That made him look at her. His expression remained unreadable, but his voice softened when he spoke. “You’ve been one from the moment you walked through the gates.”
“Is that supposed to comfort me?”
“No, but it is your reality nonetheless. Cruelty is easier to justify when there is a scapegoat to pin it on. You have become the face of your people, however much it was not your intention.”
The words were nearly swallowed by the hum of the street, but they landed all the same.
The crowd thinned as they reached the old courtyard, the hush of the city breaking into fragments—the rhythm of boots on stone, the crack of wood against cobbles, a child’s laughter echoing briefly before being hushed again.
Val-Theris paused beneath the partial shade of an archway, gesturing subtly for the guards to spread wider and keep the onlookers at bay. Jesenia followed, her pulse high in her throat, acutely aware of the stillness that settled between them when they stopped.
“Maybe we should stop. It’s unsettling,” she said softly—meaning the quarter, the attention, the weight of so many watching eyes.
“Are you afraid you’ll anger your people by being seen with me?” he asked.
She turned to face him fully, fingers twisting faintly into the edge of her shawl. “Val-Theris, they’re already angry. The council. Your people. My people. Everyone. Walking through this quarter is…” She drew a breath, steadying herself. “This just creates more unrest. Let me step back. You don’t need me at your side to keep your promises. I’ve said what I have to say in our sessions.”
His wings shifted behind him, pale feathers catching threads of sunlight like molten glass. “No,” he said, without hesitation. “If anyone resents your presence at my side, let them. Resigning changes nothing.”
Her breath caught before she could temper it, heat rising unbidden beneath her ribs. She wanted to argue, but something in his gaze stilled her.
It was conviction.
A small hand tugged suddenly at the edge of Val-Theris’s wing. Jesenia startled, turning just in time to see one of the children she often cared for that must have slipped through the line. He was barefoot, dust-smudged, fearless, peering up at the king with curiosity.
“Are you an angel?” the child asked, “Or a chicken?”
Without missing a beat, Val-Theris answered solemnly, “That depends who you ask.”
Jesenia laughed into her hand—a short, surprised sound she couldn’t stop in time. The child grinned, delighted. The laughter drew attention, but not all of it was kind.
A guard approached moments later, bowing slightly. “My king, the citizens grow restless. Perhaps we should move on.”
Val-Theris didn’t look away from Jesenia’s bright face when he answered. “Let them watch.”
For a heartbeat, Jesenia forgot the crowd entirely. The press of eyes. The muttered voices. The weight of the city balanced on the narrow space between them. All she felt was the warmth of sunlight against her shoulders, the faint hush of his breath as he stood so close, and the gravity pulling them nearer without meaning to.
Then Val-Theris stepped back—the distance deliberate, his expression carefully schooled into composure once more.
“Show me the sick?” he suggested softly.
And Jesenia did.
By the time they returned to the square, the tension had only deepened. Imperial citizens whispered sharply from the edges of the crowd, resentment sharpened by fear and pride. Refugees lingered nearby with careful gratitude in their eyes, as though afraid to hope too openly.
As Val-Theris mounted the low steps near the fountain, Jesenia caught the hard glances exchanged among his guards in her direction.
Silent warnings, unspoken but unmistakable.
TWELVE
Val-Theris satat the head of the long table, wings folded close behind him, every line of his posture carefully composed. His expression was serene to the point of artifice—an angel carved from patience and restraint. Those who knew him well could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers rested too firmly against the arm of his chair.
Jesenia sat in her assigned chair at his right. She promised herself that she would brave the council again for the sake of her people, but she kept her presence small. Still, she could feel the weight of the room pressing against her ribs.
Lunareth was being discussed, but only to the degree that painted her people as a plague, and not as war-ravaged victims of a fight they had no part in.
The doors of the council hall swung open, and the warmth of fire and the scent of ash swept into the room. It went quiet with confusion for a moment, and when Jesenia looked to the gilded doors, she saw a sight that made her sick.
