The End Unseen

TWENTY-FOUR

The night was clear. The stars shimmered over Solmiris, spilling their silver light across the palace gardens. Roses swayed faintly in the night air, their scent heavy and sweet, carrying with it the hush of secrecy.

Jesenia stood among them, wrapped in a dress she had sewn herself from linen that Val-Theris had given to her in secret. It was simple, unadorned, and a deep blue. Moonlight clung to her shoulders, making her seem almost ethereal.

Val-Theris stepped toward her without the golden cloak and armor of his station—only a simple red tunic, hair gleaming, wings folded low in humility. In his hands, he carried the promise cloth, blue and gold and silver threads woven into the Lunareth crescent.