Auryn’s smile was tight around the edges. “Not yet.”
He nodded. Held her gaze a moment longer before letting go.
But her eyes didn’t leave his.
“How did it go?” she asked. “With the Council?”
He answered with practiced steadiness. “It’s handled. You don’t need to worry.”
But she did. She always did.
"The Turning of the Mirrors approaches," she said. "We cannot have them unsettled before such an important ceremony."
He nodded. "They will do as they are bid. The Council would not dare to disrupt this event for their petty games. The Turning has always been sacrosanct."
She glanced to the window, where darkness hung thick and impenetrable outside. Soft, flickering lights from the city twinkled like stars in the night sky. An illusion of peace, yet one that did not soothe him in the least.
"I miss the sunlight," Auryn said. "It will be a blessing to have the Mirrors bring it to the dark again."
Before he could say more, Lu’ma emerged from the hall beyond the lattice, a tray balanced in her arms. She set it down between them—an offering of comfort. The tray overflowed with slices of roasted meat, warm spiced roots, cheeses layered with honeycomb, and fruits steeped in perfumed syrup.
Auryn glanced at Lu’ma in confusion. “This was in the Servitor?”
Lu’ma signed, serene as always, 'This was the meal prepared for the Sokâr.'
Auryn looked at the spread again, slower this time. Her eyes shifted to Kailorien.
“You must have made quite the impression.”
He frowned, uncertain. “It’s a meal.”
She laughed—a small, disbelieving sound. “Is it?”
He didn’t answer. Because hedidn’t knowwhat she’d been given before. What scraps she had rationed, or what corners she’d eaten in when no one was watching. And something in him twisted at the thought of finding out. He wanted to ask. But he didn’t trust himself with the answer. Not yet. Not when his rage still trembled beneath the surface.
So instead, he pulled out her chair.
She stared at it like it was a luxury. Then sat, slow and careful, hands in her lap.
He took the napkin and unfolded it onto her knees, pushing the bowl of syrup'd fruit toward her.
“Eat,” he said. “That’s an order.”
She gave him a look but picked up a spoon. Each bite she took soothed him like a kind of balm. Not because the food was good—though it clearly was—but because she ate it without hesitation. Because her shoulders eased. Because her brow unknotted just a little.
And all the while, he sat with her. Silent. Watching.
Because there were no words left for what he wanted to say.
Only this.
That she was here.
That she was safe.
And that nothing—not even his accursed brother—could reach her by his hearth.
After the meal, Lu'ma helped Auryn settle into bed with one of her favored tomes. He let them have their space, retreating to the sitting room beyond the bedchamber, letting the low fire and warded silence keep his presence from disturbing her rest.
