Jesenia felt the subtle shift in posture, the tightening of shoulders, the small, shared glances traded like currency. A cough was stifled. A chair creaked as someone leaned back, too relaxed for the gravity of the moment.
Councilor Myrran’s voice cut through first, smooth as oiled steel. “A bold appointment, your Majesty.” He reclined in his chair, fingers steepled loosely before him, eyes flicking over Jesenia with open appraisal. “Shall we extend the courtesy further? Invite the farmers next? Or perhaps the beggars? The thieves?”
A ripple of amusement passed the table, restrained but unmistakable. Another voice followed, sharper, younger.“I was unaware pacifism now qualified as statecraft.”
The laughter that followed was stifled. These men knew better than to be loud, and understood that cruelty carried more weight when delivered politely.
Jesenia did not move in her seat at the king’s side. Her hands were folded loosely in her lap, fingers laced together just enough to still their tremor. Val-Theris’s jaw tightened.
She felt it beside her, the faint shift of tension radiating from him like heat. His wings twitched once, feathers rustling softly, catching the light in a way that made several councilors glance up despite themselves.
He said nothing to them. The meeting moved on.
When the first matter was raised—grain allocation to the outer wards—Jesenia drew a careful breath and spoke.
The sound of her voice felt too loud in her own ears, though she kept it steady. “The Lunarethian quarter has been surviving on half-rations for months. If supplies from the upper districts were redistributed more evenly, starvation could be prevented before winter turns harsh.”
She did not plead. She did not raise her voice. She spoke as one might speak of weather, or of numbers on a ledger, because hunger did not care whether it was acknowledged with passion or not, and neither did these men.
Lord Myrran chuckled softly. “And have Solmiris dine like peasants so peasants may live like kings?”
A councilor with heavy rings sniffed. “Our people earned their prosperity. The refugees have given this city nothing but burden.”
Jesenia felt the words land like blows. Dull at first, then sharp as they settled. She swallowed, her throat tightening. “My people gave their homes for your war,” she said. “Their families. Their faith. What more would you take from us?”
“Theirsilence,” a younger councilor muttered, not quite under his breath.
Someone else laughed. Another voice added, lazily, “Feed them rats. Solve two problems at once.”
The sound that followed was not laughter so much as approval of the proposal. For a moment, Jesenia’s composure faltered. She felt it physically. A subtle churning of her stomach, a burning warmth behind her eyes she forced back down. Shekept her head lifted, her posture straight, even as something inside her curled inward in an attempt to hide.
Beside her, Val-Theris’s wings shifted again.
The light around him brightened, just slightly, enough that the nearest councilors fell quiet. Jesenia felt the change like pressure in the air. She knew that he could silence them. That a single word from him would shatter the smug ease in their voices, would remind them exactly who sat at the head of the table.
She waited. So did the council. Val-Theris saw the careful attention too, the subtle nods exchanged between men who had already decided how this would be spun. If he defended her now, they would not hear justice. They would hear favoritism. They would hear confirmation of their quiet rumors: that their king had grown indulgent, sentimental,compromised. That he had lifted a refugee into power because she warmed his bed.
It was a cruel rumor that would spread like wildfire, however ridiculous the accusation.
Val-Theris’s silence settled heavily between them, and to Jesenia, it was worse than any insult. She turned her head slowly, just enough to look at him. There was no anger in her eyes. No accusation.
Will you not speak for me?
Val-Theris lowered his gaze.
The meeting adjourned soon after. The councilors rose in a rustle of fabric and soft voices, already dissecting the exchange as they left. The council chamber emptied more slowly than Jesenia expected.
She stood near the tall windows, letting the late afternoon light wash across her shawl, watching as the men filed out in measured pairs and trios. Their voices were low but animated, already dissecting the meeting as though she had not beenpresent at all—already rewriting the narrative in which she had merely been an inconvenience rather than a voice.
She felt smaller with every footstep that echoed away.
When the doors finally closed and the chamber fell quiet, the silence felt vast. Cold.
Val-Theris remained at the head of the table, his hands braced against the marble. Without the noise of the council, the room seemed too large even for him. The gilded sigils on the walls caught the light but offered no warmth, only the sterile glow of legacy and law.
Jesenia turned slightly toward him. She suddenly realized she had been gripping the fabric of her shawl so tightly that her fingers ached.
He looked at her then, and she saw the weariness in his eyes—deeper than just fatigue. It was the look of someone who had learned too young that every choice demanded a sacrifice. It was obvious he had no words for her. Graciously, Jesenia quietly curtseyed and whispered: “It has been an honor to serve this council, your Majesty.”
