Chapter 7:Silent Deals and Shadowed Loyalties

The heavy doors of the palace slammed shut behind Lucius's family as they stepped into their grand carriage, their practiced smiles melted the moment they were out of sight. The illusion of grace and obedience they had worn inside the palace fell away like a discarded mask.

Lady Sutton, Lucius's mother, exhaled sharply, almost a growl, as she threw herself back against the velvet seat, her fingers trembling around the handle of her jeweled fan. She waved it furiously, not for air, but as if trying to shake off the indignity that clung to her skin like filth. Her face, always immaculately composed, twisted in visible rage.

"That woman..." she hissed through clenched teeth, "...thinks the sun itself needs her permission to rise." Her voice was bitter, venomous, each word spat out like a curse.

Across from her, Lucius's father sat stiffly, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual. Years of bowing, planning, and quiet survival had carved permanent exhaustion into his face. He leaned back slowly, with his eyes closed for a beat too long, as if trying to forget where they'd just been.

"Ever since she married Quilan, she's been unbearable," he said, his voice gravelly, low, heavy with resignation. "King's son or not, she was nothing before this. And she hasn't earned what she's been given. Not truly."

"Grace?" Lucius muttered with a hollow laugh, his gaze locked on the carriage floor. "She doesn't know the meaning of it. In her mind, she already wears the crown."

He looked up with his jaw tight and eyes sharp. There was no amusement in his voice now. No sarcasm, just disgust.

Silence thickened inside the carriage. The wheels clattered steadily beneath them, but it did nothing to ease the storm building in the cramped space. The flickering lanterns above painted shifting shadows across their faces, each one hardened by frustration, calculation, and a bitter sense of powerlessness.

Lady Sutton sat upright suddenly, her fan stilling in her lap. Her voice dropped into something colder. "I have smiled through worse than this. But make no mistake, if she thinks we'll kneel forever, she's mistaken."

Lucius's father opened his eyes, his tone colder and more strategic now. "We can't move against her. Not now. She's dangerous, and she knows it. She's smart enough to weaponize Quilan's affection and foolish enough to believe it'll protect her. Our best move is patience. We stay close, we stay quiet. And above all, we stay useful."

Lady Sutton's lips tightened, and she gave a single, reluctant nod. Her pride burned, but she wasn't a fool. "Better to bow to a tyrant than be forgotten entirely."

Lucius looked out the carriage window, his reflection staring back at him, tired, angry, and haunted. "And better still to be on the winning side. Even if it means bleeding for it."

Outside, the moonlight turned the road silver. The trees blurred past, casting long, skeletal shadows that crawled across the glass. His fingers curled against his thigh as he bit down the resentment that sat like acid in his throat. Vivian had smiled at him tonight, sweetly, like a snake waiting to strike.

None of them trusted her. But they couldn't defy her. Not yet.

The carriage rattled into the dark, the silence inside it thick with schemes unsaid and fury unspent. Behind them, the palace gleamed under the night sky, a throne room ruled not by a queen, but by a woman with ambition sharper than any blade.

And in that quiet fury, Lucius's family rode on, cloaked in loyalty, but stewing in something far more dangerous, resentment.

The next night, on the outskirts of the village, Celeste sat quietly outside what was left of their battered home. The air was cold and damp, thick with the scent of wet soil and rotting wood. Her arms clung tightly around her knees as she stared out into the darkness. Her eyes, dry from too much crying and too little sleep, stayed fixed on nothing. Her thoughts were restless and cruel. What would they eat tomorrow? Would Vivian's guards return? Would they survive the winter?

The cottage behind her, once warm and filled with laughter, was now a cracked skeleton of what it had been. Smoke barely rose from the hearth anymore, and the roof sagged at the edges, defeated. Every broken corner screamed of loss, of how quickly life had crumbled.

Above her, the stars blinked in silence. Cold, far away and unmoved by human suffering. The wind brushed past her face, carrying the lonely sounds of the night, dry leaves dragging across the ground, distant howls, and the faint flutter of wings. Each sound pulled her nerves taut.

Then came footsteps. Soft and measured.

She froze. Her body went rigid, with her heart thudding in her chest. Was it one of Vivian's men? A thief?

"Celeste," a familiar voice called gently from the shadows.

She gasped and turned. Relief flooded her chest.

Tristan.

He stepped into view, the moonlight catching the edges of his dark cloak. His face, half-shadowed, looked drawn and tired, but his eyes were steady. In his hands, he carried a small bundle wrapped in cloth. The smell hit her before he even reached her, inside it were roasted meat, warm bread and spices. Her stomach ached at the scent.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, glancing nervously at the crooked door behind her. "If someone sees you..."

He shrugged, stepping closer and holding out the bundle. "I needed to know you'd eaten. After everything that's happened, I couldn't just... walk away."

She hesitated only a second before reaching for it. The warmth of the food bled into her fingers, chasing away some of the cold that had taken up residence in her bones. Her hands shook.

"Thank you," she murmured, voice thick. The gratitude in her chest burned. "And... thank you for yesterday too. It meant more than you know."

He tilted his head, confused. "Yesterday?"

"The food you sent... it was you, wasn't it?" she asked quickly, brushing a tear away with the back of her hand.

Tristan paused. His brows drew together. " "I... I. I thought maybe you hadn't received anything since I heard nothing."

He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable. He shifted his stance, staring at the dirt between them.

"Well," he added with an awkward half-smile, "you've got this now."

Celeste nodded, hugging the bundle tighter. The smell was almost too much. She hadn't eaten since morning, barely anything then. Her throat was tight with emotion, but her smile was real this time, even if it was small.

"Thank you," she said again, voice trembling. "For coming. For thinking of us."

Tristan opened his mouth, but no words came out. Something flickered across his face, regret, guilt, and something heavier, his feelings for her. He looked like he wanted to say everything all at once but couldn't find a place to start.

A sudden creak broke the moment.

The broken front door pushed open. Celeste turned, with her heart jumping into her throat.

Her father stood in the doorway, half-lit by the weak glow of the hearth behind him. His face was hard, his mouth pressed into a thin line. The shadows behind him stretched long and sharp. His eyes locked onto Tristan, and in them was a flood of things unspoken, fear, warning, and the deep weariness of a man who had lost too much.

Celeste's breath caught. She clutched the bundle tighter, as if it might shield her from what was coming. Her father said nothing, but his presence said it all: This isn't safe. This can't happen.

Tristan straightened instantly. The easy posture vanished. His shoulders squared, and he gave a respectful nod, but it was clear, he wasn't welcome here. Not in this moment, not with her father watching.

The door groaned again as the wind picked up. It slid through the cracks in the walls, whispering warnings none of them dared voice aloud.

The three of them stood in silence, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down like a storm about to break.

And still, no one moved.

Inside the modest dwelling, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken words. The flickering flames of the hearth cast dancing shadows on the walls, illuminating the worn faces of Celeste's family. Her mother sat silently,with her hands clasped tightly in her lap,and knuckles white from the pressure. 

Celeste's father finally broke the silence, his voice gravelly. "We appreciate your kindness, Prince Tristan. But your presence here puts us all at risk."

Tristan nodded solemnly. "I understand. I meant no harm. I only wished to ensure your well-being."

Her father sighed, the weight of their circumstances evident in his posture. "Intentions, no matter how noble, can have dire consequences in these times."

Celeste stepped forward, with her voice steady. "Father, Tristan has shown us compassion when few others have. We mustn't forget that."

Her father's gaze softened slightly as he looked at his daughter. "I know, child. But we must tread carefully."

Tristan took a step back, sensing the need to depart. "I will take my leave. Please, stay safe."

As he turned to go, Celeste's voice stopped him. "Tristan."

He looked back, meeting her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, with her voice filled with emotion and eyes teary.

He offered a small smile before disappearing into the night, the shadows swallowing him whole.

Back in the palace, Vivian stood by a grand window, gazing out at the moonlit gardens. The goblet gifted by Lucius's family rested on a nearby table, its golden surface gleaming in the candlelight.

A soft knock at the door broke her reverie. "Enter," she commanded.

A servant stepped in, bowing low. "My lady, the preparations are underway as per your instructions."

Vivian nodded, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "Excellent. Ensure everything proceeds without delay."

The servant bowed again before exiting, leaving Vivian alone with her thoughts.

She picked up the goblet, studying its intricate designs. "Soon," she whispered to herself, "everything will fall into place."

The flames from the candles flickered, casting a warm glow that contrasted sharply with the cold determination in her eyes.