Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Word had spread before dawn: the Angel himself was coming to tour the quarter, to see how the Lunarethians were living with his own eyes.
By midmorning, the narrow streets were lined with bodies pressed close together beneath the worn archways, shoulders brushing, hands clasped tightly at sides or folded into sleeves.
Jesenia stood near the center of the square.
Her hands were hidden beneath her shawl, fingers laced together to still their restless tremor.
She told herself she was here only because she had been asked by Val-Theris to show him what he had not yet seen.
That this was a duty of her station as a councilor at his side, and not a choice.
She knew her presence beside him would only sharpen the whispers already curling through the city like smoke. And yet, when Val-Theris had sent word at sunrise, his request had been simple: show me where I have been blind.
Now, as the sound of approaching armor rippled down the cobbled street, she felt the shift in the air before she saw him. The tension sharpened. Conversations died mid-breath. A child was pulled closer. Someone near the edge of the square crossed hurriedly, as though he might demand it.
Val-Theris appeared moments later, framed in gold against the rising sun.
He never wore his crown, Jesenia noticed, but his presence was far more symbolic than any golden halo above his head.
He wore his gilded plate armor and a cape that barely brushed the floor with each step.
The fabric was draped in a deep arc that made it easy for his wings to move freely.
They were stretched loosely behind him, pale feathers brushing dust from the ground as he walked toward her.
The crowd bowed instinctively, but Jesenia noticed the division immediately.
Refugees leaned forward despite themselves, eyes bright with tentative hope, hunger and gratitude tangled together in their expressions.
Solmiris’s citizens near the periphery turned away, muttering their unease beneath their breath.
The Hastati scanned every shadow with restless precision, hands tight against polished hilts, bodies already braced for disorder.
When Val-Theris reached Jesenia in the square, the noise dulled to silence in her ears.
The distance between them was closed, and the weight of his presence followed like a tide. He stopped close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to meet his eyes—close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the faint displacement of air as if caught in his golden aura.
“Thank you for joining me today,” he said softly, his voice meant only for her.
“I wasn’t sure I should,” she admitted. Her voice was steadier than she felt.
“That is why I asked you,” Val-Theris replied. Something unreadable flickered across his expression before it smoothed again. “Come.”
They walked side by side through the quarter’s winding streets, his guards trailing a purposeful distance behind them.
Close enough to hold the fragile perimeter intact, far enough to offer the illusion of privacy.
Everywhere they went, eyes followed. Hundreds of them. Layered with hunger, hope, suspicion.
Jesenia felt them like a blade against her back.
“You know what this looks like. What your people will say,” she said at last, breaking the silence. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, on cracked stone and sagging doorframes and laundry lines strung too tightly between buildings.
“I do,” Val-Theris said. His tone was even, unyielding. “That is the point.”
“You’ll make yourself a target,” she murmured.
“I already am.”
She hesitated, then glanced at him sidelong. In the pale light filtering through broken rooftops, his face was softer than she had ever seen it. There was exhaustion carved deep beneath his composure, an effort that never seemed to fully ease.
“You’ll make me one too,” Jesenia said quietly.
That made him look at her. His expression remained unreadable, but his voice softened when he spoke. “You’ve been one from the moment you walked through the gates.”
“Is that supposed to comfort me?”
“No, but it is your reality nonetheless. Cruelty is easier to justify when there is a scapegoat to pin it on. You have become the face of your people, however much it was not your intention.”
The words were nearly swallowed by the hum of the street, but they landed all the same.
The crowd thinned as they reached the old courtyard, the hush of the city breaking into fragments—the rhythm of boots on stone, the crack of wood against cobbles, a child’s laughter echoing briefly before being hushed again.
Val-Theris paused beneath the partial shade of an archway, gesturing subtly for the guards to spread wider and keep the onlookers at bay. Jesenia followed, her pulse high in her throat, acutely aware of the stillness that settled between them when they stopped.
“Maybe we should stop. It’s unsettling,” she said softly—meaning the quarter, the attention, the weight of so many watching eyes.
“Are you afraid you’ll anger your people by being seen with me?” he asked.
She turned to face him fully, fingers twisting faintly into the edge of her shawl.
“Val-Theris, they’re already angry. The council.
Your people. My people. Everyone. Walking through this quarter is…
” She drew a breath, steadying herself. “This just creates more unrest. Let me step back. You don’t need me at your side to keep your promises.
I’ve said what I have to say in our sessions. ”
His wings shifted behind him, pale feathers catching threads of sunlight like molten glass. “No,” he said, without hesitation. “If anyone resents your presence at my side, let them. Resigning changes nothing.”
Her breath caught before she could temper it, heat rising unbidden beneath her ribs. She wanted to argue, but something in his gaze stilled her.
It was conviction.
A small hand tugged suddenly at the edge of Val-Theris’s wing. Jesenia startled, turning just in time to see one of the children she often cared for that must have slipped through the line. He was barefoot, dust-smudged, fearless, peering up at the king with curiosity.
“Are you an angel?” the child asked, “Or a chicken?”
Without missing a beat, Val-Theris answered solemnly, “That depends who you ask.”
Jesenia laughed into her hand—a short, surprised sound she couldn’t stop in time. The child grinned, delighted. The laughter drew attention, but not all of it was kind.
A guard approached moments later, bowing slightly. “My king, the citizens grow restless. Perhaps we should move on.”
Val-Theris didn’t look away from Jesenia’s bright face when he answered. “Let them watch.”
For a heartbeat, Jesenia forgot the crowd entirely.
The press of eyes. The muttered voices. The weight of the city balanced on the narrow space between them.
All she felt was the warmth of sunlight against her shoulders, the faint hush of his breath as he stood so close, and the gravity pulling them nearer without meaning to.
Then Val-Theris stepped back—the distance deliberate, his expression carefully schooled into composure once more.
“Show me the sick?” he suggested softly.
And Jesenia did.
By the time they returned to the square, the tension had only deepened. Imperial citizens whispered sharply from the edges of the crowd, resentment sharpened by fear and pride. Refugees lingered nearby with careful gratitude in their eyes, as though afraid to hope too openly.
As Val-Theris mounted the low steps near the fountain, Jesenia caught the hard glances exchanged among his guards in her direction.
Silent warnings, unspoken but unmistakable.