Chapter 4: A Stranger’s Smile

The morning sun filtered through the high arched windows of the Citadel, casting fractured golden light across the marble floors. Lyra sat at the edge of the reflecting pool in the eastern garden, her veil fluttering gently in the breeze. The warmth of the day did nothing to ease the chill that had settled inside her since the previous night.

She dipped her fingers into the water, watching the ripples distort her reflection. Behind the veil, her eyes were distant, stormy. The silence Kael had warned her to uphold felt louder than ever, pressing in on her like a vice. It wasn't just about obedience anymore, it was survival. But even survival demanded a cost, and Lyra wasn't sure how much more she could give without losing herself.

Footsteps approached behind her, slow and deliberate. She didn't need to look to know it was Kael. His presence was always a subtle shift in the air, the way the world seemed to still for a breath around him.

"You didn't sleep," he said, not a question.

Lyra didn't answer at first. She traced a lazy circle in the water with one finger. "Does it matter if I did?"

Kael stopped a few feet away. "It does to me."

There was something in his tone, not soft, not quite hard. Careful. Guarded, the way he always was. Lyra looked up, catching the flicker of sunlight on the silver edge of the sword at his side. Always armed. Always watching.

"I couldn't," she said finally. "Not after last night."

Kael crouched beside her, silent for a moment as his gaze followed hers into the still pool. "Azrael's words?"

She nodded.

"They were meant to unsettle you. It's how he controls people, throgh fear."

Lyra let out a quiet laugh, brittle and humorless. "Then he succeeded."

Kael didn't try to argue. He simply watched her, his eyes sharp, searching. He seemed as if he wanted to say more, maybe offer comfort, or distraction, but something shifted behind them. A subtle change in the air. Voices. Footsteps.

He rose fluidly, his body tense. Lyra followed his gaze to the path beyond the roses, where two robed figures approached, and between them walked a third.

A stranger.

Tall, with raven-dark hair tied at the nape of his neck, he moved with the easy grace of someone who belonged anywhere and nowhere. His eyes, striking in their unusual hue of pale green, locked on Lyra the moment he saw her. He smiled.

And that smile was wrong.

Not because it was cruel. Not because it was threatening. It was wrong because it was too calm, too knowing. As if he saw her. Truly saw her. Not the veiled girl. Not the silent pawn. But something beneath it all.

Kael stepped in front of her instantly, his stance protective, his voice low. "Who is that?"

One of the robed figures bowed lightly. "A new guest, my lord. Lord Mavros, envoy from the Northern Court. He arrived unannounced this morning under High Ascended writ."

Lyra rose slowly, her gaze never leaving the stranger. Mavros. That name stirred something in her memory. She couldn't place it, but it tugged at something buried deep.

The stranger, Mavros, stopped a few feet away, hands folded behind his back. "I apologize if I've startled you," he said, his voice smooth as velvet. "I did not expect to find such... captivating company so early in the day."

Kael bristled.

Lyra tilted her head slightly, curious despite herself. "The Northern Court rarely sends envoys," she said, her voice measured. "And never without warning."

"Indeed," Mavros said with a faint smile. "But we live in unusual times, do we not?"

Kael stepped forward. "Your presence was not approved. You should return to the outer halls and wait for proper audience."

Mavros turned to Kael slowly, and though his smile remained, there was steel in his eyes now. "Forgive me, Prince Kael. I was under the impression that as a guest of the High Ascended, I had leave to walk the grounds."

Kael's jaw clenched. The title. He didn't like being addressed that way, not here, not when it reminded everyone that he was more than just a guard. That he was royalty in exile.

Lyra spoke before Kael could respond. "You're far from home, Lord Mavros. What brings you south?"

Mavros looked at her again, his gaze softening as if the world around them faded. "Curiosity, mostly. The North has heard whispers, rumors of flame and prophecy. I came to see if the whispers had a face."

The world seemed to still around them.

Kael stepped between them again. "That's enough."

But Mavros only raised a hand in mock surrender. "I meant no harm. Merely conversation. It's so rare to find someone in this court who doesn't speak in riddles and blood."

Lyra watched him carefully, her mind racing. There was something off about him, something that didn't quite match the surface he showed. His smile was polished, his words chosen, but underneath, she felt a strange pressure, as if he were testing her.

As if he were waiting for something.

Mavros bowed low. "I won't intrude further. But I do hope we speak again, Lady Vale. The silence surrounding you… it begs to be unraveled."

He turned and left with the robed escorts, his footsteps vanishing into the garden's far edge. Only once he was gone did Lyra exhale the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Kael turned to her, eyes burning with suspicion. "He knew your name."

"He knew more than that," she murmured, voice faint.

Kael nodded grimly. "He was probing you."

Lyra looked down at her reflection again, but now all she saw was rippling distortion—no clear shape, no solid truth. "He said the whispers had a face."

Kael's voice dropped to a whisper. "And if he believes you are that face, others will follow. This is what Azrael wanted. Pressure. Watching how you break."

"I won't break," Lyra said quietly.

Kael's expression softened. "No. But we need to be careful. No more wandering alone. Not even in the garden."

She nodded.

They started walking back toward the inner halls, the silence between them different now, less a rule, more a necessity. Still, Lyra couldn't help but glance once over her shoulder, back toward the place Mavros had disappeared.

His words lingered like smoke: The silence surrounding you... it begs to be unraveled.

And for the first time, Lyra wasn't sure if she feared that unraveling… or wanted it.