He turned back toward the bed, the night wind stirring the curtains into a restless dance. The room was already growing colder, frost beginning to kiss the edges of the glass and creep along the stone ledge.
Still, the heat pouring from her did not lessen.
His expression darkened.
Even with the northern winds pouring through the chamber, her skin still glowed with feverish warmth, beads of sweat shining along her brow and throat.
He walked back towards the bed. Then he reached for the pitcher resting on the bedside table, dampened a cloth, and laid it carefully across her forehead, his movents still asured, still far gentler than anyone would have expected from him.
"Easy," he murmured under his breath, though she could not hear him. "You’re safe now."
Her face loosened up a bit, though not enough to tell she was away from the tornt of her nightmares. They were inevitable, yet seeing such discomfort marred her features made his eyes grow cold.
Those eyes lowered slightly, resting on the subtle glow still lingering beneath the skin of her wrist—a faint pulse of warmth, almost imperceptible unless one was looking for it.
"How long do you intend to keep watch like a brooding gargoyle?"
The voice ca from the corner of the room, smooth and familiar, carrying that sa easy lightness that always seed almost out of place in monts like this.
Vaeron did not turn. He already knew who it was. Quietly, he slipped the cover over her arms.
A quiet sigh followed, dramatic enough to earn annoyance from anyone else, and asured footsteps crossed the room, sharp against the wooden floor despite the deliberate softness of the approach.
The newcor stepped into the firelight, the warmth in his expression standing in direct contrast to the chill in the room.
He folded his arms loosely across his chest, glancing from Vaeron to the sleeping woman on the bed before letting out a low breath. "Staring holes into the pillows won’t wake her any faster," he said, tone lighter now, almost teasing. "If anything, I imagine the poor thing would rather wake to a ceiling than that face looming over her."
Vaeron’s jaw tightened. "She needs rest,"
The man lifted a brow, amusent flickering across his features. "Yes, I did gather that from the fact that she is unconscious," His lips twitched faintly before the humor softened into sothing gentler. "She’s exhausted. More than exhausted. lisma said the strain on her body was severe."
"I’m aware."
The words ca out clipped, cold enough to frost the air between them, and sharp enough to silence him. He didn’t want to be disturbed.
The other creature tilted his head, studying him for a mont before shaking his head with a small, almost fond sigh. "And yet you’re still standing here like your presence alone can force her back into wakefulness."
Vaeron finally turned, his gaze sharp. "That isn’t helping matters."
A quiet laugh escaped him. It was warm and low, light enough to alleviate the tension in the room. "No," he admitted, leaning one shoulder against the carved bedpost, "but neither is suffocating the room with that look," His eyes flicked briefly to Lucrezia again, then back to Vaeron. "You look as though you’re waiting for death itself to co knocking."
For a mont, only the crackle of the fire filled the space as silence stretched. Vaeron remained rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the woman who’d begun to sleep peacefully now.
Then the creature’s expression softened. "Relax," he said, voice quieter now, the humor still there but gentler around the edges. "She survived worse than most ever could."
Vaeron’s gaze darkened. That was the point. He should be relaxed. He would’ve been relaxed. He’s waited for this mont... this mont that would test her fragility and her strength. But why did it irritate him when even the slightest things affected her?
Vaeron’s expression hardened.
The other man watched him for a beat before the teasing light in his eyes dimd into sothing more observant. "You’re troubled,"
Vaeron said nothing.
A slow smile touched the newcor’s lips.
It was a kind that was faint and knowing, as though it wasn’t the first ti such a reaction had been witnessed. "Now that
is far more terrifying than whatever happened Downtown,"
Vaeron’s gaze cut toward him, sharp enough to still most people where they stood.
It only earned a chuckle. "Co now," he continued, pushing himself away from the bedpost. "You cannot expect not to notice. You look as though soone has set fire to the foundations of Blackvale itself."
"What do you want?" Vaeron demanded, clearly irritated by his brother’s criticism.
"To see how my beloved brother is faring," he responded, a sly smile painted across his face. "Clearly as I would’ve imagined. You haven’t changed, have you?"
Vaeron didn’t reply.
The dark-haired Sin’s gaze drifted toward Lucrezia again, and the humor in his face reduced to sothing detrintal. Less regarded, for a mont. "Did you stop to think what her reaction will be when she wakes and finds herself here... like this?"
The question hung between them, silence becoming the only answer.
The man glanced around the chamber and let out a low whistle, half amused and half disbelieving. "I had forgotten just how dreadful this room looks," he said, voice lighter now, though warmth still lingered beneath it. "I thought ti might have improved your taste, but sohow it seems to have worsened."
His gaze swept over the room.
The chamber was vast, but hardly welcoming as tall black-stone walls rose into shadow, lined with deep cracks that ran like old scars through the masonry. Several mirrors along the far wall stood fractured, their surfaces split into jagged reflections that caught the light in splintered shards. A heavy wardrobe leaned slightly askew, one door hanging crooked on its hinge, while books and loose parchnt lay scattered across a dark wooden desk as though abandoned mid-thought.
Near the hearth, a small side table had collapsed on one side, its carved leg broken clean through. Nothing sat where it should. Nothing was whole. The room did not resemble a chamber ant for rest but appeared lived in by sothing restless. It was far from a normal chamber occupied by living beings.
It resembled one belonging to that of a monster
"It feels less like a bedchamber and more like the den of a wounded beast," the man said, folding his arms, confirming any spectators’ thoughts. "Or perhaps a monster who does not sleep."
Vaeron’s expression did not change when he said, "This room serves its purpose."
The other man huffed a laugh. "A purpose that clearly excludes comfort,"
His gaze lingered on the shattered mirrors, then flicked back to Vaeron. "She will wake frightened enough as it is. Waking here might send the poor thing back into unconsciousness."
At that, Vaeron’s eyes shifted to Lucrezia.
For the first ti, his gaze moved over the room as though seeing it from another’s perspective. The broken glass. The scarred stone. The oppressive darkness clung to every corner. A place more suited to nightmares than healing.
A muscle feathered in his jaw. Then, without a word, he moved.
With a flick of his fingers, the fractured mirror nearest the bed vanished behind a curtain of dark velvet that drew itself across the wall. Another gesture, and the scattered books lifted from the floor, gliding back into neat stacks along the shelves. The broken side table righted itself, wood creaking softly as the split leg nded into place.
The room did not beco warm, but it beca less hostile.
The other man blinked, then smiled. "Well," he murmured, amusent brightening his face, "I stand corrected. Perhaps there is a heart buried sowhere beneath all that frost."
Vaeron’s gaze sharpened. "Leave."
The word ca low and flat, enough to spike a heart and shatter one’s soul. Instead of offense, the man laughed again, softer this ti. "As you wish." He said.
The room echoed his gentle retreating steps, and the fleeting warmth he carried slowly receded with him.
He paused at the doorway, glancing back once more toward the bed. "There have been reports indicating Malachi’s whereabouts," he said quietly, as the lightness disappeared from his tone now. "Scouts traced movent along the eastern ridges, beyond the forests," he added when silence followed after the information.
Vaeron did not move, but the temperature in the room seed to drop all the sa.
The man continued, slower now, weighing each word, "He hasn’t crossed into Blackvale’s inner borders yet, but he’s close enough to be watching."
At that, Vaeron’s jaw tightened. His eyes, already cold, darkened into sothing far more dangerous.
"Who reported it?"
"Rheonara’s sentries first. Vaeloria confird it not an hour ago." He hesitated, then added, "There are signs he wasn’t alone,"
That drew Vaeron’s full attention. He turned slowly, every movent controlled, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed the storm gathering beneath.
Glancing at the figure from his shoulder, "How many?"
"They couldn’t get an exact count," he admitted. "The trail was... strange. It vanished in places, then reappeared farther ahead, almost as if soone was masking their movents."
A muscle ticked in Vaeron’s jaw. The Angel, he thought.
It seed like that sa thought crossed the other creature’s mind. "Staying behind closed doors will not change what is coming, Vaeron, and neither will ignoring the summons from court. He was once our brother," his tone calm but edged with purpose and intention as he spoke.
He knew where this was going.
His eyes flickered briefly toward Lucrezia, then back again. "And now there is far more at stake than old loyalties and fractured blood," The implication hung there without indication, carrying another dangerous weight.
Vaeron’s jaw hardened, but he said nothing.
For a long mont, the silence between them stretched, taut as a drawn bowstring. Then, with one last look, he turned and disappeared into the dimly lit hall, leaving the door to close behind him with a soft, deliberate click.
The room fell silent once more.
Only the sound of the wind against the window and the slow, steady breathing from the bed remained. Vaeron stood unmoving, his gaze fixed on the now-closed door, the other man’s words lingering as an old wound reopened.
He was once our brother. A bitter thought. Quite a dangerous one.
For a fleeting mont, a mory threatened to rise. It was the one of laughter in torchlit corridors, of blood-sworn vows beneath the black arches of Blackvale, and of a bond that had once felt unbreakable.
And then it was gone.
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