“Hey, Prim?

  Nothing that scares me has really changed.

  I just don’t want to lose what I have now.

  So maybe I’m the one changing.

  I think I’m lucky…

  to still be afraid of losing something.”

  I stare blankly at a decorated mural, depicting a colossal serpent coiled around a host of smaller animals. I don’t even try to think about what it might mean.

  The truth is, I don’t think my body has ever felt this relaxed before.

  I let out a long breath and slump back into my seat—legless, low to the floor, yet unmistakably a chair all the same. It’s oddly comfortable.

  My gaze drifts down to the white robes I’ve been given, fingers brushing the fabric with careful disbelief. Sunsilk. I can hardly believe they let me wear something like this.

  I scoff softly as my head tilts to rest against my shoulder.

  Just this one robe is probably worth more than everything I own.

  Haah… thinking feels like such a chore right now.

  “Oh, I’m keepin’ this,” Veil mutters behind me.

  “You can’t do that,” Cinna pleads in a hushed tone. “We’re guests—it’s not right.”

  I twist in my seat to look at them, and immediately feel myself melt.

  Veil looks sharp. Clean-shaven. His usual windswept hair is neatly combed back, and the rich black robes lend him an almost princely air—if a distinctly grumpy one.

  Cinna stands just behind him. The ribbons are gone from her hair, combed straight and pristine, the white robes draping her frame so delicately she looks like a porcelain doll brought to life.

  “Bring these back wi’ us,” Veil insists under his breath. “Each one o’ these’d keep a night kitchen runnin’ for a whole year. A full year.”

  Cinna only frowns.

  She steps past him, quickening her pace, and locks eyes with me. A soft smile crosses her face before she settles into the seat beside mine, as she always does. Veil follows with a quiet grumble, dropping into place after her.

  “No, thank you—no, no, please, I insist. Yes. Thank you.”

  Ulric’s voice carries in from beyond the paper door, polite to the point of strain—clearly negotiating with a servant.

  Moments later, he steps inside.

  He looks… refreshed, somehow. Broad chest bare, horns polished to a sheen, robes tied awkwardly around his waist like an afterthought.

  He halts when the three of us turn to stare at him.

  “What?” he grunts. “They didn’t have my size. Had to convince ’em not to call a bloody tailor.”

  He moves to sit beside Veil, who immediately gives him a once-over.

  “I hadn’t expected… the massages,” I say, still drifting somewhere between thoughts. “Gods, I think I’ve only had one before. A birthday joke from my co-workers at the Lyceum.”

  “It was lovely,” Cinna says brightly. “I’ve never had anyone wash my hair before. I could get used to that.”

  I chuckle with her. “Yeah… the soaps they use here are incredible.”

  “I’m nickin’ those once everyone’s asleep,” Veil mutters.

  Cinna answers with a sharp slap to his thigh. I can’t help but laugh.

  The paper door slides open again.

  Soft footsteps approach, and a tall, clean-shaven Altari man takes a seat not far from me. Blonde hair neatly trimmed and combed back, posture straight, hands clasped beneath the table. There’s a quiet melancholy to his expression.

  I stare at him for a long moment.

  Another guest…?

  The others glance his way as well. Catching my look, he turns and offers a gentle smile.

  Ah.

  “Kiereth…?” I ask tentatively.

  “Yes, Imone?” he replies serenely.

  “Bloody hell,” Ulric laughs from the far end. “You’re not even Lucius’ age.”

  “Ought t’ speak younger,” Veil adds with a snicker. “Otherwise folk’ll keep callin’ you an old man.”

  “Haha… it is so, yes,” Kiereth answers, smile unbroken.

  Ulric looks around. “Now where’s—”

  As if on cue, the door opens once more.

  A woman enters, gaze lowered. She moves slowly, a servant close behind, carefully combing her long white hair. Her posture is straight, hands folded neatly over her abdomen, every motion composed—attended to as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

  But her expression—

  I focus on her face. Pale. Still. Devoid of color, of energy. An impassive visage that would give anyone pause.

  That doesn’t last.

  She meets my gaze.

  Her ears perk up as if sparked to life, and in the next instant she skips toward me, leaving the startled servant scrambling after her, the comb slipping from their fingers.

  She plops down beside me, smiling just like always, tail swishing happily.

  I hear faint giggles from my left.

  “Imo looks pretty.” The compliment slips from her lips without hesitation.

  “You too,” I reply. “You look like a natural.” I’m too relaxed to dwell on the warmth blooming in my chest.

  Her smile falters—just for a heartbeat—as a faint trace of sadness crosses her features.

  Footsteps sound behind me once more. A group of local performers moves onto a nearby stage, carrying instruments I’ve never seen before. They arrange themselves with careful precision: a loose circle of shallow drums, a long, slender stringed instrument laid across its stand, and a tall, curved wind instrument that rests against the floor, its length rising to meet the player’s lips.

  Before they begin, Teshan strides into the room and takes a seat opposite us at the table.

  “I trust our facilities have met your standards?” he asks, gesturing lightly toward a nearby servant.

  “Far above them, uh—sir,” Ulric replies, a hint of awkwardness creeping into his voice.

  Teshan holds his calm smile for a moment longer. As the servant steps forward to pour tea, he continues.

  “After tea, I will personally escort you through the gardens, where you will partake of the finest local wine.”

  He inclines his head. The servant bows and withdraws. Moments later, the performers begin to play—a slow, soothing melody that settles into the room like a held breath.

  “Master Teshan.”

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  Kiereth speaks his name with quiet urgency, startling even Teshan, who responds with a measured bow.

  “Will Lady Nodo be joining us tonight?”

  The question visibly sours him. Teshan’s shoulders tense, his eyes closing briefly.

  “Nodo-Ren is… indisposed,” he says at last, tone dry. After a beat, he exhales and restores his composure. “Now, if you will—”

  “May I beseech you for a moment of her time?”

  Kiereth bows deeply, head lowered. Teshan’s jaw tightens.

  “I—I would also like to speak with her,” I add quickly, grasping for a reason. “To offer my blessings.”

  That seems to defuse him. Teshan leans back slightly, releasing a long breath.

  “Very well,” he says. “But be mindful—men may not approach Nodo-Ren so close to the ceremony.”

  He gestures to another servant.

  “I will keep a respectful distance,” Kiereth says at once, lifting his head, relief clear in his expression. “Thank you, Master Teshan.”

  “Let us know how that goes,” Ulric adds with a tired smile, clearly not intending to follow.

  I glance at Cinna—she’s squinting at Veil, who is eyeing an especially fine teacup with far too much interest.

  I look to Cattleya.

  There’s that smile again. No need to ask.

  A servant approaches, and we rise.

  “Please guide our guests to Nodo-Ren’s chambers,” Teshan instructs. “Ensure her needs are properly met.”

  She bows and leads us onward.

  We follow her through a long corridor, then up a flight of stairs—into a lavish sitting room overflowing with exotic flowers and layered textiles—only to climb another staircase beyond it. By the time we’re guided into yet another opulent chamber, I’ve lost all sense of how many floors we’ve ascended.

  Cattleya takes it all in with easy calm, breathing in the scents, relaxed as ever.

  Then we see her.

  Small. Delicate. Pale patches of serpentine scales shimmer softly along her skin in the candlelight. She lounges against a large cushion, posture unguarded, eyes fixed on a bamboo contraption beside her.

  Water slowly fills the hollowed length of the bamboo until, with a soft clack, it tips forward, spilling into a stone basin below—then swings back again, empty and waiting. The sound echoes gently through the chamber, steady and hypnotic.

  She watches it as if nothing else exists.

  I stand awkwardly before her, unnoticed—Cattleya at my side, Kiereth several paces behind. After a moment, I draw a steady breath and lower myself to the floor. Cattleya follows at once, settling beside me.

  “Lady…” I hesitate. “Nodo… Ren?” I try, gently.

  That finally breaks her focus. She blinks and turns toward me, confusion flickering across her face—no recognition at all. I force a smile anyway.

  “We wished to offer our blessing,” I say carefully. “For your… marriage.”

  The silence stretches.

  What am I supposed to do in a moment like this?

  Touch her hand?

  Bow deeper?

  Say something wiser?

  Instead of answering, the pressure builds again. Her gaze drifts past me—toward Kiereth. Searching.

  “…Do you remember who I am?” he asks quietly, stepping forward but keeping his distance.

  “The memory may have faded,” he continues, hands clasped tightly behind his back, “but the feeling… it should still remain.”

  Nodo recoils. Her hands fly to her chest.

  “I’ve never…” Her voice is soft, almost frightened. “I’ve never seen any of you before.”

  “It’s me,” Kiereth says—and then stops, as if the words themselves resist him. His brow furrows, his breath catches.

  “Kihiro.”

  The name lands like an arrow.

  Nodo’s eyes widen. She clutches herself tighter, turning away from us as though shielding herself from harsh light.

  “I don’t… I don’t know that name.”

  That was a lie.

  I’m certain of it.

  I glance back at Kiereth. He isn’t confused. He’s deadly serious.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, stepping in before the moment fractures further. “We should start with introductions.”

  I incline my head. “I’m Imone. And this is Cattleya.”

  At her name, Cattleya’s tail shoots straight up. I bite back a smile and refocus.

  “We’ll be attending your ceremony tomorrow,” I continue softly. “I only wished to thank you for your hospitality—and to wish you happiness.”

  Nodo looks at us again, hesitant. Another brief glance toward Kiereth—then she turns fully to face me and bows, precise and practiced.

  “…Your words honor the union,” she says. Her voice is quiet, distant, but trained. “I receive them with gratitude.”

  I return the bow, then let a beat pass—just long enough to feel respectful, not awkward.

  “If it’s not too forward,” I add gently, “may I ask… do you enjoy the gardens here?”

  She blinks, surprised by the question, as though I’ve asked something obvious. After a moment, she glances aside and nods.

  “…Yes,” she says quietly. “They were always pretty. But Teshan had them remade with… my favorite flowers.”

  Her voice fades toward the end, barely more than a whisper.

  The pressure I felt before is gone.

  Had I imagined it?

  “That was kind of him,” I say softly. Then, after a pause, “We were invited to visit the gardens later. He’ll be guiding us… would you like to join?”

  I resist the urge to glance back and see what expression Kiereth is wearing.

  Nodo looks at me again, curiosity flickering across her face. She considers the invitation for a moment, then nods.

  “…It will be cold outside,” she says. “I must change first.”

  She shifts, preparing to stand.

  I move first, rising quickly and offering her my hand. “Please—allow me.”

  She looks up at me, weighing the gesture. After a moment, she accepts, fingers closing around mine as she rises with practiced grace.

  Her hand is delicate. Slender. Careful.

  And yet—I feel nothing.

  When my hand touches Kierthred’s, there’s always something—a resonance, a pull.

  Here, there’s only absence.

  Am I doing something wrong?

  Or is she… simply not the same as us?

  Nodo steps past me, then pauses to glance back at the servant who guided us here. The woman inclines her head, and Nodo follows her up the stairs without another word.

  I let out a slow breath and turn toward Kiereth.

  He hasn’t moved. Still as stone, eyes tracking her ascent.

  “Heeey,” I say gently, closing the distance. “You alright?”

  His expression shifts at once, smoothing into a polite smile.

  “My apologies, Imone,” he says, dipping his head. “That outburst was… unbecoming.”

  “It’s fine,” I reassure him, tilting my head with a smile. “Nothing happened. And she’s meeting us later.”

  I hesitate, then add, “Though… I did touch her hand. When I helped her up. I didn’t feel anything.”

  His brow furrows deeply.

  “You remember when I mentioned meeting four others of our kind?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “She was one of them,” he continues. “Years and years ago. Before this settlement was ever called Yunhai.”

  I scoff, half-laughing. “Careful saying things like that. People’ll keep calling you an old man, Kier.”

  He doesn’t smile.

  My shoulders drop.

  “…How old are you?”

  He exhales, visibly steadying himself, then offers me a mild, practiced smile.

  “That is a discussion for another time,” he says gently. “We should rejoin your friends for the visitation, yes?”

  I nod.

  As I turn, I spot Cattleya nearby. She’s been there the whole time—quiet, observant. No judgment. No questions. Just listening.

  I feel my smile widen without meaning to.

  “Come on,” I say. “We need to let the others know the princess is joining us.”

  Cattleya’s smile mirrors mine as she nods enthusiastically.

  We turn toward the stairs, and I glance back to make sure Kiereth is following.

  He is—but something is wrong.

  His eyes glow a pale, unfamiliar gold. An intense aura radiates from him, sharp and furious, so sudden it prickles my skin and raises goosebumps along my arms.

  “…Aeris?” I ask, tentative.

  His head snaps toward me.

  The change is instant. The golden light fades, his eyes returning to their familiar green, the pressure collapsing in on itself as if it was never there at all.

  He exhales, smooths his expression, and falls in behind me without a word.

  I flinch, then let it go. Like he said… a discussion for another time.

  The descent is silent, broken only by the sound of running water and the steady clack of bamboo somewhere above.

  The evening visit to the gardens passes without incident.

  Teshan seems delighted by Nodo’s presence—perhaps, in his eyes, I did him a favor. It’s hard to say. The others are content with wine and lantern-lit paths, admiring the flowers and the careful symmetry of it all.

  I can’t stop watching Kiereth.

  He stays close to my side, posture rigid, as if holding himself together through sheer will. His gaze never leaves her—not once.

  I want to help him—but… how?

  Were they close—

  in that way?

  She’s getting married. Is that what’s doing this to him?

  Or is it because of the whole… touch, the shared sensation I couldn’t feel?

  I sigh quietly. I’ve never done that before. If something went wrong, it must have been me.

  When the night finally draws to a close, we’re escorted to separate, lavish rooms.

  My chest tightens when I see Cattleya’s expression—her usual bright smile gone as she’s guided away, tail low and tucked close to her legs.

  Inside my room, my pack rests neatly beside a table. My clothes are folded with care, freshly laundered.

  They really are spoiling us.

  I linger for a moment, considering my pajamas—then let my hand trail over the fabric of the robe instead.

  Under normal circumstances, I’d never sleep in something this expensive, but—

  I retrieve my book and settle onto the large mattress. It’s even bigger than the one we shared not long ago.

  I exhale slowly and open the book.

  For the first time since leaving the tower, I’m truly alone.

  Just me.

  …And somehow, it aches.