C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N
C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N
Altair
T he soft murmur of voices drifts through the hallway as I step into the morning light.
The staff are already bustling about, preparing for the day. A few humans I know by name offer nervous glances my way, wondering why the change. They’ve been restricted from certain parts of the palace for too long, avoiding Olwyn’s side of the palace.
But now, that changes. I promised her I’d show her the truth.
I stride toward the kitchens, the cool stone underfoot barely making a sound as I enter the wide, sunlit room. The scent of bread baking fills the air, and various members of the staff—vampire and human alike—are already working, side by side.
Crista, my head of staff, spots me the moment I walk in, her sharp eyes flicking toward me with a readiness I admire. For a human, she commands respect. The vampires under her charge, though naturally more powerful, heed her as if she were their superior. It’s how I run my house. Rank through merit, not strength.
“Your Majesty,” she greets me, bowing her head slightly. “Is everything in order for today?”
I give a brief nod. “It is. But we’re making a change.” My eyes sweep over the human servants who pause in their work, their postures stiff with caution.
Crista raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, waiting for me to continue.
“The human staff,” I say, my voice carrying through the room, “can all return to their usual duties. There’s no need for you all to keep your distance any longer.”
A ripple of surprise passes through the humans, a few glancing nervously at one another. They’ve become accustomed to staying away from the eastern wing, away from Olwyn. But now… now, she needs to see it. To understand.
One of the older human servants clears his throat. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
I nod, acknowledging the sentiment. “You’ve all been more than patient. I appreciate that.”
I turn back to Crista. “Make sure the human staff are fully integrated today. Let them move freely throughout the palace.”
Her brow furrows slightly, but she nods. “As you wish. Anything in particular you want her to be shown, Your Majesty?”
“No,” I reply. “I want them to go about their usual duties without hesitation. Let her observe. The less pressure, the better.”
Crista purses her lips, considering my words before nodding in understanding. “I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly.”
“Good,” I say, then step closer, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “I want you to make yourself scarce for the day. If she feels too watched, she might withdraw. I need her to feel comfortable enough to see what’s truly happening here, without the feeling of being managed.” Crista is known to be… stern. Perhaps too much. But she gets things done. Today, however, I don’t want her demanding nature to be too much for Olwyn. I think introducing Olwyn to the staff—who will be more relaxed without Crista around—would make this easier.
Crista’s sharp gaze meets mine, and though she’s not one to leave her post easily, she understands. “Understood. I’ll find something to occupy myself with elsewhere.”
I nod, my thoughts already turning inward as she leaves the room. The clatter of dishes and quiet conversation resume behind me, but it’s distant now, fading into the background as I focus on the conversation I had with Olwyn the night before.
Her nightmare still lingers in my mind, the way she had thrashed and cried out, her pain so raw, so real. It had torn through me like a physical wound. And yet… when I entered her room, the way she held that dagger to my throat—brave, terrified but refusing to show weakness—it stirred something deeper in me. Her strength. Her resilience. Even after what happened in her chambers with that assassin, she hasn’t broken. She’s not cowering in her room, nor is she looking for pity. She’s fighting—internally, externally. She’s refusing to let fear define her.
That forest fire in her eyes was still there. A refusal to be a victim, even when everything in her world seems to be falling apart. It takes a certain kind of courage to keep going after something like that. Not everyone would.
I promised her I’d show her the truth. That this world—her world—isn’t what she’s been taught to fear. But I also told her that she had to give me two weeks. Two weeks to keep training, to stay focused, to not let fear rule her decisions.
And she agreed.
That, more than anything, tells me there’s hope for her to see things differently. Despite the doubt, the anger, the fear, she’s willing to trust me. Just a little. That’s enough—for now.
I walk out of the kitchens, my thoughts drifting back to her again. Last night, after our talk, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept hearing her breathing, seeing the shadows in her eyes from that nightmare, even if I could hear her settled heart beating in the room next to mine. It’s not just the attack that haunts her, it’s her entire life up until now. Every lie, every fear that’s been fed to her since she was a child. Her mind is a battleground, and she’s fighting enemies that don’t exist—at least, not in the way she believes they do.
As I make my way through the palace, heading toward the water gardens, I think about how hard it must be for her. It’s no wonder she’s struggling. But she’s strong. And if anyone can survive this, it’s her.
She’s not like anyone else. I remember that.
And maybe… just maybe, she’s starting to remember it too.