Rewrite the Stars
The night air was cool against her skin, the faint hum of crickets filling the stillness of the Red Keep’s gardens. The lanterns lining the stone pathways flickered in the gentle breeze, their soft golden glow barely reaching the darker corners beneath the trees. Celeste sat on a low stone bench, arms wrapped around herself, her gaze tilted upward.
Her eyes were on the stars.
Her left arm, now wrapped in fresh linen bandages, lay across her lap, faint streaks of red seeping through the fabric. She tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about him.
Sirius’s words still echoed in her head, each one more cutting than the last. "You should have told me." Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, her jaw tightening as she blinked away the burning in her eyes. She hated how much it hurt. Not his anger—but his disappointment. How could she tell him about her biggest regret? Saying it aloud would make it real, while keeping it hidden made it feel like nothing more than a bad dream.
Her gaze flickered down the white gauze, knowing what lay beneath. The black serpent of the Dark Mark curled sharply against her skin, bold and unyielding. No amount of washing or scrubbing had ever lessened it. No spell could remove it. It had been burned into her. Bone deep. Blood deep. Even Hermione, the smartest witch she knew, had failed to even shift it. If anything, it became bolder, more visible as though taunting her.
Her fingers hovered over the bandage, close but not touching, as if pressing against it might make it feel real again.
It didn’t hurt anymore. But it might as well have.
Her breath was slow, steady, but her heart—her heart ached in a way that no spell could heal. Not after what he’d said.
"You were supposed to be better than that."
Her breath caught, her eyes squeezing shut as the words echoed through her mind again. Sharper than a blade. Louder than thunder.
You were supposed to be better than that.
Her fingers curled slowly into fists, her nails pressing into her palms. Her breath left her in one slow, shaky exhale.
She’d always known the mark was a stain. She’d seen it on Bellatrix’s arm, on Lucius’s, on the arms of every person she’d been forced to follow. She’d hated it then. She hated it now.
But hearing it from him?
Her throat tightened, her eyes still shut tight as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her head hung low, her breath sharp and shallow.
He was supposed to understand.
He, of all people, was supposed to understand what it meant to be trapped in chains you couldn’t break. He was supposed to see past it. He was supposed to see her.
But he’d looked at her like she was something else. Like she was one of them.
Her breath hitched, and her hands pressed harder into her face, her fingers curling against her temples. He wasn’t supposed to look at me like that.
“You were supposed to be better than that.”
Her chest twisted, sharp and tight. Her breath shuddered, coming out in shallow, uneven gasps.
She'd heard those words before.
She’d heard them from Narcissa. From Lucius. From the voices in her head that still haunted her when she closed her eyes. The voices that told her she’d never be enough. Never be clean. Never be free.
You were supposed to be better.
She had tried. Merlin, she had tried.
Her whole life had been one fight after another—against the Malfoys, against the Death Eaters, against herself. She’d fought to be something more, to be more than the name they gave her, more than the brand burned into her arm.
But now, he’d thrown her right back into it.
Her father. Her star. The one person she thought would understand.
But here, the stars were different. Her gaze flickered back up to them as they twinkled in the sky, tauntingly.
Not the ones she knew. Not Orion. Not Ursa Major. Not Draco. It was wrong in the same quiet way everything about this world was wrong. The sky looked the same, but the constellations were strangers. It made her feel even further from home. Further from everything.
Her eyes caught on a cluster of stars that reminded her, faintly, of Sirius’s namesake. She smiled weakly. The Dog Star. Bright. Constant. Her guiding light.
But tonight, her light had turned away from her.
The crunch of footsteps on the path behind her pulled her from her thoughts. Her heart skipped for just a moment, her breath hitching as she glanced over her shoulder.
Aemond.
He walked slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his silver hair catching the faint glow of the lanterns. His gaze wasn’t on her at first. It was on the path ahead of him, his steps deliberate and measured. He didn’t walk like a man wandering aimlessly. He walked like a man who knew exactly where he was going.
Her breath slowed as she turned away, pretending not to notice. But she knew he’d seen her.
Of course he had.
“Do you plan to sit there all night?” Aemond’s voice was soft but clear, carrying easily through the quiet of the gardens. There was no mockery in his tone this time—just curiosity.
Her lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. “I might.”
His footsteps grew louder as he drew closer, the slow, even rhythm of his boots crunching softly on the stone. He came to stand a few feet from her, tilting his head slightly as he watched her. Not cold. Not calculating. Just… watching.
“You like the stars.”
It wasn’t a question.
Her eyes flickered to his face, her gaze sharp but tired. “I do.”
His gaze followed hers, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. The sharp angles of his face caught the dim light, his jawline strong, his profile sharp as a blade. For a moment, he was silent. His violet eye scanned the stars like he knew them well.
“You’ve been staring at them since I found you,” he continued, his tone quieter now, thoughtful. “Why?”
Her fingers brushed over the sleeve of her bandaged arm. The stars weren’t safe. Not here. Not like before. But she answered him anyway.
“My family,” she said softly, her gaze still on the sky. “We’re named after them. Constellations, I mean.” Her voice was calmer now, steadier, though a hint of sadness lingered in her tone.
“Constellations,” he repeated, his eye flicking to her face.
She nodded slowly. Her gaze didn’t lower. “My father is Sirius. The Dog Star. My brother—” Her voice caught just for a moment. “My cousin was Draco. The dragon. And I’m Celeste. It means ‘of the sky.’”
Her lips twitched into something like a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I used to know every constellation by heart. I could find them all.”
Her gaze dropped for a moment, her fingers brushing the fabric of her dress. Her heart ached. “But they’re all wrong here. I look for them, but they aren’t there. It feels like… like I’m on the wrong side of the sky.”
She glanced at him then, her eyes searching his face for any hint of mockery. None. He was listening.
His lips pressed into a faint line. He tilted his head back, his eye scanning the stars slowly, deliberately. Like he was looking for something.
“Your constellations sound intriguing,” he said quietly. “The sky is different to how you describe it.” His gaze shifted slightly, his head tilting as his lips parted just a fraction. “But it’s not without its guides.”
Her brows furrowed, her head turning toward him. “What do you mean?”
He lifted his hand, pointing toward the sky with slow precision. “There,” he said, his voice smooth and sure. “That cluster there. See the four points, with one star just off the edge?”
Her eyes followed his line of sight, scanning the sky until she saw it. Four bright stars, with one small star just barely trailing behind.
“It’s called The Fox,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Clever. Quick. Always just out of reach.” He glanced at her then, his gaze sharper than before. “Reminds me of you.”
Her heart did something strange in her chest—a sudden skip, sharp but not unpleasant.
She shook her head, trying to fight off the warmth rising in her face. “Is that supposed to be a compliment, Prince?”
His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “It is if you’re clever enough to understand it.”
Her eyes rolled, but her lips twitched into a smile. A real one.
His hand lifted again, his gaze focused on the sky. “There’s another,” he said, tilting his head just slightly. “Look there—those three stars in a straight line, with two just below.”
Her eyes followed. It took her a moment to spot it, but once she did, she couldn’t unsee it.
“The Stag,” he said softly, his voice quieter, more distant. “Symbol of endurance. Relentless. It never stops moving, even when hunted.”
Her gaze flicked to him, her eyes scanning his face. He wasn’t looking at her. He was still watching the stars.
She smiled softly, her chest aching in a different way now. Not from pain. From something warmer.
“Are you going to name all of them, Prince?” she asked, tilting her head toward him.
His eye flicked to hers, his lips pulling into that faint smile again. “I could.”
“Would you?” she asked softly. Her voice didn’t have its usual edge.
He blinked slowly, his gaze narrowing on her face. He was watching her again, watching too closely. But this time, it didn’t feel sharp. It felt... steady. He moved, filling the space on the bench as he sat.
“I would,” he said softly, his eye locked on hers.
Her breath caught for just a moment. She tilted her head back, her eyes flicking to the stars. They didn’t feel so unfamiliar anymore.
They weren’t her constellations. But somehow, she didn’t mind as much.
Her heart felt lighter, her breath steadier.
“What about that one?” she asked, pointing to a small, faint cluster near the edge of the sky. Her fingers brushed his shoulder as she leaned forward to see it better.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away.
He glanced up, his head tilting just slightly. Their shoulders were so close now.
“The Basilisk,” he said softly, his voice barely above a murmur. “They say it can kill with a look.”
Her eyes flicked to his face, her heart doing that strange little skip again. Too close. Too close.
Her eyes scanned his face—his sharp jaw, his high cheekbones, the way the faint glow of lantern light traced the silver of his hair. His eye was fixed on the stars, focused and steady.
He’s not so terrible, is he? she thought.
Her fingers brushed against his sleeve, and she didn’t pull away.
Neither did he.
The dark of the night seemed to wrap around the two like a cloak, keeping them warm against the slight chill as they sat there, enjoying the other's presence, a calmness against the chaos of the day.
But then his voice broke the stillness. Not loud. Just sharp enough to draw her in.
"Why did you do it?" Aemond asked softly, his gaze moving to the sky.
She glanced at him, her brows drawing together slightly. "Do what?"
His eye flicked to her, sharp as steel but not unkind. "Why did you risk yourself for Helaena?" He didn’t blink as he asked it, his gaze focused entirely on her face now. “You could have died.”
Her chest tightened. She hadn’t expected that question.
Her fingers brushed over her bandaged arm, her eyes dropping to the ground for a moment. Why did she do it? The answer felt simple, but saying it out loud wasn’t as easy.
She exhaled slowly, glancing back at him, her eyes meeting his. “Because she matters.”
His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. He just listened.
“Helaena’s kind,” Celeste continued, her voice quieter now. She glanced back at the stars as if looking for something to anchor her words. “I’ve seen it. She doesn’t deserve to be buried under stone just because someone else made a choice she didn’t ask for.” Her fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve as she spoke. “I know what that’s like.”
Aemond’s gaze lingered on her, his lips pressed into a firm line. He knew she wasn’t just talking about Helaena.
They sat like that for a moment, the silence stretching between them.
His eye shifted down to her arm, to the place where the bandages lay snug against her skin. He tilted his head slightly. “And how did you survive?”
Her body stiffened, her heart thudding a little harder in her chest. Her fingers flexed at her sides.
“Luck,” she said simply, her voice calm but her gaze distant. She didn’t look at him this time. If she looked at him, she knew he’d see too much.
Aemond’s gaze didn’t waver. He knew a lie when he heard one.
“Luck doesn’t move rubble. I have seen men die being buried the way you were,” he said softly, his tone low but sharp as a dagger. His voice cut clean through her defense.
Her eyes flicked back to him, and her breath caught in her chest. His gaze was steady. Focused. Calculating.
“Luck doesn’t shield people from falling stone,” he added, his voice quieter now, his gaze sharper. “You did something, Celeste. Something I’ve never seen before.”
Her throat tightened. Her eyes flicked back to the sky, her fingers curling into her dress.
“Are you going to press me on it, Prince?” she asked softly, her voice colder now. Her gaze didn’t shift from the stars.
He didn’t answer right away. She could hear him breathing beside her, slow and measured, like a man considering his next move on a chessboard.
“No,” he said finally, his voice lower, calmer. “Not tonight.”
Her eyes flicked back to him, her brows raised in surprise. She hadn’t expected that.
He wasn’t looking at her anymore. His gaze had shifted to the ground, his fingers resting lightly on his knee. His face was unreadable, his eye distant.
“Why not?” she asked, tilting her head, her silver eyes narrowing in suspicion.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, his lips curling just slightly at the corners. Not a smirk. Not a grin. Something... quieter.
“Because,” he said softly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “You saved her.” He turned to face her fully then, his gaze locking onto hers with quiet intensity. His voice was even, firm, but quieter than she’d ever heard it. “And I’m glad you’re safe.”
Her heart stopped for half a second. Her breath hitched.
He blinked once, his lips parting as if realizing his mistake. “Both of you,” he added quickly, his gaze flicking away just briefly before returning to hers. “I'm glad you’re both safe.”
Her eyes lingered on his face, scanning every inch of it. His jaw was tense. His gaze was too sharp. But there was something else there too—hesitation.
Her chest tightened again, but it wasn’t from hurt this time. It was warmth. Quiet, steady warmth.
“Me too,” she said softly, her eyes still on him. Her voice was gentle. Honest.
The air between them grew quiet again, but it wasn’t the awkward kind of silence. It was the kind that settles in when everything that needs to be said has already been spoken.
Her eyes flicked to the stars once more, but her gaze didn’t stay on them for long. It drifted back to him. His profile caught in the soft glow of lantern light. The sharp edge of his nose, the line of his jaw, the faint crease of concentration on his brow.
He was handsome.
Her breath hitched slightly at the realization. When had she noticed that?
“Thank you,” she said softly, not entirely sure why she was thanking him, but the words felt right. He deserved to hear it.
His gaze flicked to her, his eye narrowing just slightly, like he was trying to read the meaning behind her words. But he didn’t question it.
Instead, he shifted closer to her, his gaze locked on hers. Slowly, carefully, he reached out his hand.
Her brows furrowed in confusion, her lips parting just slightly as she watched him. What is he doing?
But then he gently took her hand in his. Careful. Deliberate. Unrushed. His calloused fingers brushed over her knuckles, his touch warm but firm.
Her breath caught. Her heart stuttered in her chest.
His gaze didn’t leave hers as he turned her hand, his thumb brushing over the back of it. Slow. Precise. Like he was memorizing it.
Then, slowly, he lifted her hand to his lips.
Her heart stopped. Her breath caught.
His lips pressed softly, lightly, against her knuckles. Not rushed. Not hurried. Gentle. Purposeful.
He lingered just a moment longer than necessary. Just long enough for her breath to hitch. Just long enough for the warmth to flood her chest.
His eye flicked up to meet hers as he lowered her hand. He didn’t let go right away.
“Good night, Lady Celeste,” he murmured softly, his voice low and smooth like silk brushing over steel. There was no mockery. No jest. Only sincerity.
Her lips parted, her heart still thudding wildly in her chest. Her breath felt too sharp. Too fast.
“Good night, Prince Aemond,” she said softly, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.
He lingered just a moment longer, his gaze still on her face. Then, slowly, he released her hand.
She watched as he rose to his feet, his gaze lingering on her for just a second more before he turned and walked away. His silver hair caught the soft glow of the lantern light, his stride as deliberate and precise as ever.
Her gaze stayed on him, her hand still resting on her lap where he’d left it.
Her fingers curled into a fist, her breath slow and steady as she tried to push down the warmth rising in her chest.
Too late. It was already there.
She glanced up at the stars once more, her lips curling into a faint smile.
“The Fox,” she whispered.
Her gaze shifted to the path where he’d left.
“Always just out of reach.”