gaze flickered to his lips. This moment, I thought, my heart thrumming a rapid, heavy beat against my ribs, this feels different. 

As if sensing my thoughts, or perhaps following the silent pull of his own, his free hand lifted, fingers brushing with feather-light hesitancy against my cheek. The warmth of his skin was a comforting counterpoint to the spark of gentle electricity his touch ignited. I leaned lightly into his palm, my eyes fluttering half-closed. The anticipation was a sweet, a silent pause where the world seemed to hold its breath, every nerve ending exquisitely alive.

I wasn’t sure who truly initiated the final movement—perhaps it was I, drawn by the unguarded sincerity in his violet eyes and the tender caress against my skin, or perhaps it was him, taking that last, small step. The small space between us simply dissolved, and then his lips were on mine.

They were softer than I could have imagined, moving against mine with a gentle, searching pressure. The first touch was a mere whisper, a hesitant question answered by the yielding of my own. There was a faint, clean scent to him, something uniquely Adrix, that filled my senses as I instinctively tilted my head, allowing for a slightly deeper connection. His thumb stroked softly, rhythmically, against my cheekbone, a small, grounding motion in the midst of the rising tide of emotion.