She hadn’t spoken since she arrived. Not when the healer wrapped her shoulder and cleaned her hands. Not when the servants offered her hot soup. Val-Theris stood in the corner, his wings furled tightly behind him as though holding himself together by force.
“They hate us,” Jesenia whispered when they were alone once more, her hands clutching the folds of her skirt until the fabric wrinkled beneath her grip.
Val-Theris turned sharply from the window, his jaw tense, but he didn’t interrupt.
“They don’t even see us as people,” she continued, her voice raw, small in the quiet room. “We’re just…thieves. Liars. Strangers in their city. And no matter what we do, no matter how quiet we try to be, how careful, how grateful, it will never be enough.”
Her words cracked on the last breath, shattering against the heavy silence. She dropped her face into her hands, shoulders curling inward, trembling hard enough that her scraped palms pressed painfully against her skin.
Val-Theris crossed the room in three strides and lowered himself onto the bed beside her, silent, steady, his presence grounding even before his touch reached her.
“This is my fault,” he said, his voice low and rough around the edges.
“No—”
“Yes,” Val-Theris said softly, cutting across her protest without force, only certainty. “I should have seen this coming. I should have stopped it before it reached this point.”
“You can’t stop a city from hating, Val-Theris,” she whispered, her voice breaking despite her effort to hold it steady.
“I should havetriedharder,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I put you in their sights when I defended you. I gave them a name, a face, a reason to sharpen their blades.”
Val-Theris’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists on his knees before he exhaled slowly, forcing himself to loosen them.
Then Jesenia’s composure finally broke. The sobs came slow at first, muffled against the soft fabric wrapping her hands, but when they deepened, Val-Theris moved without hesitation. He slid his arm around her shoulders, drawing her gently against his chest, his other hand cradling the back of her head as he leaned forward until his forehead brushed her temple.
“Breathe,” he murmured softly, his voice low, patient, steadying. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
She wanted to believe him.
Minutes bled into hours, her tears soaking through his tunic, her small tremors easing only gradually as exhaustion dulled the edges of her fear. At some point, Val-Theris shifted, settling them more fully onto the bed, keeping her close as though the act itself could shield her from the entire weight of the city outside.
When she finally fell asleep, breath warm and uneven against his chest, Val-Theris lowered himself back against the headboard, his gaze fixed on the ceiling above them.
He didn’t sleep.
Instead, he unfurled his wings, pale and endless, and curved them carefully around them both, closing them off from the world.
Outside, Solmiris’s tension sparked like logs in a hearth. Inside, she slept soundly, perhaps for the first time since she arrived in his city.
And Val-Theris sat awake in the dark, holding her, his thumb stroking the edge of her sleeve absently—memorizing the warmth of her, knowing that when he left that room, backlash would come swift and cold.
“Youhumiliatethis council!”Varin spat, his voice rising above the others. “Every time you parade that foreign girl at your side, you tell this city that its people matter less than hers. Our citizens will not forget this!”
“She has nothing to do with yesterday’s unrest,” Val-Theris said evenly, his voice immovable. It was a farce though, and he knew it. He had spent the night at her side, and he made no effort to hide it from anyone. It was a mistake he knew he would pay for, but no longer had the patience to care.
“She has everything to do with it!” another councilor snapped, slamming his hand against the carved table. “You feed them, you house them, you walk their streets—and you do it all withher! They see her as your envoy, your chosen voice, and your citizens resent it. If you keep aligning yourself with her, Solmiris will fall just like the filth of Lunareth! And unlike those vagrants, Seraveth has no walls to turn to when ours crumble.”
Val-Theris stood up suddenly, his chair scraping sharply against the floors, pale wings drawn tight to his frame, his shadow stretching long across the room.
For a moment, no one spoke. The braziers along the walls guttered, their flames bending inward as if drawn toward the king. His wings were no longer relaxed at his back; they pulled tight, feathers overlapping with a particular rigidity, as though bracing for impact.
He did not shout. That was the unsettling part.
Val-Theris’s hands rested on the table now, fingers splayed against the carved stone. The marble beneath them creaked faintly, protesting the pressure. His gaze moved slowly across the councilors in a way that suggested his restraint was deliberatelychosenas a mercy, not forced.
His voice carried without effort. It did not rise, yet it pressed outward, filling the chamber until even the smallest breath felt too loud. “If Solmiris falls, it will not be because I walked among the starving, it will be because those entrusted with its future chose cruelty over patience.”
The silence that followed was absolute. No one dared interrupt him, but Val-Theris could see it in their faces that theycared not for his truth. He drew a slow breath, visibly reigning himself back in, the faint glow along his wings dimming as control reasserted itself. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer—but no less final.
