She curtsied, then went to leave, leaving the door ajar. I swayed a little in front of my reflection, my hands cinched to the skirt, testing how it moved. It glimmered in the light, which brought a slight smile to my lips, but all I could think of was if the gown would impress a certain swordsman with its delicate stitches. I exhaled. I wanted to find him, to sneak out of the ominously approaching Masquerade I’d wear it at, and I wanted to show it to him. I wanted him to take it off.
Rudely, Sameer’s voice cut into the fantasy, disrupting my moment of ease.“All I’m asking is you slow down a moment, Cy,”I heard him say. His voice echoed in the hall.
I cued to the nickname, listening.
“Cyrus,”Sam said faster. “Slow down.”
Nonchalantly, I stepped out of my room and into the corridor, only I appeared right in front of the pair as they barreled toward me. I sidestepped, barely missing a collision with Cyrus as his hand slid along the wall, either as a reminder of where the structure was or for balance, simply based upon his expression–dazed almost–but I wasn’t sure.
“Mr. Evergreen?” I asked. “What a surprise. ...Sam,”
Sam bowed. “Svana,” he said with a nod, acknowledging me. He hopped a little closer, his hand extended. “Cyrus. Please,” he said to his friend. “Hey.”
My brow knit. I swept past the Prince and reached toward Mr. Evergreen, but then his eyes shut and he came to a stop.
“Cyrus?” I asked. “Are you alright?”
He made no movement to confirm he’d even heard me. Sweat glistened on his face.
“Have you–?” I looked between the Prince and him. “Have you been working very hard?” I asked. “He’s exhausted.”
“Excuse me,”Cyrus murmured. He started walking again, purposelessly.
Sameer groaned, rolling his whole head in annoyance. “He’s been moody like this all afternoon. He won’t even listen to me. Everything was fine, then something upset him. He went completely quiet and he’s hardly helped us or said a word since twelve.”
“Since twelve?” I asked. “That’s–” I stared at Mr. Evergreen. Then I squared my shoulders determinedly. “Mr. Evergreen, is your mood something aridemight improve?” He shook his head. “...Are you well, sir?” I moved closer. I went to touch hisforehead with the back of my hand but he brushed me off. I paused, hurt.
“I’mfine,”he said, brash.
My heart sank with an unsteady flutter at how helookedat me–past me. Like I wasn’t there.
“Was anything salvageable?” I tried. “With your home, I mean.”
“I need to…” Cyrus trailed off. He exhaled roughly. He swayed. “I need to… I… lie down,” he said.
It wasn’t another word before he continued toward his room. He didn’t look back or say goodbye; he just sauntered away.
Sam said, “The foundation was salvaged.”
I turned, confused. He met with an equal expression.
“It’ll be a month or two of hard work to return it to its proper glory,” he said.
“What?”
“His house, Svana. You asked if anything was salvageable.” He straightened his cuff. “Excuse me.” Then he walked by me, leaving me alone in the hall, bewildered and concerned.
I stared at the ceiling of my bedchamber wide eyed and for too long, until the shadows stretched off of the window panes and clawed toward the bed. Save for an owl somewhere outdoors, it was silent.
Ser Elías read quietly in his chair by the door. He was unaffected, uninfected by my introspective abuse, still happy like the rest of the world that got on without my melancholia, and I laid there, absolutely rotting in my sheets, until he spoke, interrupting my tenor.
“You’re supposed to be asleep, Princess,” he said.
I leaped at the chance. “Can I ask you a question, Ser?”
“Is this question about Mr. Evergreen?” he asked.
“Yes.”
