Dawn spilled molten over the ridgeline, light catching every droplet of mist and turning the mountain pass into liquid gold.
Leather creaked as I shifted in the saddle. The copper of my jacket caught the sun—burnished tal and sweat-warm skin, a slow shimr that made look far more composed than I felt. The fabric beneath clung soft against , black silk-cotton slick from the climb. My braid, threaded once with silver cord, thumped lightly against my shoulder every ti my horse tossed its head. I counted the motion the sa way I counted the hoofbeats. One, two, three. One, two, three.
Beside , Cassie looked infuriatingly pristine. Her white linen shirt gaped just enough at the throat to taunt the sumr air, the steel-blue vest hugging her like the world’s most obnoxious armor. The frost-rune cuffs on her black boots caught stray light every ti she adjusted her reins. She slled like clean lemon and new paper—one of those scents that makes you rember what focus feels like.
“Do you practice looking that competent,” I muttered, “or is it a divine gift?”
Cassie’s smile was all teeth. “It’s natural talent. You should try it soti, Firefly.”
“I’m busy doing the leading,” I said. “Soone has to keep your dramatic hair in the shot.”
“My hair isn’t dramatic.”
“It’s braided like it has its own PR manager.”
She laughed, and the sound curled bright and reckless in the morning air. “At least mine doesn’t set the landscape on fire every ti the wind changes.”
“I’m working on that,” I said, tugging my braid hard enough to sting. The silver cord flashed, a line of starlight through the red. “Self-improvent.”
Our mirror-drones hovered sowhere behind us, recording every smug inch of her. Roran probably loved it. The Solar would too. They adored proof that I hadn’t combusted before breakfast.
The mountain air bit cold across my face, sweet with pine and smoke from the Vale forges below. Each exhale from my horse ghosted white before disappearing into heat haze. My gloves humd softly with their rune-thread enchantnt, steady pressure along my palms, keeping from scorching the reins when my magic flared. I liked that vibration. It was almost human—heartbeat against heartbeat.
Cassie reached across the narrow space between our horses and flicked one of my reins, lazy as a cat. “You’re doing that tapping thing again.”
“Maybe I like the sound.”
“Maybe you’re about to implode. Big difference.”
I exhaled through my nose. “You worry too much.”
“You catch fire too easily.”
“That’s why you’re here,” I said.
Her grin tilted, softening. “So you admit you need .”
“I admit nothing.”
She laughed again, louder this ti, and the horses startled slightly before resettling into pace.
Below us, the Vale unfolded—green terraces veined with silver riverlight, cadets already forming ranks on the parade grounds. Their armor flashed like mirrored suns, thousands of disciplined points of light arranged in cruel symtry. The drumlines picked up as we descended, sharp enough that each beat hit the inside of my skull like a hamr.
I tugged my braid once, twice. One, two, three. My focus narrowed to the sound of reins and the sll of ozone rising from ward-stone.
Cassie’s fingers brushed my wrist. Two taps—light, precise. With .
I breathed in the citrus and vanilla that always clung to her and let it chase the edges of my temper. The heat in my chest evened out, a steady burn instead of a flare.
The ward-gates of Starlight Vale lood ahead, obsidian and silver, the banners of House Drennath rippling above them. Light Through Shadow. I’d spent enough childhood sumrs under those words to still hear Isolde’s clipped correction every ti I slouched.
She was waiting at the top of the parade ground, of course—posture like a blade, eyes like the kind of sky that doesn’t blink.
“Ready?” Cassie asked, voice low.
“Define ready.”
“For her.”
I snorted. “I was born under her lecture schedule. I’ve survived worse.”
Cassie tilted her head. “You could always lt her shoes.”
“Tempting,” I said, “but the sll of burnt perfection might ruin my morning.”
We rode through the gates, and the drums fell silent. Rows of cadets froze at attention, every mirrored visor turning toward us. I felt the weight of their stare like a physical thing—respect, resentnt, curiosity—all sharpened into judgnt.
Half-breed. Duchess. Human consort. The words weren’t spoken, but I could feel them in the heat between my shoulder blades.
I counted rivets on the nearest breastplate—five on one side, five on the other. It helped. My scent wobbled—marshmallow too sweet, rain seeping through—but I caught it, smoothed it back to ember and bloom.
Cassie’s hand grazed my wrist again. Two fingers, one pulse. The world steadied.
Isolde Drennath stepped forward, silver embroidery catching the sun, and inclined her head exactly one asured degree. “Welco ho, Your Grace.”
I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Let’s not pretend it’s a hocoming, Marchioness. You and I both know this is an inspection.”
Her mouth didn’t move, but the faintest twitch at the corner betrayed her. “Then by all ans, inspect.”
I leaned slightly toward Cassie and muttered, “See? She’s missed .”
Cassie’s mouth curved. “You’re the only one who’d call that affection.”
“High standards,” I said.
“Low self-preservation,” she shot back.
The air humd, ward-stone glowing faint under our horses’ hooves, and the scent of lavender polish and steel drifted up from the parade lines. I straightened my shoulders, the copper of my jacket flaring under the sun, and rode forward into the ordered chaos that had made —and would, one way or another, have to learn to serve .
The courtyard slled of polish and performance—steel, oil, and the faint sweetness of crushed jasmine from the practice fields. My horse’s breath misted in the thin mountain air, hooves clinking against ward-stone that still held last night’s heat. Rows of cadets and nobles waited in perfect formation, sunlight sliding off their armor like knives. It should have felt triumphant. It just felt loud.
Roran and Kael moved first, positioning to either side of Cassie and . Isolde Drennath approached from the head of the line, every motion precise, her cloak cut like a blade. The officers behind her bowed as one—beautiful choreography, brittle at the edges.
And then Althaea stepped forward from the cadet ranks, sunlight catching the silver thread in her braid. For a mont the world tilted—training fields and bruised shins, whispered dares after curfew, the girl who used to shove into lakes when I sulked. Now she was bowing to .
“Your Grace,” she said, voice even but eyes bright. No tremor. No fear. Just the steady pulse of the sa heartbeat that once matched mine in every drill.
Cassie’s thought brushed mine through the consort ring—cool, teasing. Is that the infamous Althaea? The one who almost drowned you for talking back?
I deserved it, I sent back. Twice.
She looks like she’d do it again.
That’s why I trust her.
Isolde’s shadow lood behind her daughter, unreadable. The line of her jaw said discipline, but the faint easing of her shoulders said approval. “Cadet Drennath has been selected to accompany Your Grace during the inspection,” she announced. “Her record speaks for itself.”
“It always has,” I said quietly, and Althaea’s mouth twitched—the smallest ghost of a smile.
The officers straightened one by one. A broad-shouldered fae with bronze skin and silver hair looked over, gaze asuring years, not rit. Too young, I read instantly. His fingers tightened around the poml of his sword. Counting minutes until I failed.
Next, a tall woman with violet hair and dals heavy enough to bruise ribs. Her eyes lingered on the point of my ears. Half-breed. The insult hung silent but hot.
Another officer—middle-aged, polished, polished to the point of parody—kept his bow too long. Bastard, the pulse at his temple said. He’d rehearsed that disdain since childhood.
The oldest of them all, armor chased with glyphs older than my mother’s reign, barely bent his neck. Woman, his stare hissed. Courts die when their daughters lead them.
And the youngest, handso and smug, smirked when his eyes flicked to Cassie. Human consort. Contamination by proximity.
Pattern recognition filled in the rest, the way my mind always did—tones, tells, tension. They didn’t have to speak; their bodies wrote entire paragraphs.
Cassie’s fingers brushed the inside of my wrist—two taps. Steady, Firefly. Her citrus-cool scent cut through the heat crawling my skin. I forced my breath into rhythm. Tap, tap, tap. Hoofbeats, heartbeats, control.
Want to ice his boots? she murmured through the bond. He’d stop sneering.
No, I thought, I prefer my doubters upright—it’s easier to watch them trip.
Her laughter flickered bright across the link. You’re insufferable.
You love for it.
“At ease,” I said aloud. My voice carried clear and even, not loud, but lined with fire.
The command settled through them like a pulse; formation relaxed, though not easily.
“Your Grace,” Isolde said, tone perfectly balanced between challenge and ceremony. “The Vale stands ready for your inspection.”
“Good,” I replied, keeping my chin high. “Because I didn’t co here to be inspected.”
A ripple moved through the line—tight shoulders, a single cough, a few sharp breaths. Cassie’s mouth curved, small and wicked; she loved when I went off-script.
“You all know who I am,” I said, eting every pair of eyes I could. “And you all know what I’m not. I’m not full-blood. I’m not the heir you expected. And I’m not here to play the doll my mother refused to be.”
Silence stretched, charged and shimring.
“I may not have your centuries,” I added, “but I have your High Lady’s trust—and my own fire. If anyone’s waiting for to fail, they’ll burn out before I do.”
Cassie’s smirk deepened; frost-bright citrus flared—a private pulse of pride.
Then I turned to Isolde. “Marchioness. Lead the way.”
She inclined her head by half a degree and pivoted sharply, cloak slicing the air. The column began to move.
As I dismounted, Althaea matched my stride, falling in just behind and left—not as a shadow, but as an equal moving at my rhythm. The crowd of cadets followed the motion with their eyes; so with skepticism, others with sothing close to awe.
Cassie’s voice brushed mine once more. She moves like she already belongs to your court.
She always has, I thought back. Now I just have to make it official.
And as the drums from the parade ground began their steady cadence ahead of us, I tugged my braid once—an old reflex, a promise to myself. Let them whisper. Let them doubt.
I’d been doubted since I learned to walk.
And every ti, I learned to burn brighter.
The march from the courtyard into the training grounds was a study in contrast—stone paths lined with mirror-slick ward glyphs, the air alive with heat shimr and discipline. The faint scent of oil and lavender polish gave way to sothing sharper: ozone from sparring wards discharging and the sweat of bodies in motion.
Drums thudded from the practice fields ahead. Cadets stood in neat columns, spears gleaming, armor etched with the constellations of their birth Houses. Their discipline humd like static. Every back straightened when Isolde stepped forward, but every eye—every single one—found .
Althaea paced half a step behind , spine arrow-straight, expression unreadable except for the faint, familiar twitch of her jaw. She always did that before a test.
I rembered doing it beside her—sweat on my palms, the air too heavy, Isolde’s voice slicing through every mistake.
Now I was the one everyone was bracing for.
Cassie’s voice slipped through the bond, silk over steel:
You’re terrifying them already. You haven’t even shouted.
That’s Isolde’s job, I thought back, forcing a neutral smile.
Mm. She’s proud, Cassie teased, citrus-sweet humor glinting through the link. She hides it better than you do.
She hides everything better than everyone does.
Isolde stopped at the edge of the sparring square. “Your Grace,” she said, “the cadets will begin their demonstration.”
A captain barked a command, and the line broke into movent. Blades sang; shields flared. Two cadets sparred inside a flickering ward ring, fire and wind crashing against each other in disciplined bursts. Their boots slid on stone, glyphs blazing briefly with every impact.
The rhythm of it pressed against my chest—too loud, too ordered.
Three-tap pattern, grounding: thigh, wrist, thumb against palm. The scrape of tal, the sweat-salt air, the faint tallic taste of ozone—it all tried to crash together in my brain. Cassie’s scent brushed through the noise, cool lemon and frost. Breathe in on her scent, out on mine. Control.
“Your form holds,” Isolde said to one of the cadets, “but your release hesitates. Strength without precision burns itself out.”
Her tone could’ve sliced glass.
The boy nodded, cheeks flushed, and reset his stance.
Althaea leaned close enough for only to hear. “He overcorrects on the downward block,” she murmured.
I tilted my head, caught it, saw it—she was right. I could almost see her ghost younger self, the one who used to correct with that sa voice.
I didn’t have to look at Isolde to know she’d heard her daughter. A small, approving hum vibrated under the Marchioness’s breath.
“Your eye hasn’t dulled,” I said softly.
Althaea kept her gaze forward. “You trained too well to let it.”
Cassie’s amusent rippled through the bond. Careful, Firefly. You’re outnumbered by Drennaths now.
I can handle two.
Famous last words.
When the demonstration ended, Isolde gestured toward a stern-looking instructor waiting near the shade of the observation canopy.
“Captain Vaerel oversees advanced combat theory,” she said. “He’ll answer any questions about the Academy’s readiness.”
Vaerel bowed low, a controlled motion that carried neither disdain nor reverence—just ritual. “Your Grace, Duchess Firebrand,” he greeted. His voice was sandpaper over smoke. “We are honored.”
I could feel the lie in the way his jaw clenched on honored.
Still, I smiled. “Show your cadets’ readiness, Captain.”
He hesitated. “They are... efficient, Your Grace. But morale dips when politics enter the barracks. Your recent appointnt has—” He stopped.
“Upset the natural order?” I supplied.
He blinked, caught between fear and honesty. “Changed expectations.”
Cassie shifted beside , casual grace hiding the heat beneath her tone. “Change and survival are usually the sa thing, Captain. Which do you prefer?”
The silence that followed was almost satisfying.
That was cruel, I thought through the bond, fighting a grin.
That was efficient, she corrected. You’re rubbing off on .
“Perhaps your cadets would prefer to ask questions,” I said aloud, scanning the rows. “You train to protect the Court. You train to serve the people under my rule. If you have concerns about or my command—say them now, while it’s safe to do so.”
A rustle of armor. No one spoke. Even the wind seed to hold its breath.
Then a young cadet stepped forward—a girl no older than fifteen by mortal standards, eyes bright and too brave for her own good. “Your Grace,” she said, voice trembling but steadying, “why does the Court need us, if rulers can wield power like yours?”
Every gaze snapped to .
Good question. Dangerous question. The kind I would’ve asked at her age.
I dismounted slowly, boots striking the stone with a solid click. “Because power without those who question it becos tyranny,” I said, keeping my voice soft but sure. “Because I can burn a city, but you can hold one together. And because one day, if I ever lose my way, I expect you to stand up and remind what this uniform ans.”
The cadet’s eyes widened. Her jaw clenched like she was swallowing a thousand retorts. Then—just once—she nodded.
The silence that followed wasn’t the stiff kind. It was the heavy, thinking kind.
Cassie brushed the edge of my mind. You always did have a flair for civic education.
Cos with the crown, I sent back. And the ADHD.
Althaea stepped forward then, voice clear. “Your Grace, permission to add sothing?”
I nodded.
She turned toward the line. “Every one of you trains for service—but service doesn’t an silence. Her Grace taught that when I was your age.”
She t my gaze briefly. When you refused to stop asking questions, her look seed to say.
That faint shimr of pride in the air wasn’t mine, or Cassie’s. It was the Court itself, leaning forward.
Cassie murmured across the bond, humor softening the mont. You should knight her now before she outshines you.
I plan to, I thought, smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
Isolde’s voice cut through. “The inspection is complete. The Duchess has seen the Academy’s readiness.”
I t her gaze, one heartbeat too long. “Not yet, Marchioness. Readiness can be rehearsed. Precision can’t.”
A ripple of uncertainty ran through the cadets; even the wind seed to hesitate. Cassie’s amusent brushed against my mind—Here we go.
You love it when I start trouble, I sent back.
Only because you usually finish it.
I stepped forward, unclasping the top buckle of my copper jacket. The scent of scorched cedar flared as heat gathered under my skin. “Reset the practice ward,” I said. “If they’re to serve under my banner, they should know what they’re defending.”
The captain stamred but obeyed. Circles of silver light flared to life, humming softly. A cadet stepped in—a boy maybe twenty, nerves hidden under the rigidity of training.
“Attack,” I told him.
He blinked. “Your Grace, I—”
“Attack,” I repeated.
He lunged. I t him halfway—pivot, block, counter. Steel rang against my bracer. A spark of fire chased down my arm, not wild, just enough to illuminate the strike. He ca again; I ducked, let the fla slide along my palm and kiss the flat of his blade. The impact sang. My braid whipped across my shoulder; sweat stung my eyes.
Three taps—heel, breath, pulse—keep the pattern. Cassie’s citrus-cool scent flickered from the sidelines, grounding like a steady hand at my spine. The cadet pressed; I broke his stance with one clean sweep and sent his sword skittering to the ring’s edge.
Silence. Only the hum of the wards and the hiss of cooling heat.
I straightened slowly. “That,” I said, voice even, “is what control looks like. Not power for show. Power for purpose.”
Cassie’s thought ca dry and pleased. No nobles incinerated. That’s growth.
Tempting, though.
Always.
I turned back to the assembled cadets. “The Sumr Court doesn’t need rulers who forget what it ans to stand in your place. Rember that the next ti soone tells you birth decides worth.”
And then—without plan, just instinct—I looked toward Althaea.
She stood at parade rest, chin lifted, sweat glinting on her temple, the sa quiet fierceness I rembered from every shared drill. The air around her shimred faintly; even the other cadets were watching her. Of course they were.
“Cadet Althaea Drennath,” I called.
She stepped forward instantly, voice clear. “Your Grace.”
“You trained beside . You’ve seen at my worst and didn’t flinch.”
Her eyes softened, just a fraction. “That was mutual, Your Grace.”
Cassie’s ntal voice cracked through like laughter: She’s perfect. Keep her.
I drew my dagger, let its edge catch the light. “Kneel.”
The courtyard held its breath.
“By the fla that forged ,” I said, the words ringing against the wards, “and by the trust that binds the Vale to Starveil, I na you my First Lady-in-Waiting. You will keep my cadence when I falter, guard my blind sides, and speak truth even when it burns.”
Althaea’s breath hitched, but she bowed her head. “By the light and the blade, I accept.”
I touched the dagger’s flat to her shoulder. “Rise, Lady Althaea Drennath of Starveil.”
She rose into applause that began hesitant and grew firm—cadets striking fists to chests, armor chiming like bells. Isolde’s lips barely twitched, but her eyes glead with sothing almost proud.
Cassie passed my jacket, brushing her thumb along my wrist in that grounding pattern only she could use.
You do realize you just recruited your almost-sister on her mother’s parade ground, she teased.
Bold strategy, I thought back. I learned from you.
I turned to face the cadets again. “Lady Althaea will travel with and serve in my court. But when I’m in the mortal realm for my own studies, she’ll return here each day to complete her academy training until she earns her commission. She’ll stand in both worlds, as I do. That is how we keep our courts alive—by learning, by working, by refusing to stop.”
That landed exactly how I wanted—nods from the cadets, murmurs from the instructors. One young soldier straightened his shoulders like he’d just been given permission to hope again.
Isolde inclined her head. “An unusual arrangent. Yet… fitting.”
Cassie’s ntal hum was warm with pride. You make fairness look like rebellion, Firefly.
It is rebellion, I sent back. Just polite.
I turned to Althaea. “You’ll report to each evening. Your mornings belong to the Vale, your afternoons to Starveil. When you graduate, your post will already be waiting.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said, and for the first ti since I’d arrived, her voice trembled—not with fear, but sothing that sounded like pride.
Cassie’s smirk curved bright as a brand. “That’s one way to balance the books.”
I tugged my braid once, the motion grounding through the noise of applause. “Balance isn’t the goal,” I said quietly. “Continuity is.”
Isolde’s cloak shifted, silver embroidery catching sunlight. “Then the Vale will provide it. You honor us with your choice, Your Grace.”
“Only because she earned it,” I replied. Then, louder, to the assembled ranks: “Dismissed.”
Helts snapped to chests. The sll of tal and sweat mingled with the faint heat rising off my skin. Cassie leaned close, murmuring under her breath, “Ready to play nice with nobles over lunch?”
I smiled. “Not a chance.”
The mont the final salute broke and the courtyard began to disperse, Isolde turned toward . The sun caught in the silver filigree of her cloak pins, sharp enough to sting the eyes.
“Your Grace,” she said, perfectly asured. “The High Table is prepared at the Keep. The officers and I would be honored if you and Princess Cassie joined us for luncheon. It will allow for a more… comprehensive debrief.”
Translation: optics, not nourishnt. A luncheon parade of nobles playing politics over pheasant and wine.
I swung down from my horse, boots landing with a solid thud that kicked dust and heat into the air. My braid tugged heavy against my neck; I looped the end once around my fingers—grounding, deliberate.
“No,” I said.
A beat of silence, the kind that prickles.
Isolde’s expression didn’t shift, but the guards’ shoulders went taut. Even Cassie turned her head slightly, interest sparking like flint.
“No, Marchioness?” Isolde asked. Her voice had gone soft—the kind of softness that could slice through stone.
“I’ll eat in town.”
Roran inhaled like he was bracing for impact. “Your Grace, with respect—”
“With respect,” Cassie interrupted, her tone frost-smooth, “she ans it.”
I cut her a sidelong glance that carried half a smile, half a warning.
“Roran, Kael,” I said, my voice low but firm. “You’re sworn to protect . I trust you to do that. But I will not spend the day behind another gilded door pretending I understand my people.”
Kael’s eyes flicked toward the distant city gates, already calculating exits, rooftops, vantage lines. “It isn’t safe,” she said.
“Neither is ignorance.”
The words ca out steadier than I felt, so I held them there, in the open air. The scent of oil and steel gave way to lavender polish and sweat—faint, human things beneath the grandeur.
I looked at Isolde directly. “I’ve lived in palaces, fortresses, courts. Gilded cages with better curtains. But I can’t rule a world I never touch. I need to see them, Marchioness. I need to listen. If I don’t know how they live, I can’t serve them.”
The older woman studied a long mont. Her jaw didn’t soften, but sothing in her eyes—just the smallest flicker—shifted. “And dinner?”
“I’ll return to the Keep for that,” I said. “You’ll have your decorum and your nobles then. But now?” I rested a hand lightly on my horse’s neck, heat radiating between my glove and the mare’s skin. “Now I need to rember why any of this matters.”
Cassie’s voice brushed through my mind, silk and citrus. You just love to terrify your guards.
I love to be a person, I sent back.
You’re a duchess, Firefly.
Sa thing, if I do it right.
Roran’s sigh was a weathered thing. “Minimal escort only, then. I’ll have riders shadow your route—plainclothes, rooftops, no banners.”
“Good,” I said. “And have Kael coordinate the periter with local watch. Quietly. I don’t want this to look like a parade.”
Cassie arched a brow. “You heard her. She wants subtlety.”
Kael groaned under her breath. “My favorite kind of chaos.”
Isolde exhaled through her nose. “Very well. The town, then. But you will dine with us at dusk.”
“Of course,” I said, stepping closer, the copper of my jacket catching in the light. “Wouldn’t want to miss the pheasant and politics.”
Cassie’s laughter brushed the bond between us, bright as frostbite. I’m getting you a shirt that says that.
You’re assuming shirts will survive this trip.
Fair. I’ve seen you eat street food.
Isolde gestured sharply to a waiting aide, signaling her officers to stand down. The faintest edge of respect—or resignation—cut through her posture.
“Enjoy your… experience, Your Grace,” she said, voice cool as marble.
“I intend to,” I replied, tightening my glove and taking Cassie’s reins.
We mounted together, twin silhouettes in fla and frost. The wind shifted, carrying the scents of the city below—bread, smoke, and sothing faintly tallic. Life.
As the first hoofbeats struck the ward-stone road, Cassie leaned closer and murmured through the bond, You really can’t help yourself, can you?
Not even a little, I thought back. But that’s what keeps it interesting.
Her laugh hit like sunlight on snow, and we rode down into the Vale.
The tavern’s door creaked like it hadn’t been opened for anyone important in centuries. Good.
Heat and sound hit all at once—laughter, clatter, the sting of pepper oil in the air. The scent was dizzying after so many years breathing palace polish and candle smoke: real food, real sweat, and the sharp, yeasty edge of ale poured too fast.
I’d never been in a place like this in the Sumr Lands. Not once. Every “outing” I’d had before was a performance—silks, handlers, scripted smiles. This… this was alive.
Conversations stuttered into silence as Cassie and I stepped through. Heads turned. Even the barkeep froze mid-wipe, rag hovering over a mug.
I lifted a hand and tried for easy. “Please—don’t stop on my account.”
Soone laughed too loudly in the corner, and just like that, the tension fractured. Chairs scraped, spoons clattered again.
Cassie’s voice slid through the bond, citrus-cool amusent sparking across my mind. Still sure about this?
No, I thought back, scanning the crowded room. But I’ve spent enough of my life behind walls. I want to know what the air actually tastes like out here.
We found a long oak table near the window, sunlight striping the surface with gold. Cassie sat across from , pretending not to watch every door and mirror. Outside, I could feel Roran and Kael adjusting their positions—silent, invisible rings of security—but inside, it felt almost normal.
The barmaid approached, cheeks pink, voice trembling just enough to betray her nerves. “Your Grace… Princess… what can I—?”
“Just lunch,” I said gently. “Whatever everyone else is eating.”
Her brows rose as if I’d asked to order the moon, but she nodded and hurried away.
Cassie’s smirk twitched. You’re going to start a panic if you keep talking like that.
Maybe they’ll recover quicker if I keep eating like them, I shot back, tugging the end of my braid until my scalp smarted. That’s science.
That’s chaos, she said, warmth curling through the words. Which is your science.
When the food ca—a roasted fish plate, crust still sizzling, with thick bread and butter so fresh it slled like sun-ward milk—I hesitated. The last ti I’d eaten among mortals in Dominveil, no one had bowed or stared. Here, every bite was a silent headline.
I forced myself to take the first bite anyway.
Salt. Lemon. Sothing smoked. The flavor hit too bright, too real. I closed my eyes just long enough to steady the surge of mory—the endless formal dinners, the way I’d had to pretend to enjoy food cold from waiting for speeches to end.
When I looked again, the room had relaxed into watching out of curiosity instead of fear.
A little boy craned around his father’s arm, eyes wide. “You really eat?” he blurted.
Cassie choked back a laugh.
“Yes,” I said, smiling. “Even princesses need lunch.”
That broke the last of the tension. A few chuckles rippled through the tables, and the boy’s mother swatted his shoulder fondly.
The questions started small, shy. What was the palace like? Did I see dragons? Did my hair really glow in the dark? I answered most, sidestepped so. Then, as always, the real ones began.
“My eldest serves in the cadet ranks,” said an older man with hands rough as bark. “Stipends have been short again. Said it’s being ‘reviewed in Starveil.’”
I set down my fork, thumb finding the worn groove in the handle—back and forth, back and forth—until my pulse steadied. “That shouldn’t be happening. I’ll have the ledgers verified by week’s end.”
The man blinked, then grinned like he’d been given back sothing he’d stopped expecting.
A woman two tables down raised her voice. “And the trade levies, Your Grace? We can barely afford to haul our goods now.”
“I’ll look into the quotas myself,” I said. “I’ve got a quarterly digest due anyway.”
Cassie’s voice flicked in my mind, dry as winter air. You just volunteered for twelve new argunts in council.
Worth it, I thought, watching the woman’s face soften. This is what the job’s supposed to be.
We stayed longer than planned, the noise ebbing and rising around us. I lost track of ti in the rhythm of small talk and the hum of real life. When the last plates were cleared, I stood, palms against the worn wood.
Every gaze followed again, but this ti it wasn’t fear—it was confusion, maybe wonder. I crossed to the barkeep, pressed a pouch of gold into his startled hand.
“For everyone,” I said. “als, staff, and then so.”
He opened his mouth, but I was already walking out, Cassie falling into step beside .
Outside, the sun hit hard off the pale stone streets, heat rippling against my jacket. I inhaled deeply—smoke, bread, the mineral edge of the mountain air—and for the first ti, I felt sothing close to peace.
Cassie brushed her fingers along the back of my hand, casual but deliberate. You realize you just paid for half the Vale to eat for a week?
Then they’ll be full for once, I sent back. That’s a start.
She laughed quietly, a sound like ice cracking in fire. You’re impossible.
You love for it.
We wandered after that—no plan, no schedule. Past open-air smithies where hamrs sang, through rows of market stalls where vendors called prices with voices full of life. I stopped at a shop window displaying rune-glass jewelry, at a bookseller’s stand stacked with star maps, at a flower cart where the blooms shimred faintly under the sun.
Children whispered when I passed, but the fear was gone. What lingered instead was sothing different—curiosity, pride, maybe even belief.
I trailed my fingers along a railing, the tal cool under my glove, and whispered under my breath, mostly to myself, “Not a cage. Not anymore.”
Cassie didn’t answer out loud. She didn’t need to. The bond between us humd with quiet approval, citrus-bright and steady.
The sun had just begun to tip toward the ridge when the wards of the Vale Keep shimred into view—silver-gold lines tracing the air like a net of light. The sound of the city softened behind us, replaced by the rhythmic clop of hooves on stone and the low hum of magic as the gates opened at our approach.
The air inside the fortress felt cooler, stiller. Too still after the heartbeat chaos of the tavern and markets. The scent shifted from bread and smoke to polished marble and ink. I could still feel the laughter from the street clinging to my skin, stubborn as starlight, and part of wanted to turn back.
Cassie guided her horse alongside mine, her silhouette gilded by the setting sun. “You’ve got that look again,” she said softly.
“What look?”
“The one that ans you’re about to set sothing on fire so you don’t have to sit through dinner.”
I smiled faintly, tugging the end of my braid until the sting in my scalp matched the ache in my chest. “Don’t tempt .”
I never do, she teased across the bond, citrus-sweet warmth flickering through the link between us. You’re entirely self-motivated chaos.
And you married anyway, I thought back.
Terrible life choices, she sent, but I felt the grin behind it.
The courtyard awaited—guards lined in quiet rows, servants bowing as we dismounted. I caught the faint shimr of Althaea near the stairway, already waiting to escort us inside. Her armor had been replaced with formal cadet blues, silver piping at the cuffs, braid bound tight. For a mont, she looked every inch the officer she would one day be.
I gave her a nod, nothing grand—just enough to say I see you. She dipped her head in return, face unreadable to anyone but . The tiny flex of her fingers along her side told what words didn’t: You did well today.
Cassie handed her reins to a waiting groom and exhaled slowly. “How do you feel, Firefly?”
“Tired.”
“Good tired or palace tired?”
“Good,” I said, aning it. The kind of tired that ca from doing sothing real. From breathing air that hadn’t been perfud into submission. “I think they saw today.”
Cassie’s voice went soft. “They did.”
For a mont we stood there, watching the last of the sunlight die over the valley. The wards above the Keep pulsed once, like a heartbeat settling into rest. I inhaled deeply—marshmallow warmth, stargazer bloom, a trace of mountain wind—and let the day’s weight lt into it.
Then I straightened, smoothing the copper leather of my jacket and tugging the gloves from my hands. “Let’s get cleaned up before dinner.”
Cassie grinned. “You an before the nobles try to feed us complints and politics?”
“Exactly.”
Together we crossed the courtyard, boots clicking against polished stone, guards falling into formation behind us. Sowhere deep in the Keep, bells tolled the hour. The sky above flared once—gold, then rose, then violet—as dusk folded over Starlight Vale.
I glanced back only once, toward the city lights flickering in the distance. Freedom, small and stubborn, still glimred there like an ember refusing to die.
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