Something shifts in his expression. Something I don't dare name. "Because she's important to me. Because you're—" He stops. Breathes. Starts again. "Because I'm asking. Please, Keira. Rest. I promise she'll be safe."
The way he says my name. The way he looks at me like I'm not just the hired help, like my exhaustion matters, likeImatter. It breaks something in my chest that I've been holding together with pure stubbornness.
Over the months I've been here, I've had a harder time ignoring how attractive he is than I'd like to admit. How his dry humor makes me want to smile. How he's patient and brilliant and kind in ways that make my carefully constructed walls feel like tissue paper.
I should maintain distance. Should insist on doing my job. Should remember that I'm a servant and he's nobility and this—whatever this is—can only end badly for me.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Alright."
His shoulders relax minutely. "Thank you."
"Don't—" I mirror his earlier words. "Don't thank me for letting you care about people you love."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with things neither of us can say. Rain fills it, soft and steady. Amisra's breathing, peaceful now. The distant creak of the house settling.
Valas takes a small step back, giving me space while somehow making the room feel smaller. "Your room is down the hall?"
"Yes."
"Then go. Sleep. I'll stay with her." His mouth quirks slightly, almost a smile. "I promise not to let her solve any advanced mathematical theorems before you return."
Despite everything—the exhaustion, the fear, the dangerous warmth spreading through my chest—I almost laugh. Almost. "She'd try if you gave her the chance."
"Terrifyingly true."
Another pause. I should leave now. Should escape while I still can, before I do something foolish like ask why he watches me the way he does. Like confess that I watch back.
"Valas—"
"Keira—"
We speak simultaneously, then stop. Something passes between us in that moment—recognition maybe. Acknowledgment of this thing building between us that we're both trying to ignore.
He gestures for me to continue. I shake my head. "Nothing. Just—thank you. For healing her. For being here."
"Always." The word carries weight I don't dare examine. "Rest well, starlight."
The endearment slips out naturally, like he's been thinking it and forgot to guard against speaking it aloud. My heart stutters traitorously. Starlight. Like I'm something bright. Beautiful. Everything I know I'm not.
I flee before I can respond, before I can ask what it means, before I do something catastrophic like believe it. My room is just down the hall but it feels like miles. I close the door behind me and lean against it, pressing my palm to my racing heart.
This is dangerous. He is dangerous. Not because he'd hurt me—I don't think he would—but because he makes me want to trust. Makes me forget that kindness from dark elves always comes with conditions. Makes me imagine futures where I'm more than just hired help.
Outside my door, down the hall, Valas sits vigil beside a sleeping child. Keeping watch. Being good and kind and everything I've trained myself not to believe in.
I slide down to sit on the floor, wrap my arms around my knees, and try very hard not to cry.
4
VALAS
Iarrive at Daryn's house just as the sun begins its descent, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet that feel almost mocking in their beauty. The vial in my pocket presses against my ribs with each step—glass and desperation wrapped in leather. Another remedy. Another attempt. Another promise I'm not certain I can keep.
The guards nod me through without question. I've worn a path to this threshold over the past months, my presence as routine as dawn. The servant who opens the door—an older dark elf woman named Thessia—offers a knowing look that I ignore. Everyone in this household watches me now. Measuring. Calculating. Waiting to see if I'll finally admit what they all seem to see.
I climb the stairs toward Daryn's study, my boots quiet against polished wood. Somewhere deeper in the house, I hear Amisra's laughter—bright and clear, already recovered from last week's fever. The sound eases something tight in my chest. And beneath it, softer, I catch Keira's voice. Patient. Warm. Reading something, maybe, or playing one of the elaborate games Amisra invents.
My fingers flex involuntarily. I haven't seen her since that night. Seven days of arriving when she's elsewhere, leaving before our paths cross. Not deliberate avoidance on her part—I don't think—but our schedules simply haven't aligned. Or perhaps I've been unconsciously timing my visits to miss her, because facing those hazel eyes while remembering how I called herstarlightfeels like walking barefoot across broken glass.
