“Yes, my lady,” he agreed.
As expected, the council chamber was colder the next time Jesenia entered. It had been days, and the same distaste for her still lingered as heavy as it did the first time.
Val-Theris stood at the head of the table, his wings drawn close, his presence filling the room with restrained force.
“She stays,” he said, before anyone had a chance to speak.
The words landed like a dropped gauntlet.
Of course, the objections rose quickly—measured, rehearsed. Varin spoke of precedent. Myrran spoke of unrest. Others spoke as though Jesenia were not present at all.
Jesenia waited. When Val-Theris silenced them at last, the room shifted. A line had been drawn.
One that could not be erased.
ELEVEN
Word had spread before dawn:the Angel himself was coming to tour the quarter, to see how the Lunarethians were living with his own eyes. By midmorning, the narrow streets were lined with bodies pressed close together beneath the worn archways, shoulders brushing, hands clasped tightly at sides or folded into sleeves.
Jesenia stood near the center of the square. Her hands were hidden beneath her shawl, fingers laced together to still their restless tremor. She told herself she was here only because she had been asked by Val-Theris to show him what he had not yet seen. That this was a duty of her station as a councilor at his side, and not a choice.
She knew her presence beside him would only sharpen the whispers already curling through the city like smoke. And yet, when Val-Theris had sent word at sunrise, his request had been simple:show me where I have been blind.
Now, as the sound of approaching armor rippled down the cobbled street, she felt the shift in the air before she saw him. The tension sharpened. Conversations died mid-breath. A child was pulled closer. Someone near the edge of the square crossed hurriedly, as though he might demand it.
Val-Theris appeared moments later, framed in gold against the rising sun.
He never wore his crown, Jesenia noticed, but his presence was far more symbolic than any golden halo above his head. He wore his gilded plate armor and a cape that barely brushed the floor with each step. The fabric was draped in a deep arc that made it easy for his wings to move freely. They were stretched loosely behind him, pale feathers brushing dust from the ground as he walked toward her.
The crowd bowed instinctively, but Jesenia noticed the division immediately.
Refugees leaned forward despite themselves, eyes bright with tentative hope, hunger and gratitude tangled together in their expressions. Solmiris’s citizens near the periphery turned away, muttering their unease beneath their breath. TheHastatiscanned every shadow with restless precision, hands tight against polished hilts, bodies already braced for disorder.
When Val-Theris reached Jesenia in the square, the noise dulled to silence in her ears.
The distance between them was closed, and the weight of his presence followed like a tide. He stopped close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to meet his eyes—close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the faint displacement of air as if caught in his golden aura.
“Thank you for joining me today,” he said softly, his voice meant only for her.
“I wasn’t sure I should,” she admitted. Her voice was steadier than she felt.
“That is why I askedyou,” Val-Theris replied. Something unreadable flickered across his expression before it smoothed again. “Come.”
They walked side by side through the quarter’s winding streets, his guards trailing a purposeful distance behind them.Close enough to hold the fragile perimeter intact, far enough to offer the illusion of privacy. Everywhere they went, eyes followed. Hundreds of them. Layered with hunger, hope, suspicion.
Jesenia felt them like a blade against her back.
“You know what this looks like. What your people will say,” she said at last, breaking the silence. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, on cracked stone and sagging doorframes and laundry lines strung too tightly between buildings.
“I do,” Val-Theris said. His tone was even, unyielding. “That is the point.”
“You’ll make yourself a target,” she murmured.
“I already am.”
She hesitated, then glanced at him sidelong. In the pale light filtering through broken rooftops, his face was softer than she had ever seen it. There was exhaustion carved deep beneath his composure, an effort that never seemed to fully ease.
“You’ll make me one too,” Jesenia said quietly.
