The words settled between them with unexpected hurt. Val-Theris felt it in his bones—the way she ached to tell him how his council’s cruelty shook her, but wouldn’t raise her voice above theirs to do so.
She left the chamber soon after, her footsteps soft against the stone, her presence fading from the hall like a receding tide. Val-Theris watched her go, something restless stirring beneath his ribs.
Only when she was gone did he realize how much of the room had shifted around her.
Val-Theris finally stood to face the windows as Jesenia did, the city spread out beneath him like a constellation of restless stars. His wings drooped slightly, the faint glow along their edges dimmed by exhaustion.
Rohannes approached without sound, as he always did.
“She is an impressive girl. She held her ground,” Rohannes said quietly. “They felt it.”
“They will make her pay for it,” Val-Theris replied.
Rohannes did not deny it. “And your silence makes it easier.”
Val-Theris closed his eyes. “If I speak too loudly, I give them rumor. If I stay quiet, I abandon her. I have nowhere safe to land.”
“It is a cruel place to be,” Rohannes agreed. “But that is why you are king, and they are not.”
Val-Theris laughed once, hollow. “I am a king because I was born a god, not because I earned the title.”
Rohannes watched him for a long moment, before turning the conversation back to Lady Jesenia. “You can not protect her by pretending she isn’t there. If giving her a voice destroys what balance remains in this city, at least the destruction will be honest.”
Val-Theris thought back to his vision of his beloved city burning under his throne, swallowing harshly before turning to his companion with a weak smile. “Perhaps I should give you a seat in my councilor’s chamber, too.”
Rohannes gave him a weak smile back, and the two of them stared out beyond the window. The city shifted below them, restless and alive.
Val-Theris felt the weight of every choice pressing down upon him.
For the first time, he wondered if he had never been meant to balance might with mercy after all—but to test how much of it he was willing to lose.
Jesenia stopped goingto the palace.
The decision was not dramatic. It did not arrive with resolve or bitterness. She simply…did not go. Her voice was of no use. When summons for new sessions arrived, she answered none of them. Her time was better spent in the rhythm of the quarter. She kept her hands busy. Busy meant silent. Silent meant safe. And at least here, among her people, she felt like she was making a difference.
But the city had a way of announcing its disruptions before they arrived. She felt it first as a tightening in the air, a subtle stillness that rippled through the square. When she looked up, Val-Theris stood at the mouth of the street, eyes locked on her—something between worry and frustration.
He wore no armor this time. His crimson tunic was simple, his wings drawn close behind him so they did not brush against the low stone walls. Rohannes lingered at a distance, far enough away to pretend he was not listening.
“Lady Jesenia,” he said. “Your absence among the councilors has been noted.”
Jesenia swallowed, and her words slipped out with the same unintended sharpness. “So it has.”
“Your people require your voice.”
She felt herself hold back a scoff. “I’m of better use here in the quarter where I belong, your Majesty.”
Val-Theris let out an exasperated sigh. “If this is about my silence in the first meeting, it was not meant to upset you. In thatchamber, I cannot seem to favor anyone. I thought the distance would make your position more credible.”
“Then why invite me at all?” she snapped. “If you had no intention of listening, or letting my voice be heard, why even ask me there at all? Your silence doesn’t protect me, it only gives them permission. All it did was tell me that my voice only matters when it is useful toyou.”
That struck him. She saw it in the faint tightening of his jaw, the way his gaze softened but did not waver.
“You matter,” Val-Theris said. He opened his mouth as if to say something softer, but quickly shut it. “I need you there,” he said. “Not because you are convenient. Not because the quarter trusts you. But because you tell me the truth when no one else will.”
She held his gaze, her heartbeat an unsteady drum beneath her ribs. “Then stop letting them treat me as vermin in a chamber where my voice should be equal to theirs.”
For a moment, relief flickered across his face before his composure returned.
