The night had grown quieter after the remembrance gathering. The great hall was no longer crowded with nobles.
Alaric stood by the tall windows, his broad shoulders tense, his gaze fixed on the dark gardens beyond. His expression was hard, yet Ayesha could see the storm brewing beneath his calm surface.
He had worn the mask of a king all day for the ceremony honoring his late father, but now that most guests had gone, she could sense the cracks in his composure.
"You're restless," Ayesha said gently as she stepped closer. Her voice was calm, though her heart ached at the sight of him.
Alaric didn't turn to face her right away. "There are too many moving pieces," he admitted, his jaw tightening. "The ministers, the court… the Luna Selection. I do not like it."
Ayesha moved beside him, laying a hand on his arm. His muscles were taut beneath her touch. "You're worried I can't win," she said, her tone steady even though she felt the weight of his silence pressing against her chest.
