CHAPTER 55
Laughter drifted among the crowd, dressed in fine silks and ambition. Somewhere, music rose, delicate and courtly, as if to mask the undercurrent of silent calculations beneath every smile.
Sorayael moved through it all like a petal caught in the current-graceful, effortless, and entirely unbothered.
She had no interest in the thrones at the far end, nor the figure seated upon the highest of them. She hadn't glanced his way once-not when she entered, not when she picked up her glass, not even when a subtle hush fell over the hall earlier, signaling his arrival.
She knew the Emperor was watching someone. But she had no intention of giving him reason to watch her.
Instead, she busied herself with a glass of golden juice and a small peach tart that, disappointingly, looked far better than it tasted. She spoke little, smiled occasionally, and stood just close enough to Zarethian to ward off unwanted conversation.
He stood beside her like a silent flame-refined, watchful, the calm in a room full of performers.
Until one stepped forward.
The voice was sugar and purpose.
He turned, not startled, merely expectant. Sorayael's gaze didn't follow-not yet. She took another sip instead, as if tasting wine were far more interesting than what she already knew was unfolding beside her.
The daughter of Marquis Orlen drifted closer, her crimson gown a deliberate contrast to the muted palette of the hall, meant to draw eyes-his eyes. Every inch of her was composed: perfect posture, painted smile, and a voice too warm to be genuine.
Zarethian didn't return her smile. "I rarely leave things to fate."
She blinked once, then recovered. "Well, then, let's call it timing. My father mentioned you were.. unattached. I thought perhaps you and I might have a conversation about possibilities."
It was a proposition, veiled in propriety. Not even subtle.
Zarethian tilted his head. "If this is about your father's ambitions, I'll spare you the effort. I've no interest in tying myself to anyone's plans."
The air between them cooled.
Then, with a casual grace, he turned away from Lady Orlen entirely and looked to Sorayael. "Have you tried the peach tarts? They're disappointing," he said in a hushed aside, as if none of the exchange had ever happened.
Lady Orlen's expression didn't falter, but the tension in her jaw betrayed her. "I see," she said, and then, as if suddenly remembering that Sorayael existed, turned her attention to her.
Lady Orlen's gaze lingered on her dress, then her glass, then her silver hair. "You wear that color so.. confidently. It's refreshing, really. Not many would dare something so... unconcerned with tradition. I admire that."
Her smile was honeyed-but the words were sharpened at the edges.
Sorayael blinked once, then returned the smile with something cooler, unreadable.
Lady Orlen's smile held, but her eyes thinned.
Sorayael's gaze didn't waver. "Fortunately, I've never had much trouble walking alone."
For a moment, neither moved. Then, Lady Orlen dipped her head, all forced grace, and turned away with a flourish that left the air a little colder.
The music swelled again. The room exhaled.
Zarethian's voice came softly beside her. "You didn't even look at her when she approached."
He chuckled under his breath.
Far across the room, the Emperor sat motionless, his expression unreadable, eyes half-lidded. But he was no longer looking toward the gathering.
Sorayael raised her glass once more, sipped lightly, and turned to admire a tapestry near the corner column.
She blended in, just enough to make herself not interesting enough to follow.
'This is so exhausting...'
And that, for now, was exactly what she wanted.
The hall had begun to blur-faces, voices, the endless spin of gowns and politics. Sorayael murmured a quiet excuse to Zarethian, careful not to draw attention, and slipped away through a side corridor, steps light against the marble.
Outside, the night air greeted her like a balm.
The garden beyond the hall was bathed in silver, its hedges trimmed into curling shapes, and flowerbeds still aglow with faintly enchanted blooms. Above, the sky stretched wide and deep-clear and dusted with stars like scattered memory.
Sorayael walked further into the quiet, until the music behind her faded to a hum. The weight lifted from her shoulders, if only slightly.
She tilted her head upward, eyes tracing familiar constellations, her breath visible in the cool air. Then, softly-so softly she barely heard it herself-she began to hum.
A lullaby that reminded her about her mother.
Her mother's voice echoed in her mind-gentle, distant, wrapped in warmth. It was the same song she used to sing to Sorayael and Krios during stormy nights, when the thunder made the windows tremble and Krios would cling to her sleeve.
It was comfort. It was memory. It was home.
Sorayael startled, breath catching as she turned-but the voice was unmistakable, even before she saw him.
He stood just behind her, cloaked in midnight blue, half-shadowed beneath the branches. His oceanic eyes gleamed in the starlight-familiar, steady, and wholly out of place.
She stared, stunned. "What-how are you..?"
The last time they spoke was in the Academy. And the plan about five years before they'd meet again.
Not now.
Azi smiled gently, like it hurt to do so and yet he couldn't help it. "I figured.. I'd be selfish just this once."
His voice was calm, but something hung behind it-something heavy and soft.
'I missed you,' he never said this.
Sorayael blinked at him, chest tightening. "You're not supposed to be here."
Silence fell between them, filled only by the whisper of leaves and the thrum of stars above.
Sorayael finally exhaled, the tension ebbing. "You came all this way for a glimpse?"
She shook her head, half-scolding, half-relieved. "You're reckless."
That made her laugh-a small, real sound.
They stood side by side now, not touching, but close enough to feel the space between them narrow.
She nodded. "It did. Not easy, but.. I learned and adapted. No broken bones. No burned villages. I think that counts."
His smile deepened. "That's a relief. You've always handled things better than you realize."
That made her go quiet.
Because she wasn't.
She wasn't the same girl from before. She'd seen too much. She'd buried too many things beneath smiles. But maybe-just for tonight-she could pretend to be.
Beneath the stars, in the hush of the garden, Sorayael looked at the boy who was never just a boy to her. And for the first time in a long while, the quiet didn't feel lonely.
A breeze stirred the leaves above them.
Sorayael turned to say something more but Azi was no longer beside her.
She blinked.
'...Where is he?'
The space where he stood was now empty. No shift of air, no footsteps, no sound. He was simply... gone. As if the shadows had folded around him and taken him back.
Her brows drew together.
She scanned the garden quietly, instinct pricking at her skin-but just as she moved to take a step forward, a quiet voice-measured and deep-broke the silence behind her.
She froze, then slowly turned.
There he was.
Emperor Lysander.
Draped in dark regalia touched with deep gold, the silver detailing across his mantle shimmered like starlight. Up close, he looked neither old nor young-his presence was timeless, carved in precision and gravity. Those eyes, the same she avoided all evening, now studied her with piercing focus.
Sorayael stepped back instinctively, then caught herself. She adjusted her posture, eyes cast down only briefly in practiced reverence.
She bowed her head, voice even and clear.
"Your Majesty."
For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Then, he nodded once-approving.
Sorayael smiled faintly. "No, Your Majesty. But I was taught. I do my best to adapt."
She did not reply. Only held her smile, polite and unreadable.
Lysander stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back, gaze drifting upward toward the stars she had just been admiring.
Then, a long pause. His eyes returned to her.
Sorayael's pulse tightened.
But she didn't falter. Her lips curved gently, thoughtful.
"I've always found it... fascinating, Your Majesty. But I know very little about it. I wasn't raised in a court where magic was common."
Lysander tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing-not suspicious, but curious.
She lowered her gaze just slightly, voice calm. "If there is anything unusual, I assure you that it is unknown to me. I'm simply a girl trying to find her place."
He studied her for another moment-then the sharpness in his gaze softened, if only a fraction.
Sorayael smiled again, hands clasped gently in front of her. "I take that as a compliment, Your Majesty."
He let out a quiet, amused breath. "You should."
Then he turned away, the hem of his cloak sweeping the stone path as he moved deeper into the garden.
Before he vanished behind the trimmed hedges, he added without looking back,
"The stars may not speak now... but eventually, they always do."
Sorayael stood in the silence that followed, her heart steady, her mind whirling.
Azi was gone.
The Emperor had seen more than she wanted him to.
And yet, she hadn't broken. Not once.
She looked up again at the stars.
And hummed the lullaby once more, quieter this time, as if sealing the moment away with song.
'Carve a name that heavens will kneel to...' The voice of Velthira once again echoed.
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