The chamber was fit for a queen. Gold-trimmed furniture gleamed beneath the flickering firelight. An ornate chandelier hung above, casting fractured shadows across polished floors. Outside, the kingdom slept beneath a silver sky, its stars swallowed by gathering clouds.
Vael sat alone at the window, her armor stripped away and replaced with the soft weight of a plain tunic. Her legs were crossed, one hand resting on the carved armrest, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against polished wood. She looked tired, though her posture betrayed no weakness.
The silence pressed on her like a hand at her throat.
Behind her, on a bed far too large for him, the boy lay utterly still. Wrapped in silk, cradled by softness, he looked less like a child and more like an ornament placed there by mistake. Moonlight painted his features pale, his breathing so faint it almost disappeared into the shadows.
Reider.
Her eyes lingered on him, and her jaw clenched.
A child who should not exist.
In the reflection of the window, she saw herself, tall and sharp-edged, haloed by the glow of the chandelier. She hated how uncertain she looked.
"Dain…" Her thoughts broke like glass against the silence. Why did you take him in?
Memory bled through her mind unbidden—Dain, bloodied but standing, clutching a smaller, trembling Reider in his arms. Mei behind him, her eyes frantic.
"If we abandon him," Dain had told her, his voice iron, "they'll hunt him down."
That voice was gone now.
Her fingers tightened against the armrest until the wood creaked. She exhaled, sharp and deliberate, but the knot in her chest did not unravel.
She glanced at Reider again. His stillness unnerved her. Children twitched, dreamed, muttered in their sleep. He did none of these things. His silence was unnatural.
This child… what is he really?
Her hand hovered over the hilt of her sword. She did not draw it, but the fact that she had even thought to made her sick.
If I tell the king… he'll decide. Perhaps he'll protect the boy. Perhaps he'll…
She didn't finish the thought.
The memory of Lucian's smirk rose like bile in her throat—his blade slick with blood, his voice like poisoned steel. "That thing shouldn't be allowed to live."
Her teeth ground together. I don't trust him. Not with this.
She shut her eyes briefly, willing the memory away. When they opened again, they found only the boy's sleeping face. Too calm. Too fragile. Too dangerous.
Tell the king… or keep him hidden?
Her hand drifted across her knees, gripping tight. Dain's voice returned, softer now, a whisper that echoed from the grave: "Protect him. No matter what."
Her fingers relaxed.
She sat back, staring at the ceiling's golden carvings, the fire crackling at her side. Still, the question lingered in her blood like poison.
Would he even be safe here?
The night wore on. At last, she whispered to herself, almost too quietly to be heard:
"…I'll decide by morning."
---
The morning sun filtered through vast windows, scattering light across silk sheets. Birds chirped distantly, and the castle awoke with slow breaths.
Vael stirred beneath the covers, her face softened by drowsiness, her body heavy with the rare weight of sleep. A quiet groan slipped past her lips as she shifted.
Her hand brushed against something firm. Warm. Alive.
Her brows furrowed faintly. Still half-asleep, she pressed her palm against it. Her fingers curled instinctively, feeling the contours of muscle, the line of a scar etched across skin.
"…Why does the pillow feel so… strong?" she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. Her fingers squeezed.
Not fabric. Flesh.
Her eyes cracked open, lazy with waking. They landed on her hand—on the chest of a man.
Her breath froze in her throat.
Slowly, her head turned.
The boy was gone.
In his place, sprawled casually against the sheets, lay a figure she almost didn't recognize. Silver hair spilled down broad shoulders. His frame was tall, defined, every inch shaped into the body of a warrior grown. His face—sharp, unreadable—held none of the softness of childhood. He lay there with eerie calm, staring blankly at the ceiling as if nothing were amiss.
Reider.
Nineteen years old.
Vael's heart slammed into her ribs. No. No. No.
Her eyes flew wide. Her pulse screamed in her ears. She jerked her hand back as if burned, every muscle seizing.
"…Good morning."
His voice was deeper now, smooth and unsettlingly calm.
Vael's world shattered.
She exploded out of bed with a strangled yelp, limbs tangling in sheets as she crashed unceremoniously to the floor.
THUD!
She scrambled back across polished stone, one hand pointing wildly toward the figure in the bed, her other gripping her burning face.
"W-WHAT—WHO—WHAT ARE YOU?!"
He sat up slowly, his silver hair falling into his eyes. Expression flat, voice unshaken, he answered:
"…Reider."
Her mouth fell open, no words, no sense. Yesterday—he was a child. Now—this?
"Y-YOU WERE A KID YESTERDAY—HOW—WHY—??"
He tilted his head slightly, almost thoughtful.
"I grew."
Her jaw dropped. Her eye twitched. Heat climbed up her neck like fire.
I GREW?! THAT'S ALL HE'S GOING TO SAY?!
He shifted, long legs swinging off the bed, towering in the room. The sheets fell away, revealing the lines of his torso, the faint shadows of muscle beneath skin pale in the sunlight.
Vael flinched violently, face crimson. She tore her gaze aside, palms clamped over her eyes.
WHY IS HE JUST CASUALLY HALF-NAKED?! Her heartbeat thundered. This is unfair. This is so unfair.
He flexed his fingers absently, then his arm, studying the sensation of his own strength.
"…It does feel different," he murmured.
Her mind snapped like a bowstring. She whirled away, voice strangled with fury and mortification.
"PUT A SHIRT ON!!"
He blinked at her, tilting his head again. "Why?"
She nearly screamed.
"BECAUSE YOU CAN'T JUST—YOU'RE—YOU LOOK—IT'S—" She buried her face in her hands, muffling a groan. "…I'm losing my mind."
When she dared peek between her fingers, he was already standing, tall as a shadow, looming over her. She swallowed hard.
"…Am I still weak?" he asked, tone steady.
The question pierced through her panic. Her blush snapped into a scowl.
"We're NOT talking about that right now!" she snapped.
He didn't argue. He only shrugged. "…Alright."
She pressed her palms to her temples, breathing deep, but the flush wouldn't leave her face. "…I need a drink."
"I'll get one," he said simply.
She shot upright, waving her hands frantically. "NO—!! YOU'RE NOT GOING OUT LIKE THAT!"
He paused, looked down at himself, then back at her. Slowly, he blinked. "…Why?"
Her brain broke.
She snatched the nearest pillow and hurled it with all the strength she could muster.
FWUMP!
The cushion smacked him squarely in the face.
"JUST PUT A DAMN SHIRT ON!!!"
---
TO BE CONTINUED…