CHAPTER 60
The quiet after Vladir’s departure lingered like smoke.
Only the fire crackled faintly, casting long shadows across the room.
Caldrin had been led away, gently, by one of the Duke’s trusted men to a guest chamber, safe for now.
Lady Marella had retired as well, though not without one last lingering glance at Sorayael.
Now it was only the two of them.
Sorayael stayed still, her golden eyes dimmed slightly, her expression unreadable. Reinhold stood nearby, arms crossed, his back against the wall.
She broke the silence first.
Reinhold’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t meet her gaze right away. Instead, he walked toward the hearth, eyes fixed on the flames.
He turned then, slowly. His gaze held no ease.
Sorayael’s jaw tightened. “The last... of the blood?”
Reinhold nodded once.
A chill settled over her, wrapping around her ribs like frost. She stayed still, but her hands—elegantly laced in front of her—had lost their calm. One trembled, faintly.
Reinhold exhaled, then said grimly, “Very few. I thought the trail was cold. But someone in the West knew more than they let on... someone who’s been hiding in plain sight.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Who?”
A beat passed.
Silence. Her breath caught faintly.
He paused.
He looked at her.
Sorayael froze.
Vladir glanced over then, quiet but alert.
Reinhold hesitated. “That’s what I can’t confirm yet. But I think they knew each other. I think—” he glanced toward the door where Lady Marella had gone—“she knew who you were the moment you entered that door with Caldrin.”
‘What? But why did she act as if she didn't know anything about my existence?’
Sorayael turned away, pacing slowly. Her cloak fluttered as she moved, thoughts swirling.
She paused.
Her tone darkened. “But I haven’t escaped anything. I’ve just been circling it the whole time.”
Reinhold’s gaze softened slightly. “Sorayael...”
She turned toward him again.
Reinhold met her eyes.
And still, within Sorayael’s chest, questions twisted like vines:
What did Lady Marella know?
What did the former emperor have to do with her mother?
And more than anything...
Who was she, really?
The fire flickered low, casting shifting shadows on the walls, as silence folded itself around them once more. Sorayael no longer looked at Reinhold. Her gaze was distant now, pinned somewhere between memory and suspicion, between fear and the fragile pieces of truth just handed to her.
She said nothing at first, not even a single word. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her shoulders squared. The weight of what she’d heard didn’t crush her—it wrapped around her like cold water. She wore it with elegance... but the stillness of it spoke volumes.
Reinhold watched her, uncertain if she would speak again.
But then, quietly—almost too calmly—she said,
He blinked. “Now?”
She turned, golden eyes sharp once more, though her voice remained poised. “You said the truth would burn before it heals. That’s fine. Let it burn. But what I want to know is this—what will you do now?”
He didn’t answer at once.
A pause. Reinhold’s jaw tightened.
Reinhold’s eyes flicked down. The crackling fire filled the silence for a heartbeat longer before he finally answered.
Sorayael tilted her head slightly. “Then when will you let go of this game of shadows?”
Reinhold looked up, his voice quieter now. “When I know his endgame. When I’m certain no blade will be turned against you from behind silk curtains and smiling masks. Until then... I’ll play the hound, if that’s what it takes.”
Sorayael didn’t look away, didn’t blink.
Reinhold stepped closer, gaze unwavering. “Then I trust you’ll know when to stop me.”
They stood there, a heartbeat apart. Firelight danced between them, casting her silver hair in a sheen like steel and stars.
Sorayael gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod.
She looked up, eyes gleaming.
That night, sleep took Sorayael like a tide—slow, inevitable, and deeper than usual.
And in that quiet abyss, she dreamt.
A gentle song, soft as breath. Her mother’s voice, singing a lullaby she could no longer remember in waking.
It drifted through the twilight of the dream, echoing like wind through old trees.
She saw her—Eiravelle Zeraphina Elaris—bathed in silvery moonlight, holding a small child to her chest.
A soft smile graced her face, serene and warm.
‘Is that.. me?’
A man stood behind her. His presence was quiet but constant, one hand resting gently on the curve of Eiravelle’s shoulder, the other reaching to brush the baby’s cheek.
‘Dad?’
He smiled, too—tenderly. A smile that held love, and something else. Regret.
‘Why? What are your regrets?
Sorayael reached out, heart hammering in her chest.
But the edges of the dream began to fade.
Like smoke drawn away by wind.
Her mother turned, as if she had heard her. Their eyes met—gold to gold.
She said something but Sorayael didn’t catch that.
But before Sorayael could speak, the world dissolved.
The room was dark and quiet. Her heartbeat loud in the silence.
She buried her face in her hands.
After that night, Sorayael tried to return to the dream.
She chased sleep with herbs, with spells, even with prayer. But the vision never came back. Only silence. Only the echo of her mother’s hum, fading further with each night.
No answers. No return.
Just a memory carved into mist.
...........
Three years later...
The seasons spun forward, like pages in a forgotten book.
Three winters passed, each harsher than the last.
Sorayael stood taller now. Sharper in mind. Softer in expression only when no one was looking. The silver of her hair had grown longer, flowing like moonlit silk behind her. Her eyes, still golden, now held a quiet fire that could melt stone—or freeze it.
The world around her had changed. She had changed with it.
But the dream never returned.
And the lullaby remained a hollow tune, drifting in the back of her mind... waiting.
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