I was curled up in the velvet armchair by my suite’s fireplace in flannel pajamas I hadn’t let myself buy last semester. They were soft and warm but still from the sale rack. I still wasn’t sure what to do with the inheritance from my father, other than buy necessary school books and equipment. I’d sent some to Mom, but spending money on myself still felt wasteful.
Scout dozed across the back of the chair, his bones warm against my neck. The fire crackled low in the black stone hearth, casting slow shadows across the floor.
Mom’s number. I hesitated for a beat and then answered.
Hey, baby. Her voice was strained with forced cheer. How’s school?
I almost laughed. School. Right. I set my book down on the coffee table and leaned back again.
Busy, I said, keeping my voice light. Lots of… studying.
You sound tired.
Yeah. I traced Scout’s skull with one finger, needing the comfort. The familiar texture of polished bone beneath my fingers helped ground me. Just a lot going on.
The lie tasted familiar. Like Christmas all over again—hiding danger behind casual words and protecting her from truths that would terrify her.
You’d tell me if something was wrong, Mom said.
Of course, I lied.
I sat up, reaching for the trinket box on the side table. The carved lid creaked softly as I opened it, my fingers brushing over a pebble, a pressed leaf, a bent copper ring. They were all small, ordinary things, but they helped, something to touch while I lied through my teeth.
We talked about safe, normal things. Her cleaning business. Her accounting classes. The weather in Albany.
I didn’t tell her about the master. About corruption. About standing in front of hostile students and pretending I had any idea what I was doing. About Raven being taken or Lucas bleeding or anything else.
Some truths were too heavy to share.
AFTER WE HUNG UP, I found Keane in the royal common room, camped out on the thick rug in front of the fireplace with papers spread in a wide arc around him. He’d pushed aside Cyrus’s leather chair to make room and had claimed the space. Wisp dozed nearby, her spectral form curled at the edge of the warmth.
You need sleep, I said. His black hair was rumpled, a pen tucked behind one ear, and ink smudged the edge of one hand.
He nodded but didn’t look up.
The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. The room smelled like aged leather and wood smoke. I breathed it in, letting it settle the restless energy that had been chasing me all day.
I dropped into a chair beside him as Scout hopped down to investigate Wisp. Comfortable silence stretched between us, the kind that came from working together day after day and learning each other’s rhythms.
Keane’s gaze tracked over me—not just looking but cataloging the tight set of my shoulders and the way I’d been worrying my bottom lip. He set down his pen with deliberate care, giving me his full attention in that way that made everything else fall away.
What if I’m not enough? The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Keane looked up. Enough for what?
This. Leadership. Keeping everyone safe. I gestured vaguely at the maps and the ward diagrams. My chest tightened, that familiar pressure that made breathing feel like work building behind my ribs. Scout clicked softly from somewhere near my feet, his bones meting out a small, anxious percussion.
I’m holding the line, I continued, but I’m barely holding it.
But you are, Keane said, pulling me down into his lap.
Leaning into him, I exhaled slowly. Some of the pressure behind my ribs eased. His arm came around my shoulders like it belonged there. I didn’t have to explain myself. Not to him. The warmth of the fire, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was enough to make the world feel a little less sharp.
His thumb traced slow circles against my shoulder blade, finding the knot of tension there. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been bracing until his touch undid it. The firelight painted gold across his collarbone, across the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat steady and sure.
He turned my chin to face him. You don’t have to hold everything alone, he said, his forehead pressing to mine. Not with me.
My chest loosened, like he’d reached under all the titles and security protocols and found the part of me that was still just… Marigold.
