Beyond the Veil

The soft glow of the fire in Helaena’s chambers cast a warm, golden light over the stone walls. The air smelled faintly of lavender and chamomile, and the quiet hum of the flames was the only sound in the room. It was peaceful—but only in the way a lull before a storm could be peaceful. The energy in the air was tense, fragile.

Celeste moved quietly as she entered the chambers, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind her. Helaena sat on a cushioned bench by the window, her fingers idly working on an embroidery hoop. The needle moved with delicate precision, the threads weaving into an intricate pattern of flowers and vines. Her gaze was fixed on her work, her head tilted slightly, the way it always did when she was thinking deeply.

“Princess,” Celeste greeted softly, keeping her voice gentle but clear as she approached. “You left the hall before I could see if you were all right.”

Helaena didn’t look up immediately, her fingers still pulling the thread through the fabric. Her hands were steady, her motions slow but deliberate. After a pause, she blinked and glanced at Celeste with her soft, distant gaze.

“Oh,” Helaena said quietly, her lips curling into a small, faint smile. “You’re here.”

“Of course,” Celeste replied, moving to sit beside her on the bench. She kept her movements slow, mindful of Helaena’s comfort. “I told you I’d be close if you needed me.”

Helaena tilted her head, watching her carefully. Her eyes, so wide and clear, looked through Celeste as much as they looked at her. “Everyone’s so angry,” she said softly, her gaze drifting back to the embroidery. Her fingers slowed, her grip on the needle light but steady. “They smile at Father and speak of peace, but it doesn’t last. They’re always angry.”

Her words hung in the air like mist, soft but heavy. Celeste knew this weight. She’d carried it before.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Celeste said gently, leaning forward so that Helaena wouldn’t feel so alone in the moment. “None of it was.”

“I know,” Helaena said, her voice distant but certain. Her gaze remained on her embroidery as she pulled the thread taut, the tiny vine growing with every careful stitch. “But I don’t understand it. Why do they hate each other so much? We’re supposed to be family.”

Celeste leaned back, her eyes flicking toward the fire as she thought of how to answer. Family. Such a simple word, but one that carried the weight of a thousand different meanings. Her heart ached with the memories of her own.

“Hatred can grow in strange places,” she said slowly, watching the flicker of flames as she spoke. “Sometimes it grows from fear. Sometimes from jealousy. Sometimes… it’s just there. Rooted so deep, no one remembers where it started.”

Her fingers brushed against the edge of her sleeve, her mind briefly flashing back to her days in the Malfoy household. The grandeur of the house. The silence of it. The expectations. Always the expectations. She remembered how cold Narcissa’s gaze could grow when something wasn’t done “properly,” how Lucius’s disapproval was felt more than heard. Despite Narcissa’s love for Celeste, she was still a Pure-Blooded lady who expected her children to be perfect, and she was sure Lucius held a bitter resentment towards her, despite the circumstances being beyond her control.

“My own family was like that, the ones who raised me when Sirius could not,” Celeste continued, her voice quieter now, as if the weight of the truth could break if she spoke it too loudly. “Not everyone hated each other, but there were parts of it that never made sense to me. People resented each other over things they didn’t need to. Petty things. Old wounds no one could let go of.”

Helaena looked at her then, her hands stilling, the thread hanging loose from her fingers. She was listening now. Truly listening.

“What did you do?” Helaena asked softly. There was no mockery in her tone, only curiosity, only quiet hope. What do you do, Celeste, when the people around you are consumed by something you don’t understand?

Celeste’s lips pressed into a thoughtful line, her fingers lacing together in her lap. She glanced at Helaena, her silver-grey eyes meeting Helaena’s pale blue ones.

“I tried to understand it,” Celeste admitted, her voice firmer now. “I thought if I could understand why they were angry—why they hated—it would help. I’d look for reasons, for moments where it all went wrong.”

“And did you?” Helaena asked, tilting her head in that curious, childlike way she often did.

Celeste’s eyes softened. “No. Not always. Sometimes, there was no reason. No moment of clarity. People cling to anger, Princess, because it’s easier than pain. Pain fades. Anger doesn’t, not unless you let it.”

Helaena frowned, her eyes dropping back to her embroidery. Her fingers twitched, and she pulled the thread too tightly, making the fabric bunch. She let out a small breath of frustration, her eyes darting back to Celeste.

“But why do they hate me?” Helaena asked suddenly, her voice cracking on the last word.

Celeste’s heart twisted in her chest, and she leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on Helaena’s. Her grip was firm but gentle. Not controlling. Steadying.

“No one hates you, Princess,” Celeste said, her voice soft but strong. “They hate what they can’t control. They hate the parts of themselves they see in others. But you—” she squeezed Helaena’s hands lightly, bringing her gaze back up to meet hers, “—you are kind. You see the world differently, and that frightens them.”

Tears shimmered faintly in Helaena’s eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. Her lips trembled slightly before she pressed them into a firm line.

“I don’t want to frighten people,” she murmured.

“Then don’t,” Celeste said, smiling softly. “Don’t frighten them. Make them curious instead. Let them wonder, let them question, but never let them think they own you.”

For a moment, Helaena said nothing. Her gaze dropped to their hands, her fingers still resting lightly beneath Celeste’s. Slowly, her fingers shifted, moving to lace through Celeste’s own. Small. Gentle. But intentional.

“You’re different from the others,” Helaena said suddenly, her eyes lifting again to Celeste. Her gaze was clearer now, more focused. Present.

“Different how?” Celeste asked, tilting her head.

“You tell me things,” Helaena said simply. “You don’t talk like they do. You don’t tell me what I already know. You tell me things I… need to hear.”

Celeste smiled faintly, her fingers gently laced with Helaena’s. “That’s because you deserve to hear them.”

They sat like that for a moment longer, neither of them speaking. The warmth of the fire flickered in the distance, the soft glow casting their faces in shadow and light. Two women bound by threads of fate, each of them caught in webs they didn’t weave.

“Will you tell me more?” Helaena asked, glancing up at her. Her eyes weren’t so distant anymore. They were present. Focused.

“About what?” Celeste asked, smiling gently.

“About you,” Helaena said simply, tilting her head again in that way she always did. “About where you come from. The woman who taught you precision.”

Celeste's smile faltered for just a moment—just a moment—but she nodded. “If you’d like.”

Helaena nodded back, her hands still tangled with Celeste’s. “I would.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” Celeste said softly, her voice steady, even as her mind wandered briefly to Narcissa Malfoy. The woman who taught her patience, perfection, and the fine art of watching without being seen. “I’ll tell you all of it, Princess. But only if you tell me something in return.”

Helaena’s eyes widened slightly, her curiosity piqued. “What do you want to know?”

Celeste leaned in just a little, her gaze filled with quiet amusement. “What do you see when you look at me?”

For a moment, Helaena was silent. Her eyes darted to Celeste’s hands, to her face, to her silver-grey eyes. She blinked slowly, her gaze distant but thoughtful.

“Two threads intertwined,” Helaena said quietly, her voice soft as the brush of silk. “One of silk, one of shadow. One pulls, one follows, but sometimes, they switch places.”

Celeste’s breath caught, her heart stilling for a moment. But then she smiled—genuine and small.

“Perhaps,” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind Helaena’s ear. “But I think we both know which one I am.”

Helaena just smiled, picking up her embroidery hoop again. Delicate vines of green thread wove steadily around blue petals under her careful, precise hands. “You’ll tell me, then?” she asked, her head tilting just slightly, her pale silver hair falling over her shoulder. Her voice was quiet, patient, like she had all the time in the world to listen.

Celeste breathed deeply through her nose, her chest rising and falling in measured calm. If she was going to share it, it would be the truth—at least, as much of it as she could bear to tell.

“All right,” she said at last, leaning forward just a little. Her gaze shifted toward Helaena's embroidery, focusing on the slow, steady motion of the thread being pulled through fabric. “But it’s not a simple story.”

Helaena nodded, her fingers never stopping their work. “Simple stories are for children,” she murmured, her voice soft but knowing. Her eyes didn’t wander. Her mind was here. Listening.

Celeste’s lips quirked into a faint smile, but it didn’t last long. Her gaze drifted to the fire, the light dancing in her eyes like sparks of steel.

“I grew up in a house of precision,” she began, her voice as steady as the embroidery thread. “Everything had to be just so. Every step, every word, every glance. It had to be perfect. Not just good. Perfect.” She folded her hands in her lap, fingers twisting lightly against each other. “I had to walk a line so narrow it felt like walking on the edge of a blade. If I stepped too far one way or the other, I’d bleed for it.”

Helaena’s fingers paused for just a moment, her eyes flicking to Celeste with a quiet flicker of concern. She said nothing, but her fingers resumed their gentle, familiar rhythm. Thread through fabric. Loop. Pull. Tighten.

“But it wasn’t all bad,” Celeste continued, her voice softening. Her eyes flicked down to her hands, watching the way her fingers moved without thought. “There were moments of kindness. Love, even. The woman I lived with—her name was Narcissa. She taught me so much. More than anyone else ever did.”

Her lips pressed together as she thought of Narcissa’s face. Her elegant features, her steady, knowing gaze. Her touch, soft as silk, and her voice—sharp, yes, but never cruel. Not to her.

“She wasn’t an easy woman,” Celeste admitted, her eyes shifting back to Helaena, who was watching her now, her embroidery forgotten in her lap. “But she could be… caring. More than people would expect. When I was sick, she’d sit by my bedside, cool cloths pressed to my forehead. If I had a nightmare, she’d stay until I fell asleep again, never once making me feel small for it.”

Her throat tightened for a moment, her fingers clenching briefly in her lap. She hadn’t thought about those nights in years.

“She always knew when something was wrong,” Celeste added softly, her gaze distant. “She’d notice things no one else would. She had a way of looking at you and knowing exactly what you were hiding. But instead of punishing you for it, she’d just… see it. She’d see it, and she’d let you breathe.”

Helaena tilted her head again, her gaze soft and curious. “She sounds kind,” she murmured.

“She was,” Celeste said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “She was strict, but she was kind. I still love her, even now.”

Her fingers lifted to touch the edge of her sleeve, brushing against the soft silk fabric where, hidden in its folds, lay the handkerchief with the Malfoy crest. It was always there, close to her. She felt it now, a quiet, familiar weight. A reminder. A tether to that world.

“And she wasn’t the only one,” Celeste continued, her eyes growing warmer now, touched by something gentler. A memory she couldn’t let go of, even if she wanted to. “She had a son. His name was Draco.”

“Draco,” Helaena repeated, her brows lifting slightly. “Did you like him?”

Celeste let out a soft breath that could have been a laugh. Her gaze softened even more, her lips curving into a fond smile. “He was my brother in every way that mattered,” she admitted, her voice growing quieter. “He was spoiled. Arrogant, at times. But I knew him before the world told him he had to be all those things.”

Her eyes flicked toward Helaena. “Before he thought he had to be someone else's shadow.”

Helaena blinked, her lips pressing into a thoughtful line. She said nothing, but her eyes didn’t leave Celeste’s face.

“We grew up together,” Celeste continued, her voice carrying a soft, wistful tone. “He was my first friend. My first rival, too. We’d compete over the smallest things—who could memorize their lessons faster, who could run the fastest, who could be ‘better.’” Her smile faltered, her gaze growing heavier. “But I think, deep down, we both just wanted to be seen.”

Her fingers brushed at her sleeve again, her mind suddenly aware of the distance between her and Draco—a distance she hadn’t been able to close.

“I miss him,” she admitted quietly, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “More than I can say.”

Helaena leaned forward, her eyes wide with quiet understanding. Her fingers lifted from her embroidery, moving toward Celeste, and for a moment, it looked like she was about to place a hand on hers. But she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head once more.

“Why don’t you go back to him?” Helaena asked, her voice innocent but piercing.

“Because the path back isn’t so simple,” Celeste replied, her eyes sad but resolute. “Too much has happened. I made choices I can’t undo. I wore a mark I can’t take back.”

Her voice grew quieter. Quieter, but not weaker. “And he wore one too.”

Silence filled the room, the fire’s crackle the only sound. Celeste had never told anyone that before. Not even her father.

“Did it hurt?” Helaena asked softly, her gaze thoughtful but sincere. “Wearing the mark.”

“Yes,” Celeste said without hesitation. Her eyes flicked to Helaena, her voice steady. “But not as much as what it made me do. The friends I lost because of it.”

Helaena’s gaze softened. She reached forward at last, placing her hand on top of Celeste’s, her fingers curling over her knuckles. Her grip was light, but it was there. Grounding. Steady.

“They marked you,” Helaena murmured, her eyes distant but clear. “But you don’t belong to them anymore.”

Celeste blinked, her breath catching in her chest. The simplicity of it. The truth of it.

“No,” Celeste whispered, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t.”

They sat in silence for a moment, fingers still intertwined. Helaena’s gaze drifted back to the embroidery in her lap. Her fingers moved slowly, pulling the thread through, twisting it into another loop.

“Your mother,” Helaena said softly, her eyes on the thread. “Did she love you?”

The question hit harder than it should have. Simple. Innocent. But weighty.

Celeste’s breath stilled, her gaze flickering toward the fire as though searching for the answer in its glow. Her fingers moved slowly, smoothing over the fabric of her gown as if brushing away invisible dust. This question. This question.

“Yes,” she said quietly, her voice soft but certain. Her eyes didn’t leave the fire. “I think she did.”

Helaena’s head tilted again, watching her carefully. “You think?”

Celeste blinked slowly, her eyes shifting back to Helaena’s face. Her fingers curled lightly against the fabric of her dress, grounding herself. It would have been so much easier not to answer. But Helaena didn’t deserve silence. Not tonight.

“She died,” Celeste said softly, her gaze steady now, her voice stronger. “When I was still a baby. Before I turned one.” She glanced down at her hands, watching the way her fingers folded together, twisting gently. “I don’t remember her. Not really.”

Helaena’s brows knitted further, her lips pressing into a small, thoughtful line. Her eyes were distant, but her mind was present.

“She was sick,” Celeste continued, her gaze dropping briefly to the floor before lifting again. “It’s not something people here would understand. Not an injury. Not a fever. It was something inside her that grew and grew until it… until it took her.” Her voice softened on the last words, the memory of it distant but still sharp. “No one could stop it. No one knew how.”

Helaena’s hands twitched slightly in her lap, her fingers brushing against the loose threads of her embroidery. Her gaze shifted to the vine she’d been weaving, her lips moving as if silently counting the loops and knots. Her eyes flickered back to Celeste, her face thoughtful but calm.

“Was she kind?” Helaena asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Celeste’s lips pressed into a thin line. Kind? She searched her mind, but all she could see were blurred images, foggy shapes she couldn't grasp. Her mother’s face. Her voice. Her hands. Barely memorable. She let out a quiet breath, tilting her head back slightly as her gaze wandered toward the ceiling.

“I’d like to think so,” she admitted quietly. “But I can’t say for sure.” Her eyes lowered, her fingers tapping softly against her knee. “I wish I remembered more. Even just her voice. The way she smelled. The sound of her footsteps in the hall.” She let out a small, hollow laugh. “But I was too young. Too young to remember anything more than shadows.”

Her eyes flicked to Helaena, and her voice grew firmer. “But I know she loved me. I have to believe that.”

Helaena nodded slowly, her gaze distant but thoughtful. Her hands stopped moving. Her fingers still as she considered something quietly.

“I think she did,” Helaena said softly, glancing back at Celeste with those wide, clear violet eyes. “Mothers don’t always leave behind their voices. But they leave pieces of themselves. In us.”

Her words lingered in the air like the soft hum of a lullaby. Celeste blinked slowly, the weight of those words settling into her chest. Her eyes stung, just a little. She glanced at Helaena, her gaze sharper than before, like she was seeing her for the first time.

“You’re wiser than you let on, Princess,” Celeste said quietly, her lips curving into a faint, fond smile.

Helaena tilted her head, a flicker of something like amusement passing through her eyes. “I see things,” she replied, her voice as simple as if she were stating the weather. “That’s all.”

Celeste let out a quiet breath, her eyes closing briefly before she opened them again. Her mother. Her mother who she would never know. Yet, she did not mourn her any longer, accepting the cards life had dealt her. Whilst she may not have had her real mother, she had Narcissa, which was more than others had.

Her gaze lifted back to the princess, watching her move the thread through the fabric. Slowly. Patiently. Knot by knot.

“Tell me more about Draco,” Helaena said, her lips curling into a soft, small smile. “He sounds like he’d be fun to know.”

Celeste let out a quiet, breathy laugh. “He’d make you work for it, but yes,” she murmured. “He would.”

And so she did. She told her about Draco. About his wit. His pride. His fears. His heart.

And for once, the weight didn’t feel so heavy. Not when Helaena was there to share it.

The first light of dawn crept in slowly, seeping through the gauzy curtains of Helaena’s chambers, casting soft streaks of gold and pale blue across the stone floor. The warmth of the fire from the night before had dwindled to glowing embers, their faint heat barely brushing against the cool morning air.

On the cushioned bench near the window, Celeste woke first.

Her head rested lightly on Helaena’s shoulder, their hands still lightly intertwined. It took her a moment to realize where she was. The quiet comfort of it caught her off guard. No sharp demands. No urgent calls. No eyes watching her every move. Just calm.

Her gaze shifted, her silver-grey eyes flicking up to see Helaena's face. Her head was tilted to the side, her breathing soft and slow. Her silver hair cascaded around her shoulders like a blanket of moonlight. Her fingers still loosely held Celeste's hand, their grip gentle but sure.

Celeste blinked, her lips curling into a small, tired smile. They must have fallen asleep together.

She tilted her head slightly, careful not to wake Helaena, and took in the stillness of the room. It felt different in the morning. Lighter. Safer.

But the world never stayed that way for long.

Helaena shifted beside her, a quiet hum escaping her lips. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, like a child waking from a dream they didn’t want to leave. For a moment, she blinked at the light peeking through the curtains, her brows drawing together in confusion.

“Morning already,” Helaena murmured sleepily, her voice soft as a sigh. She turned her head slightly, her pale eyes settling on Celeste with a look of quiet recognition. Not surprise. Not discomfort. Just knowing.

“Morning,” Celeste replied softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “We stayed too long.”

Helaena blinked slowly, her lips curling into a small smile. “I don’t mind.”

Her gaze shifted toward the window, watching the slow rise of the sun over the horizon. For a while, neither of them moved. They stayed like that—quiet, still, watching the world wake up outside.

Later, after freshening up and changing into clean gowns, they made their way to the nursery. The halls of the Red Keep were quieter today, the usual murmurs of servants and guards slow to start. The cool air brushed against Celeste’s skin, waking her fully as she walked beside Helaena.

“I’ve missed them,” Helaena said softly, her voice carrying that distant, airy quality it always did when her thoughts wandered. “I didn’t see them yesterday.”

Celeste glanced at her. “Then you’ll see them now.”

A faint smile tugged at Helaena’s lips, but she didn’t respond. Her eyes were soft. Expectant. Hopeful.

When they reached the nursery, soft sounds drifted from within. Little thumps of movement. The creak of a rocking chair. The faint hum of a lullaby.

Celeste glanced at Helaena, whose eyes had lifted, her lips parting just slightly. She opened the door herself, the wooden frame creaking softly as it swung inward.

The sight that greeted them was warmth itself.

Jaehaera and Jaehaerys were already awake.

Jaehaera sat on the floor, her legs crossed beneath her as she moved her carved wooden animals into place. A fox, a dragon, and a wolf, each one worn from use. Her small, delicate hands placed them into neat little rows, her brow furrowed in concentration as if the placement of each one was the most important thing in the world. Her silver hair, loose and curling around her face, glowed faintly in the morning light.

Her twin, Jaehaerys, was across the room, perched by the window. He was holding a small wooden dragon, its paint chipped at the edges. His eyes were focused on it, his small fingers gripping its wings tightly. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He simply stared at it, his gaze so intense it seemed as though he was trying to bring it to life by will alone.

“Look who’s come to see you,” called the nursemaid, a woman with a kind, round face and sleeves rolled to her elbows. She glanced up from folding a small blanket, her face lighting up with a smile at the sight of Helaena. “They’ve been lively this morning.”

At the sight of her mother, Jaehaera’s face lifted immediately. Her eyes, wide and pale, lit up with quiet joy. She stared for a moment, as if making sure it was really her, then slowly stood, her small feet pattering softly on the floor.

Helaena crouched to meet her halfway, her hands reaching out, palms open.

Jaehaera walked into her arms.

It wasn’t a run. It wasn’t a cry for attention. It was a quiet, deliberate movement. She pressed her face into her mother’s shoulder, her small hands gripping the fabric of Helaena’s gown. Helaena wrapped her arms around her, one hand cupping the back of her head.

“Good morning, little one,” Helaena murmured softly, her lips pressing lightly against the top of Jaehaera’s head. Her smile was warm. Calm. Safe.

Jaehaera didn’t say anything. She just stayed there, small and still, her breathing slow and even.

Celeste watched them for a moment, her chest tightening with an ache that wasn’t painful—just familiar. She glanced toward Jaehaerys by the window. He hadn’t moved. He still held the dragon in his hands, his eyes fixed on it, his fingers running slowly along its wings.

“He’s been like that since he woke,” the nursemaid said softly, following Celeste’s gaze. “He doesn’t always play with the others. But he’s thoughtful, that one. Always thinking.”

Always thinking.

Celeste’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. Quiet children were often the ones who saw everything.

“Do you mind if I play with them?” Celeste asked, her tone light as she glanced at the nursemaid.

The nursemaid raised her brows but nodded with a small smile. “I think they’d like that.”

Helaena glanced up at her then, her soft gaze filled with something like gratitude. No words. Just a look.

Celeste stepped further into the room, crouching down beside Jaehaera, who had returned to her spot on the floor. The small girl glanced at her, her eyes flicking up briefly before looking back at her carved animals.

“Can I help?” Celeste asked softly, her tone playful but careful.

Jaehaera glanced at her again, tilting her head just slightly. Then, after a moment of quiet consideration, she nodded.

Celeste sat beside her, folding her legs beneath her like a child, mirroring Jaehaera’s position. The little girl picked up the wooden fox, turning it slowly in her hands. Without speaking, she held it out to Celeste.

Celeste took it carefully, turning it in her palm. “He’s clever, isn’t he?” she said, examining the small wooden fox.

Jaehaera glanced up at her again, her lips pursed like she was thinking. Slowly, she nodded.

They sat together, lining up the animals in quiet, thoughtful concentration. No words. Just the soft shuffle of wood on wood.

Across the room, Jaehaerys finally moved. His small fingers gripped his wooden dragon tighter, and slowly, he turned toward them. His eyes flicked between Celeste, Helaena, and Jaehaera.

He didn’t walk toward them. He didn’t call for them.

But his eyes lingered.

Celeste noticed him watching, but she didn’t call him over. She knew better than that. Quiet children had their own rhythms. They moved when they were ready.

Instead, she turned to Helaena, who had sat on the cushioned stool, her embroidery hoop in hand. Her fingers moved in slow, steady motions—loop, pull, tighten, knot.

Helaena’s eyes flickered up briefly to watch them, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Do you think he’ll come over?” Celeste asked softly, her eyes still on Jaehaerys by the window.

Helaena’s gaze didn’t lift from her work. Her fingers moved in quiet precision.

“He will,” Helaena said, her voice soft and steady. “When he’s ready.”

Celeste glanced at Jaehaerys once more. His eyes were still on them. Still watching. Always watching.

She picked up the little wooden fox and turned it so it "walked" toward Jaehaera. The little girl tilted her head, her lips curling just faintly as she reached for it.

They played like that for a while—no words. Just movement. Just peace.

The peace didn’t last as the Queen stormed through the door, her sharp eyes scanning the room. “Where is Aegon?”

Helaena looked confused, shrugging her shoulders. “Not here?” She said, the words sounding more like a question than a statement. 

Otto Hightower strode in behind Alicent, and Celeste stood, the fox figure still clutched tightly in her hands.

“He’s not in his rooms.” Otto stated. Helaena looked down at the embroidery hoop, unable to answer.

“Lord, if I may, I have been with the Princess all night, we have not seen the Prince.” Celeste interrupted, coming to stand behind Helaena.

Otto nodded at her, a concerned look on his face. He turned, storming out, past Alicent as Celeste looked on in confusion, concern flooding through her as the tension in the air grew. Alicent called out to Otto, though he paid her no attention as he set out on a mission - what that was, Celeste was unsure of.

“We should go.” Celeste, said to the nurse-maid, who gathered the children, making for the door, Celeste following her. 

“No,” Helaena said softly, her voice like the brush of silk, but it stopped Celeste mid-step.

Celeste turned, her brows drawing together. Helaena’s eyes were on her now. Focused. Sharp.

“Stay,” Helaena said, tilting her head as if seeing something Celeste couldn’t. “Stay with me.”

“Helaena,” Alicent started, her voice firmer now, her gaze flicking toward Celeste. “The nursemaid can watch the children. We need to focus on—”

“No,” Helaena said firmly, lifting her head to meet Alicent’s eyes. “I want her to stay.”

Her voice was so steady. So calm. It was not a request.

Celeste glanced at Helaena, her heart tightening, her gaze searching hers. Helaena didn’t blink. Her eyes were clear. Certain.

“Then I’ll stay,” Celeste said softly, her eyes flicking to Alicent. 

Alicent's face shifted, her gaze darting between Helaena and Celeste. Her lips pressed into a taut, thin line, but she did not object. "Very well," she murmured at last.

“What’s happened?” Helaena asked, setting aside her embroidery hoop with careful precision. Her eyes lifted to Alicent, searching her face for answers. Celeste moved slowly, positioning herself behind Helaena like a quiet but steady shadow.

Alicent approached, gathering her skirts as she lowered herself into a chair with a weighted grace. Her expression was grave, familiar in a way that made Celeste’s chest tighten. She had seen that look before. She knew it too well, could almost hear the words before they fell from Alicent’s lips.

Her dark eyes shimmered with tears she refused to shed. “Your father,” Alicent began, her voice strained with quiet agony. But Helaena’s gaze drifted, growing foggy and distant. Celeste noticed it immediately, scolding herself for missing it before, a shift so subtle most wouldn’t have seen it — but Celeste did. Her heart jolted with realization, the memory of Trelawney declaring Harry had the Grim flashing vividly in her mind. A silent resolve formed within her. She would speak to Sirius. They needed to consider the possibility that Helaena might be a seer.

“There is a beast beneath the boards,” Helaena gasped suddenly, her voice hollow and distant, as if spoken from somewhere far away. Her eyes cleared just as quickly, sharp focus snapping back into place. Alicent reached for her, arms outstretched to offer comfort, but Helaena flinched away with a sharp, shuddering breath.

“No!” Helaena cried softly, her voice fragile yet firm. Her hands swatted Alicent’s away with trembling defiance.

Celeste moved then, stepping forward and placing a gentle hand on Helaena’s shoulder. The moment her fingers made contact, Helaena grasped her hand with startling urgency, gripping it as though it were a lifeline. Her breaths came shallow and ragged, but Celeste stayed steady, grounding her.

The soft, measured sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, pulling Celeste’s attention. Her eyes lifted as Aemond entered, his features drawn tight with grief. His gaze found his mother and sister, but he did not see Celeste, though she saw him all too clearly. Her heart ached at the sight.

He was too young for grief this heavy, but then again, so were they all. Celeste knew that weight intimately, knew how it clawed at the heart and settled in the bones. She would not let them be consumed by it. Not if she could help it.

Finally, Aemond saw Celeste.

His gaze lingered on her, on the way her hands rested on Helaena’s shoulders, on the way Helaena’s fingers gripped Celeste’s wrist as though she were the only anchor in the room. His eyes softened just briefly, and his jaw tightened.

He knew.

Celeste's gaze met his, her eyes steady. No words. Just knowing.

They both knew. Their lives would not be the same.