Evran jumps, nearly dropping his spoon, and finds Aether sliding onto the bench beside him with a knowing smile that makes him want to sink through the floor.
"I wasn't—I'm not—" he stammers, face flaming.
"Oh please," Aether says cheerfully, helping herself to a slice of bread from the platter. "You're obviously staring."
Evran buries his face in his hands with a groan. "Is it that obvious?"
"To me? Yes. But I've known Vaike since we were children, so I'm particularly attuned to people mooning over him." She pats his shoulder sympathetically. "Don't worry—I don't think anyone else has noticed. You're being reasonably subtle about it."
"I'm not mooning," Evran protests weakly, though even he doesn't sound convinced. "I just... we spoke last night. In the training grounds. And he was..." He trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Kind? Understanding? Nothing like what I expected?
"And now you can't stop thinking about him," Aether finishes for him with a grin that's entirely too perceptive. "Which is why you keep stealing glances."
She's not wrong, which is mortifying. Evran forces himself to focus on his porridge, deliberately keeping his gaze away from the high table. But the awareness of Vaike's presence is like a physical thing—he can feel it even without looking, some part of his brain apparently now dedicated to tracking the Warlord's location.
"You could just go talk to him," Aether suggests casually, as if she's proposing something simple like asking about the weather. "I told you before—he won't bite. Well, not unless you're into that sort of thing."
Evran chokes on his porridge, coughing until his eyes water. "Aether!"
"What? I'm just saying." She looks entirely too pleased with herself. "But seriously, if you want to talk to him, just... go talk to him. Pull up a chair at the high table. Ask him about something. Literally anything. 'How did you sleep, my lord?' 'Lovely weather we're having.' 'I noticed you training last night and wanted to thank you for the advice.'"
Each suggestion makes Evran's anxiety spike higher. "I can't just... He's the Warlord. I can't just walk up and start making casual conversation like we're friends."
"Why not?" Aether's expression is genuinely curious now, like she truly doesn't understand his hesitation. "He's made it clear you're welcome here. He spent time with you last night giving you advice—that's more personal attention than he gives most people. What exactly do you think will happen if you approach him?"
Evran struggles to articulate the tangle of fear and uncertainty in his chest. "What if I say something wrong? What if he was just being... I don't know, professionally courteous last night, and I'm reading too much into it?"
"Or," Aether counters gently, "what if he would appreciate you making an effort to connect? What if you're creating problems that don't exist because you're scared?"
The words hit uncomfortably close to home. Evran stares down at his food, his appetite suddenly gone. "I just... I can't risk it. Things are good right now. I'm finding my place here. Why would I jeopardize that by overstepping?"
Aether is quiet for a moment, and when Evran glances up, her expression has softened into something understanding and a little sad. "Because sometimes the thing you want most is on the other side of the risk you're most afraid to take," she says quietly. "But I understand. It's not easy to be vulnerable when you're afraid of losing everything."
She stands, collecting her empty plate. "But Evran? For what it's worth, I don't think you'd be overstepping. I think you'd be surprised by how welcome you'd be."
She leaves him with that thought, heading back to her weaving terrace, and Evran sits alone with his cooling porridge and the weight of advice he's too afraid to take.
He allows himself one more glance toward the high table before he leaves. Vaike is standing now, preparing to depart for whatever duties fill his morning. And just for a moment, as if sensing Evran's attention, the Warlord's eyes find his across the crowded hall.
It's just a second—barely long enough to register—but Evran swears he sees something shift in Vaike's expression. Not displeasure or annoyance, but... something else. Something that makes Evran's breath catch before he quickly looks away and hurries from the hall like a coward.
The gardens offer no refuge from his chaotic thoughts.
Eira greets him with her usual gentle smile when he arrives at their working area, but within the first hour it's clear something is off. Evran keeps losing track of what he's doing—reachingfor the wrong tool, forgetting which plants they're checking for disease, spacing out while Eira is explaining something about crop rotation.
"Are you alright?" she asks finally, after he's pulled the third healthy turnip instead of leaving it to grow. Her voice carries concern but no judgment. "You seem distracted today."
"I'm fine," Evran lies, then immediately feels guilty because Eira has been nothing but kind to him. "Sorry. I just... didn't sleep well."
Technically not true—he'd slept better than he had in days—but he can't exactly explain that he's distracted by confusing feelings about their Warlord.
Eira doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push. Instead, she redirects him to a simpler task—harvesting the last of the late-season herbs and bundling them for drying. It's repetitive work that should help him focus, but instead it leaves his mind free to wander back to last night.
The way Vaike had looked in the moonlight, all controlled power and unexpected gentleness. The concern in his voice when he'd recognized Evran was pushing himself too hard. The directness of his words:I'm not your father.
Evran finds himself replaying every moment of their interaction, analyzing every word and gesture for meaning that probably isn't there. Was there something in the way Vaike looked at him that suggested... what? Interest? Or was Evran just desperate to read significance into basic human kindness?
He thinks about Aether's words—that Vaike might actually welcome conversation, that making an effort to connect wouldn't be overstepping. But the fear of rejection, of reminding Vaike why he's really here and having that fragile acceptance withdrawn, keeps him frozen.
