The flames from the Raven's Spire had long since dwindled, but their warmth lingered in the walls of the city. The celebration was over. The banners had been taken down. Streets swept clean. But in the hearts of many, something new had taken root: the unfamiliar feeling of peace.
For Lucien, peace was… unnerving.
He sat alone on a stone bench near the eastern garden, jacket half-buttoned, the collar turned up to ward off the early autumn breeze. A book sat in his lap — some old military memoir Tobias had recommended — but his eyes weren't moving. They were fixed on the faint glow from the infirmary windows across the square.
Aerisya was in there. Or had been.
He hadn't seen her since the night she hugged him.
It wasn't avoidance, not really. Just… hesitance. Fear, even — not of her, but of what came next. Of what to say. Of what she might see in him now that he'd laid everything bare.
He didn't have to wait long.
The door creaked open.
⸻
Aerisya stepped into the moonlight, the shawl Sylva had given her still draped across her shoulders. She paused when she saw him — a beat too long for coincidence — then took a slow breath and made her way toward the bench.
Lucien stood, quickly. "You don't have to—"
"Sit," she said, and offered a faint smile. "Unless you're expecting someone."
He blinked. "No. I mean, yes— I mean, no. Not expecting. Please."
They sat, a careful amount of space between them.
"I didn't mean to interrupt your reading," she said.
He glanced at the book. "It's mostly names and battlefield diagrams. You're a welcome distraction."
That earned him a soft chuckle — and a glance. "You're not nearly as smooth as you think."
Lucien groaned. "Sylva's been saying the same thing."
"She's right."
Pause.
"I've missed this," he said suddenly, then looked down, almost shy. "I mean… talking to you. Not the mission. Not the chaos. Just this."
Aerisya's hands tightened slightly in her lap. "I wasn't sure if we would again."
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't know what came next."
Lucien hesitated. "Neither did I."
⸻
They walked slowly beneath the pergola arches, where pale flowers bloomed even under the moonlight. Lanterns glowed low along the path, their enchanted flames flickering with gentle steadiness.
Aerisya paused by a stone fountain, watching the water ripple from the wings of a raven carved at the center. "It's strange."
"What is?"
"This place. It's beautiful. Calm. I'm still waiting to wake up."
"You're not dreaming."
"I used to think people like you were a dream," she said quietly.
Lucien looked at her.
"I mean that," she said, still watching the water. "A noble. A soldier. Someone who listens. Who sees people like me as more than tools."
He stepped closer. "I've spent most of my life trying to be someone worth following. But with you… I just want to be someone worth trusting."
Their eyes met.
It was a quiet thing. A soft, reverent silence.
"You don't have to try," she said. "You already are."
⸻
They sat beneath a willow tree at the far end of the garden, away from the lanterns.
Lucien leaned back against the trunk. Aerisya drew her knees up beside him. A hush fell between them, not awkward but full — as though the silence had things to say.
Then—
"You haven't been by the infirmary," she said, glancing at him from under her lashes.
"I thought you needed space."
"I did."
"…And now?"
She looked at him, searching.
"I'm not sure," she said. "But I know I don't want to regret silence."
Lucien's breath caught. "Neither do I."
They sat like that for several minutes — not touching, but close. The night felt warmer than it should have. Or maybe that was just her proximity.
Then a voice called from the shadows.
"Should I bring tea? Or leave you to your slow-burn romance?"
Lucien groaned.
Aerisya turned scarlet.
"Sylva," she muttered.
From the path, Sylva stood smirking with a tray of cups. "Chamomile. Peppermint. Or, if you two prefer… something a little bolder?"
Lucien put his face in his hands.
Aerisya laughed — truly laughed — and the sound lit up the night more than the lanterns.
"Peppermint's fine," she said, smiling.
"Good," Sylva replied, already pouring. "You'll need something to settle the nerves. First real feelings always tangle the stomach."
⸻
The moon had climbed higher by the time Sylva departed, leaving her teacups behind with a teasing wink. Lucien and Aerisya remained under the willow tree, the lantern beside them casting warm gold over the grass and their quiet faces.
A breeze swept through the courtyard, stirring Aerisya's hair across her cheek. She didn't move it.
Lucien glanced her way, sensing the stillness deepening.
"You're quiet," he said gently.
"I was thinking," she replied, fingers tightening slightly around her teacup.
"About?"
She looked down, took a breath, and said, "My family."
Lucien said nothing. He simply waited.
"I don't know if they're alive," she continued. "I was taken during a raid on Thal'Elorien. My mother tried to hide me in the cellar beneath our greenhouse. I remember the scent of crushed mint, broken pottery… then screams. Steel. Fire."
Her voice trembled slightly, but she didn't cry.
"I waited two days. Then they found me. Shackled me. I never saw her again. Or my brothers. Or my father."
Lucien leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice soft. "I'm sorry."
Aerisya's eyes glistened, but her expression remained steady. "Sometimes… it's easier not to hope. I keep thinking that if I let myself imagine they're alive, and I'm wrong… it will break me again."
Lucien's hand flexed, as if resisting the urge to reach for hers. "You don't have to hope blindly," he said. "You have us now. We've recovered ledgers from the compound — old slave manifests, transfer orders, client names."
Her gaze snapped toward him. "You did?"
"We've already begun cross-referencing. Tobias has half the scribe division working through it. Once we trace the supply routes and origins, we might be able to track where each group was taken from. Maybe even where they were sent."
"And if they're gone?"
Lucien hesitated, then said, "Then we'll build you something new. A future. But not alone."
She inhaled sharply. "You really believe that?"
He turned to her fully now, eyes steady. "I do. And more importantly — I believe you can live again. Not just survive."
For a long time, they sat in silence again, but this one was different — heavier, layered with emotion too thick for words.
⸻
"Do you mind if I tell you something?" Lucien asked after a while, tone quieter than before.
Aerisya nodded. "Of course."
He looked upward, toward the moon, as if drawing strength from it.
"I was supposed to take over the duchy."
She blinked. "I thought Aldric—"
"I'm the older brother. Technically, it should've been me."
Lucien exhaled. "I trained for it. Studied treaties, court law, trade theory. Fought with blade and word. Father wanted me polished like a jewel — an ornament noble enough to pacify the High Council and stubborn enough to hold the realm together."
"And you didn't want it?"
"I didn't know what I wanted. Only that I couldn't see myself spending my life buried under parchment."
He smiled faintly. "Then Aldric changed. And everything changed with him."
Aerisya tilted her head. "What happened to him?"
Lucien's expression grew distant. "He used to be a disaster. Arrogant. Unfocused. Constantly drunk or gambling. Chased every thrill. We'd nearly given up on him."
"What changed?"
"He was poisoned," Lucien said simply.
Aerisya's breath caught.
"We don't know by who," Lucien went on. "Maybe a rival house. Maybe someone he owed. But he was unconscious for nearly three weeks. We thought he'd die."
A long pause.
"When he woke up… he wasn't the same."
"In what way?"
"He said… it felt like he'd lived years in that coma. Like time slowed down for him. He said it was like waking up after living through eternity. Alone. A dream that didn't end."
Aerisya's brow furrowed. "That sounds…"
"Horrifying," Lucien finished. "But it changed him. He came back focused. Clear. He cut ties with his vices. Started studying. Planning. Inventing things."
A soft laugh. "The first thing he designed was a new water pump to fix the old mill system. No one even knew he knew what a mill was."
Aerisya smiled, the corner of her mouth lifting.
Lucien went on. "He stopped trying to impress the nobles. He started looking at the people. The street merchants. The healers. The carpenters. And he made it his mission to make their lives better."
A beat passed.
"I watched my brother come back from the edge and become someone worth following. And it taught me that change isn't a myth. It's a choice."
Aerisya was quiet for a long time. Then she said, "That's why you helped me."
He turned to her. "That's why I believe in you."
⸻
A wind brushed through the garden again, stirring her hair. This time, Lucien reached out.
He tucked a strand behind her ear.
Aerisya stilled.
She didn't pull away.
His fingers hovered there a moment too long before he lowered his hand, eyes uncertain.
"I—sorry."
"Don't be," she whispered.
She looked at him, truly looked. And for the first time since her rescue, the pain in her eyes wasn't a barrier — it was an invitation.
To see her.
To understand.
"I don't know how to feel about this," she said. "About you. About me. But I know I don't want to be afraid of it."
Lucien smiled — soft, real.
"Then let's not rush," he said. "Let's just… be. Here. Now."
And she nodded.
⸻
The next morning, the kitchens of Raven's Nest hummed softly with activity. It was early — the sky still pale blue, the stone corridors carrying the scent of warm honey rolls and spiced tea. But in the far end of the great hall, where light pooled through narrow windows, a small table was already set.
Aerisya sat there, her shawl folded neatly on her lap. She wore a soft linen blouse, borrowed from Matilda's stock, and her hair had been gently braided down one side. There were still shadows under her eyes, but they were softer now — like the first layer of mist lifting from a forest floor.
Lucien arrived with two cups and a plate of fresh scones. "Peppermint," he said. "And one honey roll. I bribed the baker for the last one."
She gave him a suspicious look. "Bribed?"
He smirked. "Strategic diplomacy."
"You mean Sylva threatened him for you again?"
"I can neither confirm nor deny."
Aerisya's smile widened as she took the cup. "Thank you."
They sat together, their plates between them. The hall felt quiet, like the city was holding its breath — giving them this space without asking why they needed it.
After a few moments, Aerisya said, "I slept."
Lucien looked up. "That's good."
"I don't usually. Not well. But… last night helped."
Lucien didn't say anything. He just nodded and poured her another cup.
⸻
Matilda arrived shortly after, gliding into the kitchen like she owned it — which she did. Her apron was spotless, her silver hair pinned in her usual perfect bun, and her eyes missed nothing.
"Well, well," she said, pausing at their table. "Two cups. No empty chairs. The rumors are true."
Aerisya blushed. "What rumors?"
"That our beloved diplomat has been making a habit of sitting through breakfast," Matilda said with mock shock. "Lucien usually lives on ink and tension."
Lucien rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm expanding my palate."
"Mmhmm."
Matilda set down a small jar of preserves between them. "Apricot. For the brave."
Then she leaned down and whispered just loud enough for Aerisya to hear, "He's sweeter than he pretends, dear. Just don't let him burn himself out."
Aerisya tried not to smile too obviously.
Lucien groaned. "Matilda…"
"I've said nothing inappropriate," she said cheerfully. "Yet."
⸻
Later that morning, Sylva appeared at Aerisya's door — arms folded, expression sharp and knowing.
"I brought you something," she said before Aerisya could speak.
"What is it?"
"Distraction."
The gardens were different by daylight — the trees brighter, the herbs sharper. Sylva guided her to the edge of the alchemy greenhouse, where trays of budding plants sat under filtered light.
Aerisya gently touched the rim of a wooden planter. "This is… yours?"
"Ours," Sylva said. "You're going to help me replant the starblossom row."
"I don't—"
"You'll learn. Or you'll get dirt under your nails and complain. Either way, I'll be entertained."
Aerisya smiled as she crouched down, brushing a curl of soil away from a pale green stem. "You really don't stop, do you?"
Sylva shrugged. "I've seen too many people drown in stillness. Better to move. Even if it's small steps."
She gave Aerisya a sidelong glance. "And speaking of small steps… how was your walk with the good lord last night?"
Aerisya blinked. "You're relentless."
"And you're glowing."
"I am not."
Sylva raised a brow. "Fine. Maybe not glowing. But a soft luminescence, like someone who has recently made eye contact with the possibility of affection."
Aerisya looked down at the soil, cheeks flushed. "He was kind. That's all."
"And kind is how it starts."
⸻
Meanwhile, Lucien stood in the observation alcove near the war map chamber, watching the sunlight stretch across the horizon. The usual clutter of reports was in his arms, but none had been opened.
Tobias found him there. The old steward approached with two cups of cider and a raised brow.
"You're brooding."
"I'm thinking."
"About war?"
Lucien hesitated. "About… her."
Tobias handed him the drink. "You know you're allowed, yes? To feel things?"
Lucien didn't answer at first. He stared down into the cider.
"She's been through so much," he murmured. "And she's still standing. Still trying to find joy. It makes me want to do everything I can to protect it."
"Then do it."
"I don't know if she feels the same."
"Then wait."
Lucien looked up.
Tobias smiled faintly. "You of all people should understand diplomacy takes time."
⸻
The sky over Raven's Nest bled gold as evening fell, the last rays of light brushing across the spire tops and filtering into the small records hall tucked just off the west wing of the keep.
Lucien stood beside Aerisya at one of the long tables, where bundles of old ledgers and parchment rolls lay half-unfurled. Candles flickered nearby, illuminating names inked in hasty hands, lists of "merchandise" that turned his stomach.
Aerisya traced her finger down a column. "Here. Transported to 'Kestrel Waypost, winter cycle.' No name attached, just numbers."
Lucien leaned closer, his brow furrowing. "Kestrel's south of the riverlands. That might explain some of the silence on that group's return."
"Do you think they were sold from there?"
"It's likely. But this is the first clear trail we've had."
Aerisya's voice tightened. "We're piecing together lives from ledgers. Bartered like tools."
Lucien's jaw tensed. "We'll make it right. One step at a time."
She looked up at him. "You always say that."
"Because it's true."
⸻
She hesitated, then reached into the folds of her shawl and pulled something from the inner pocket — a small, cloth-wrapped object.
She offered it silently.
Lucien took it with a puzzled look, carefully unwrapping the fabric.
Inside was a carved pendant — an old elven sigil in the shape of a stylized tree, its roots winding into stars. The edges were worn, the lines imperfect, like it had been made by a child or with trembling hands.
"My mother gave me this," Aerisya said. "The night before the raid."
Lucien blinked, stunned. "Aerisya— I can't take this."
"You're not. I'm letting you hold it. Until I find her again."
His voice was a whisper. "Why me?"
"Because you didn't make promises you couldn't keep. And because every time I think I can't breathe, you're there."
He looked down at the pendant in his palm, then back up — meeting her eyes.
"I'll guard it with everything I have," he said.
⸻
They stood close now, the distance between them just a breath.
Her hand lingered on his for a moment too long, the warmth of her skin brushing his knuckles. Neither moved.
It wasn't a kiss. It wasn't a confession.
But it was a shift.
A stillness filled with unspoken want — tempered by time, grief, and something deeper than impulse.
Lucien opened his mouth, as if to speak—
A knock interrupted them.
They both turned, startled.
A courier stood at the door, out of breath.
"My lord Lucien," the boy said, "Lord Aldric requests your presence in the War Hall. Immediately."
Lucien's expression shifted — from soft to focused in a blink.
Aerisya stepped back slightly. "Go."
He paused, then nodded. "I'll come back."
"You better."
⸻
Lucien stepped into the corridor, his boots echoing against the stone. As he walked, he rolled the pendant between his fingers — grounding himself in the memory of her voice.
But as he turned the corner toward the war hall, he could already feel the change.
The guards outside Aldric's office were tense. Torches burned lower than usual. The wind had picked up.
Something was coming.
Something sharp.
And the quiet hours were over.