But the light vanished.
Val-Theris woke on the floor of the Hall of Radiance with hot tears on his face and an unfathomable pain in his heart, shaped by the crushing certainty that the future had finally stopped hiding from him.
THIRTY
The chambers were quiet,the city beyond their windows restless beneath Solmiris’s starlight. The soft perfume of night-blooming jasmine drifted in from the gardens below, mingling faintly with the lingering warmth of burning oil lamps.
Jesenia sat curled on the velvet bench beside the carved window, her shawl slipping loosely from one shoulder. The moonlight caught the silver threads in its fabric, scattering faint glimmers across her skin. One hand rested lightly against her abdomen, absentminded and protective.
They had spoken little since he spilled blood in the streets for her. The guilt weighed heavy on her shoulders as if she were the one who drew the blade herself. It made her more sick than usual, and Val-Theris could see the way his actions affected her.
He stood at the balcony doors, leaning against the carved stone frame, his wings drawn close to his back. His gaze had been on the city for some time, tracing the faint flicker of distant torches where the lower terraces still churned with unease. But none of that mattered to him now. After his conversation with his father, he couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything at all, save for Jesenia and their unborn child.
She gasped softly. It was a small, startled sound that made him turn instantly, his pale eyes sharp beneath the dim glow of the chamber lamps. She was staring down at her hand, fingers pressed gently against her stomach, wide-eyed.
“Jesenia?”
Her breath trembled. “I felt them move,” she whispered, her voice soft with awe. “Val-Theris, I felt it!”
He crossed the room quickly but quietly, as though afraid to disturb something sacred, kneeling before her without a word. His hand hovered in the space between them, hesitant to touch until she caught it and guided him gently, placing his palm over the soft curve of her stomach.
They waited in silence.
And then he felt the faint fluttering, fragile as the brush of a moth’s wing. Val-Theris stilled completely, his breath catching, every trace of tension drawn taut beneath his skin. He bowed his head, his hair falling forward to brush against her shawl, his voice breaking the stillness.
“There is life,” he whispered, reverent and disbelieving.
Jesenia smiled faintly, everything she had felt the days prior fading away, her free hand brushing across his temple. “That is our future,” she corrected gently, tears gathering at the corners of her lashes.
Val-Theris looked up at her then, and for a heartbeat Jesenia thought he might shatter—there was too much in his gaze, a thousand unspoken things pressing behind his pale eyes. He reached up, cupping her jaw carefully, his thumb sweeping against her cheek as though memorizing the shape of her face in this exact moment.
He kissed her then. Soft at first, then deeper, the restrained edge of someone who carries both love and desperation in equal measure. Her fingers tangled lightly in the collar of his tunic,pulling him closer as his wings shifted behind him, arching slightly, shadow stretching against marble and lamplight.
It lasted only a moment, but when they parted, his forehead pressed gently against hers, and she caught the tremor in his breath.
“You’re afraid,” Jesenia whispered.
Val-Theris closed his eyes, swallowing against the weight in his chest. “Every day.”
Jesenia brushed her thumb along his cheekbone, steady where he faltered. “Then hold onto us,” she said softly. “Whatever comes, we meet it together. As one.”
For a long moment, he simply held her, one hand still pressed gently against her stomach, as though trying to anchor himself to the faint flutter of life beneath his palm.
Neither of them knew this would be one of the last nights they’d ever dream of names, of soft mornings, of futures built in the soft light of their love.
Soon, Solmiris would take everything from them.
Of the ninety-threeLunarethians that arrived at Solmiris’s gates, eighty-three remained.
Of the ten that were lost, among them, the last two living infants that were born before Lunareth fell were lost to fever. This knowledge weighed on Jesenia daily now. She carried the future of her country inside her. Though she was overjoyed, and Val-Theris called it honorable, she could not help but feel guilty for it. She suspected she was the only woman of birthing age from Lunareth that was healthy enough to conceive. Due to hertime at the palace during late council sessions and her secret marriage to the king, she had once again filled out and held the curves she was born with.
All the while, her people still had to beg for scraps.
Jesenia moved through the refugee quarter with practiced familiarity, though it had been days since she last came. Smoke rose in soft plumes from low hearths and shared ovens, curling around patched linens and salvaged stones.
Her shawl was drawn close, though the morning was mild, her steps measured as she navigated uneven cobblestone. People noticed her at once. They always did now. Some bowed their heads. Others pressed hands to their hearts. A few reached out—not to touch her, but to brush fingers against the hem of her sleeve as she passed, as though proximity alone might offer reassurance that she was both there and still working to improve their conditions.
“Lady Jesenia,” someone murmured.
