the palace
Tonight is not my night.
The exhaustion clings to me like a second skin, heavy and unrelenting. I haven’t slept properly in days, and last night’s encounter with Teon and Flor left me frayed at the edges. My limbs drag, and my stomach twists with hunger—I barely managed to choke down a piece of dry bread before stumbling to the palace for lessons.
"We'll start again with these later"
Morac points to the two telescopes he brought for today's lessons, on the stars. He first explained to us all the meanings of what the stars can indicate for a kingdom, a battle, or a propitious period; while after that we'll do the practical part where we'll actually look at them. I can't wait.
"Now you're free, I'll see you later."
Now, as Morac dismisses us, I rise slowly from the grassy clearing, my muscles stiff from sitting too long. The promise of stargazing later is the only thing keeping me upright. I love the stars—their cold, distant light, the way they map stories across the sky.
But first, I need food. And talking to Jude. Preferably both at once.
I fold my blanket with mechanical precision, tucking it under my arm alongside my lunchbox. The thought of Jude and Taryn waiting in their usual spot spurs me forward, but I take the long way, through the palace’s outer porticos instead of the gardens.
If I’m going to navigate Flor’s demands, I need to know the layout of this place. The princess’s quarters must be somewhere in the labyrinth of corridors, though no one bothered to give me directions. Typical.
Elowyn also never told me that being part of her circle has to be a secret, but for now I prefer that no one knows until I can figure out what situation I've gotten myself into.
The portico’s arched walkway stretches before me, moonlight filtering through the ivy-choked columns. My footsteps echo faintly on the worn stone, until another set joins them.
Valerian emerges from the garden path like a shadow given form, his blonde hair mussed, his grin sharp enough to cut. My stomach clenches.
I consider turning back, but if he’s here, Jude and Taryn can’t be far. I keep walking.
Once we're close, Valerian steps in front of me, blocking my path.
I sidestep; he mirrors me. Again. His smile doesn’t waver.
"Do you need something?"
I ask, gripping my lunchbox.
"From you?" He scoffs. "Of course not."
"Will you let me through then?"
"Are you looking for Cardan?"
His tone is light, almost friendly—which is worse, because Valerian is never friendly.
"I’m not."
"I could take you to him."
He offers spreading his hands in mock chivalry. I don't need his company to go anywhere, and I'm not even looking for Cardan so this doesn't make sense.
"I said I'm not looking for him. And I don’t need an escort, thanks."
I say, gripping the handle of my lunchbox.
The change is instantaneous. His posture slackens into something more familiar.
"Yet I know you spend your time fantasizing about him. As if you were hanging on his... lips."
My pulse stutters. Now, this is Valerian. The realization must flicker across my face, because his grin widens.
"I could take you to him"
he repeats, slower now, savoring each word,
"but I don’t think you’ll get any response from him. His mouth seems...occupied at the moment. Though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind an audience."
I force my breath steady. Whatever he's insinuating, I have no intention of giving him any credence, I know him well enough to know he's provoking me with this.
"How kind of you" I say flatly.
"But I’m really just looking for Jude and Taryn."
Valerian’s laugh is a low, unpleasant sound.
"Suit yourself."
He steps aside, but his eyes never leave mine.
"the weeping willows are behind the flowerbed."
I brush past him without another word, my jaw clenched so tight it aches, my shoulders rigid.
Only when I'm well beyond his line of sight do I realize I've been holding my breath. The lunchbox handle has left angry red welts across my palm.
Somewhere beyond the garden walls, a crow caws - a harsh, mocking sound that follows me all the way to the willows.
The clearing's dappled shadows make navigation difficult as I search for the rose bushes. Why would Jude and Taryn choose such a secluded spot? Maybe to avoid being bothered by others, I can understand them if that was their reasoning honestly, though it makes them frustratingly hard to find.
Brambles claw at my skirts as I push forward, their thorns catching the delicate fabric. At first I think I've escaped damage, but when I reach down to check, the basket slips from my grasp. In my frantic attempt to catch it while still holding my torn hem,
A sharp sound—fabric tearing.
I stop. My stomach sinks.
I reach for the bottom of my skirt, fingers trembling as I lift the fabric for a better look.
Looking down, I see the damage - a long gash running all the way up to my right thigh.
"Fuck."
The word slips out, half a whisper, half a breath of sheer frustration.
Exasperated, I take a deep breath and straighten. The tear is already done, nothing I can do about it now. I scoop up my lunchbox, gripping it tightly to keep from throwing it at the nearest tree in annoyance.
Jude and Taryn owe me a new dress. This was one of my favorites, the pale blue silk always made me feel like a summer sky.
With an irritated huff, I trudge forward, weaving through the trees until I finally spot two figures seated on a rock beneath the sweeping canopy of a willow tree.
I slow, squinting.
It’s darker under the branches, the leaves rustling softly in the breeze. I can’t make out their faces, but something feels…off.
Jude and Taryn should be talking, arguing, laughing—something. But they’re silent. Too silent.
A prickling unease settles over me.
I take two more steps before realization washes over me like cold water. Those aren't my friends.
The figures aren’t sitting apart. They’re pressed together. I've stumbled upon something private. Again. It's the second time now.
I immediately take a slow step back, willing my presence to disappear. Then comes the betraying crunch of a dried leaf beneath my boot.
My breath catches. Shit.
I whip my gaze toward them, heart hammering. Silence.
Thank the stars. The last thing I need is to be branded a voyeur.
Back in the clearing's proper light, I examine my dress again. The tear mocks me, its jagged edges a reminder of this disastrous detour. Gia might work miracles with a needle, but I already dread Flor's inevitable commentary about "proper decorum".
"Lili!"
Jude's voice cuts through the clearing's quiet. I turn to see her waving from beneath a slender birch tree, where Taryn sits delicately nibbling a sandwich. Sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling their picnic with shifting gold patterns.
I approach, my torn skirt whispering against the grass.
"What are you doing here?"
The question escapes before I can stop it.
Taryn pauses mid-bite, crumbs dusting her lap.
"What do you mean? We have class here."
Her brow furrows as she gestures to their spread of books and food.
"Yes, but—"
My hand flutters toward the bramble-choked path I'd just emerged from. The realization hits like cold water. Valerian.
I should have realized that his directions were not to find my friends. Now I wonder who the couple in the shadows was.
Jude's fingers suddenly pluck at my damaged hem.
"What happened to your dress?"
The silk tears further under her inspection with a sound like cracking ice.
"I should thank our dear friend Valerian."
I sink onto the grass beside them, setting my basket down with deliberate care. The juice bottle clinks sharply against the wicker as I pull it out.
Taryn's sandwich hovers forgotten near her lips.
"Him? What did he do?"
"He made me believe you were by the weeping willows."
The cap twists off with an angry jerk.
"So I fought through brambles for nothing."
The tart juice does little to wash away my irritation.
Jude snorts, breaking off a hunk of bread and thrusting it at me.
"You should've known something was wrong immediately."
Her eyes dart meaningfully toward the hidden grove.
"Only those who don't want to be seen go there, like couples. "
The bread turns to dust in my mouth. Valerian's knowing smirk flashes in my memory—his emphasis on Cardan's "occupied" mouth. My stomach plummets as the pieces click together.
The willows. The entwined figures. Valerian's particular brand of cruelty.
"Yeah, well, I did realize something was wrong."
I grumble, swallowing.
"Unfortunately, it was after I nearly walked in on someone sucking face in the dark."
Taryn chokes on her bite of sandwich.
Jude raises an eyebrow. "Wait. Who?"
I shake my head.
"I don’t know. It was too dark to see, and honestly, I didn’t stick around to get a better look."
I take another sip of juice, still annoyed.
"Valerian probably knew exactly what he was doing when he sent me there."
Jude scowls. "He’s such a—"
"A bastard." I finish for her.
"A walking plague." Jude mutters.
I smile despite my irritation.
"All very accurate."
Taryn sets her sandwich down.
"You don’t think—?" She glances between Jude and me meaningfully.
I blink. "What?"
"You don’t think it was Cardan, do you?"
Jude makes a face like she just bit into something rotten.
"Ew, Taryn. Really?"
Taryn shrugs. "I mean… it could be. We saw him near the roses talking to Anneth."
The thought crossed my mind. But I really don’t want it to now. It's not my business.
"Whatever"
I say, dismissing it with a wave of my hand.
"If it was him, then good for him. Not my problem."
Jude eyes me skeptically, but I ignore it. I rip off another piece of bread and focus on chewing it slowly.
Definitely not my problem.
The lunchtime chatter flows easily between us, from lamenting my ruined dress, to Taryn debating which ribbons might complement her new cream gloves, to Jude's impassioned description of her knightly ambitions. Their familiar voices wrap around me like a warm cloak.
Yet despite the comfort, my gaze keeps drifting back to that shadowed path leading to the willows. Every rustle of leaves makes my shoulders tense, though I couldn't say what I'm waiting for.
"I'm going to the bathroom for a second"
Taryn announces, brushing crumbs from her lap.
"I'll come with you"
I say, grateful for the excuse to move. The the astronomy lesson and upcoming etiquette lesson with Flor looms like storm clouds on the horizon.
Jude springs up with her usual efficiency.
"Okay, I'll come too."
We make quick work of gathering our things - folding blankets, securing lunchboxes, plucking stray bits of food from the grass. The simple chore feels comforting in its normalcy.
As we pass a particularly dense thicket on our return, Locke materializes from the shadows like some woodland spirit. His sudden appearance makes me jump, though his smile is all easy charm.
"Hey"
he greets us, the lanterns glinting off his red curls.
"Are you joining us today?" The question seems directed at me.
"No"
I reply, returning his smile.
"Just came to say hi." I gesture to the twins. "I'm heading back now."
"Too bad"
Locke sighs with exaggerated disappointment.
"That would've been fun."
"That's what I say."
Jude mutters beside me, her tone drier than the autumn leaves crunching underfoot.
"See you then." Locke calls as he saunters away, tossing over his shoulder
"Let me see you more often!"
We watch his retreating form until the trees swallow him whole.
"Is he always this friendly?"
I ask when he's safely out of earshot.
"Usually"
Taryn confirms with a small shrug.
Perhaps it's simply his nature - that effortless charm some people are born with, like birds meant to sing.
The clearing hums with returning students as I walk Jude and Taryn back to their lesson spot.
"See you"
I say, pulling Jude into a quick embrace. Taryn, already settled on the grass, offers me a warm smile and a flutter of her fingers in farewell.
Jude's grip tightens briefly before releasing me.
"Be careful on your way back."
Her eyes flick toward something over my shoulder.
A flicker of movement catches my eye - the distinctive curve of Nicasia's profile emerging from the others gathering. Jude's gaze darts from her to the figure at her side.
"I'm going now."
The words come out sharper than intended as I clutch my basket tighter. The torn skirt flaps against my thigh with each step, a humiliating reminder. The fewer people who see me like this, the better - I don't need more reasons to become gossip fodder.
My feet move faster than necessary along the winding path. Pebbles skitter under my hurried steps as if fleeing with me. From what, exactly? The answer prickles at the edges of my thoughts, but I refuse to examine it too closely.
By the time I reach Morac, my breathing has steadied. The class forms a loose circle around him, their faces upturned like flowers to the sun.
Morac lifts his head as I approach, his sharp gaze sweeping over me before returning to the telescope he’s adjusting.
“You’re late”
he says, though there’s no real reprimand in his tone.
I slow my steps, steadying my breath.
“Only by a little. I apologize.”
“Come. We’re about to begin.”
he counters, stepping back from the telescope.
I weave through my classmates, careful not to let the slit in my dress shift too much. I can already feel eyes on me—whether because of my tardiness or my appearance, I don’t know, and I don’t care to find out. Instead, I focus on the open sky above us, where the first traces of twilight stretch across the horizon, a canvas slowly filling with stars.
Morac gestures toward the telescope.
“Tonight, we study the constellations of power—the ones rulers consult before war, before coronation. The ones that foretell ruin or prosperity.”
A ripple of excitement runs through the group. Even I find myself leaning in slightly. The stars. The endless, unchanging stars. That's all that matters now.
The class turns out to be my favorite in a long time, if only we always did them like this. Stargazing is definitely more fun than talking about politics. Once the class is over I quickly gather my things and prepare to sneak through the building without anyone seeing me. Luckily no one seems to pay me much attention so it's not that hard.
I pack my notebook with uncharacteristic haste, the pages still smelling of night air and ink. Slipping through the palace corridors feels like navigating a dream; shadows stretch long in the late afternoon light, and my footsteps echo too loudly against the marble.
The outer porch offers little cover. I pause at the columns, scanning the courtyard. Asking directions would draw attention, so I turn down a lesser-used hallway instead - only to freeze at the familiar silhouette leaning against a window embrasure. I decide to keep going. He was turned away, maybe he didn't see me.
"I saw you."
His voice curls around me like smoke.
So much for stealth. Turning back, I dip into a curtsy.
"Your Highness."
His dark eyes drop to the ruined slit in my skirt.
"Is there a new trend I don't know about?"
"Indeed"
I say, fingers tightening around my basket.
"Thigh-high slits are quite fashionable in the Winter Court these days."
The lie tastes bitter - I'd rather have avoided this encounter entirely.
His gaze traces the tear's path with deliberate slowness, lingering where the fabric parts at my thigh before lifting to meet my eyes.
"There's a meeting tomorrow."
"Good."
The response is automatic. Why is he sharing his schedule with me?
"A carriage should pick you up after class"
Wait.
I blink.
"Meeting with who?"
"Me."
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
"Why?"
The question escapes before I can temper it.
"And I can't."
Flor's unspecified schedule hangs over me like a blade.
His smile turns razor-thin.
"Is the tradition of courting less important than your newly invented commitment?"
Yes. The answer burns my tongue, but I swallow it.
"I didn't invent it. I really have other things to do."
And presently being delayed by this very conversation.
"Are you trying to avoid me?"
The direct question sends my pulse skittering. The stone walls seem to lean closer, breathing in my hesitation.
"Huh? Why would I?"
My voice pitches slightly high, my gaze betraying me as it darts toward the exit.
Cardan's expression darkens like a cloud passing over the moon.
"You tell me"
his voice rich with false sweetness.
I sigh, shifting the basket in my hands.The wicker creaks in protest.
"I’m not avoiding you."
"Good" he says. "Then you’ll come."
"I can’t." I emphasize.
His gaze flickers.
“And now?”
"I can't either."
The words feel like pebbles in my mouth.
"You're really busy."
His tone drips with mock sympathy.
"Classes are over. What could possibly demand your attention?"
"It's personal."
"Ah, personal."
His smirk could flay skin from bone.
"How mysterious."
I bow shallowly, the motion making my torn skirt flutter.
"If that's all, I should go."
"Do try not to get lost on your way out the palace."
His feigned concern grates like broken glass.
"Or, if you must wander aimlessly, at least wear something less... distracting."
His ink-dark eyes trail down to the slit in my dress once more.
Heat hits up my neck.
"Then maybe don't look." I mutter.
His laughter follows me down the corridor, rich and dark as molasses.
"See you tomorrow"
I quicken my pace, focusing on the click of my boots against wood, the way my shadow stretches long before me.
The palace corridors seem to stretch endlessly, each turn revealing another identical hallway of wood, plants and gilded sconces. My fingers trail along the walls as I walk, counting doorways like a child marking steps in the woods. Just as I'm considering turning back, footsteps echo behind me.
"Lilia!"
Teon's voice rings out with false cheer. He emerges from a side chamber, his emerald-green jacket clashing violently with the roses climbing the wall.
"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Flor?"
"I don't know where her rooms are."
The admission sticks in my throat.
Teon's laughter bounces off the vaulted ceilings.
“Oh, this is precious."
His arm drapes across my shoulders like a heavy chain.
"I'll walk you there."
We pass through the doorway he came from, entering a narrower passage where the air smells of beeswax and dried petals. The white door at the end glows in the torchlight, its gold and red trim as precise as a playing card's border.
Flor's voice answers Teon's knock with a bored "Come in."
The chamber steals my breath - not just for its size (easily triple my own bedroom), but for how the very walls seem alive. Morning glory vines climb marble columns, their trumpet flowers glowing sapphire in the afternoon light. Wisteria drips from ceiling planters like frozen lavender waterfalls. It's less a room than a captured piece of the forest.
"Took you long enough."
Flor lounges in a black velvet armchair that might be carved from a single piece of night. Her robe is the purple of twilight with an almost transparent fur-lined robe cover, the sheer overlay catching light like spiderwebs after rain. When her gaze drops to my torn skirt, her nose wrinkles as if smelling something foul.
"And... is that a choice?"
I square my shoulders.
"I wasn't told where the princess' quarters were."
The statement covers both their failures neatly.
Teon's snicker curls through the perfumed air like smoke.
"You should have asked me sooner."
he says, stretching across a brocade chaise with feline grace. His smirk suggests he knows perfectly well he's the reason I wandered lost through half the palace.
Flor's fingers flutter like petals falling from a dying flower.
"Next time, don't squander my patience drifting about like a helpless lamb awaiting the wolf's mercy."
The silk of her robe whispers as she shifts, revealing slippers embroidered with what might be real spiderwebs dipped in silver.
I swallow my retort, letting my gaze travel across the room instead. It's excessive in a way that only fae royalty can pull off—velvet drapes, a golden-framed mirror taller than me, and delicate vases overflowing with fresh blooms. The air itself is thick with a floral scent.
"Well?"
Flor's voice cuts through my appraisal.
"Come here."
I step forward going in front of her.
Her nose wrinkles as she examines the damage and sighs dramatically.
"I suppose I can do something about it momentarily. But I do hope you plan to start presenting yourself as someone befitting this palace. You look like something the wind dragged in."
I grit my teeth. "Noted."
Teon plops down on a chaise like he owns the place, stretching out.
"She did have quite the journey, you know" he drawls. "Almost got devoured by the palace corridors. A real tragedy."
Flor's gaze slices past him, returning to me with surgical precision.
"Shall we see if you justify the effort, then. There's work to be done."
I straighten my spine. "What exactly are we doing?"
"Something of value."
Her smile blooms slow and poisonous.
"You lack refinement."
Her assessment falls like a headsman's axe.
"You sit with all the charm of a carved figure, your eyes glare too much, and your words should weave with no weight."
I arch a brow, the motion sharp enough to cut.
"Apologies, I didn't realize I was meant to be a decorative vase."
Flor's smile blooms like a nightshade flower—all poisonous beauty.
"A lovely little thing to place in a room" she purrs, "admired but never truly seen—until it suits you."
Her jeweled fingers tap against the armrest in a slow, deliberate rhythm that sets my teeth on edge.
I don't like the sound of that.
With a fluid gesture worthy of a queen, she indicates the space beside her.
"Sit."
I obey, not because I want to, but because resistance would only prolong this torture. The seat swallows me in velvet luxury, cool against my skin even through my dress. Every muscle stays taut, ready to spring.
Flor studies me with the detached interest of an artist considering where to make the first cut.
"If you seek to bloom within this circle"
she says, each word precise as a scalpel,
"you must learn to shed certain... undesirable traits."
"So I should be less me?"
Teon chuckles.
"She means less obvious."
"Precisely."
Flor's nails gleam like polished onyx as she gestures.
"Every glance, every syllable must be a choice, not a slip. You leave yourself far too exposed."
"And you're going to teach me how to... what? Act like one of you?"
Flor's smirk could etch glass. "Precisely."
I barely suppress a groan.
"So what's first? Do I have to practice bowing for hours until my knees give out? Memorize the appropriate order of utensils at a banquet?"
Teon's laughter rings out again, rich and musical.
"Oh, nothing so tedious."
He tilts his head.
"Not yet, anyway."
Flor, however, does not look amused.
"I'm going to teach you to move with purpose,"
she declares. The wisteria vines seem to lean closer as she speaks.
"To listen—truly listen—so that you may hear what is not being said. And you will learn to weave your own words so finely that others will have no choice but to hear them."
My spine stiffens.
"People listen to me."
"Do they truly?"
Flor's sculpted brow arches higher.
"Or are you merely passing amusement to them?"
My jaw locks, trapping any retort behind clenched teeth.
Teon leans in, close enough that I catch the bergamot and mischief clinging to him.
"And, of course you'll need to work on your... charm."
I narrow my eyes to slits.
"What exactly does that mean?"
Teon grins, all too pleased with himself.
"Oh, you know. The art of smiling just enough to disarm, of touching an arm at precisely the right moment, of making someone feel as though they are the only thing in the room worth looking at."
I wrinkle my nose.
"So you want me to flirt my way through court?"
Flor sighs as if I’ve just gravely disappointed her.
"Flirting is for fools. Charm is about control. It is the art of making others want to listen, to please you, to see you in the best possible light—all without realizing they are doing so."
The lesson isn't entirely unappealing, but the implications settle like lead in my stomach. This isn't social grace - it's calculated manipulation.
"Why all this?"
I twist in my seat to face her.
"What am I supposed to be? Some sort of spy?"
Flor's perfect face contorts in disgust, as if I've suggested she wallow in pigsty.
"Spies are graceless, clumsy things."
She flicks her fingers as though brushing away lint.
"They take by force what they lack the wit to obtain otherwise."
Drawing herself up to her full height, she looks down at me with those unnerving eyes.
"You now belong to the palace's most elite circle. When the princess takes her crown, you will stand among the courtiers in full right."
Her lips curl.
"We do not stoop to coarse trickery like them."
The way she says "them" makes it clear spies rank somewhere between cockroaches and mud in her estimation. I glance at Teon, who's watching our exchange with the delight of someone at a particularly entertaining play.
“Now, let's get started.”