The palace spoke in hushed voices after Amielle stormed from Reuben's chamber. Servants muttered about her fury, some with pity, others with awe. Few dared meet her gaze now; there was something unyielding in it, as if grief had burned away all weakness.
She continued to visit Reuben daily, though he often shrank from her presence. He would sit by the window, thin and pale, avoiding her eyes. Yet Amielle never faltered. She spoke little, but when she did, her words cut through his silence like steel.
"You sit in this chair as though the world has ended," she told him, her hands folded tightly before her. "But the world has not ended, Reuben. You are still alive. And while you live, I will not allow you to wither into nothing." Then, like every other day, she left without saying goodbye, and Reuben's gaze would linger on the door long after she was gone.
Her defiance was not for herself alone—it was for both of them.
