The soft light of dawn seeped through the thick emerald curtains of Charles’s room, painting the chamber in muted gold and green. Outside, the city of Mar’Vareen stirred, its sounds of distant waves and faint street chatter reaching the villa. Inside, however, the stillness was broken only by the faintest shuffle of footsteps.

Lisette Rienne, governess of House Marcellus, entered without ceremony. Her sharp eyes took in the disarray—books haphazardly piled on the writing desk, a half-eaten pastry forgotten on a silver tray, and Charles himself sprawled across the bed, his eyes barely open. He looked as though sleep had evaded him all night.

Her presence commanded attention, even in a room where her charge lay unkempt. Lisette carried herself with the elegance of her noble lineage, though it was a lineage long since fallen. Her dark brown hair, streaked with premature silver, was neatly pinned in a simple but dignified style. Green eyes, striking and intelligent, regarded the world with a mixture of reserve and shrewdness. Her long, high-collared gown of deep gray and forest green swept softly as she moved, every detail of her attire immaculate. Even her posture—a straight-backed, purposeful elegance—was a testament to her self-discipline and the quiet pride she carried, despite her station as a servant.

“Charles Marcellus,” she said, her clipped tone breaking the silence. “It’s nearly midmorning, and you are still abed. Do you expect the ceremony to wait on your leisure?”

Charles groaned, his arm flopping over his face as if to shield himself from her reprimand. “Lisette, please. I’d rather the ceremony wait for eternity and never happen at all.”

Her keen gaze softened slightly as she stepped closer, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes, the lines of exhaustion on his usually irreverent face. “You barely slept.” It wasn’t a question.

“Brilliant observation,” he muttered, his voice muffled by his arm.

Lisette clicked her tongue in disapproval, her voice shifting to a softer, though still authoritative, cadence. “A lack of sleep is no excuse for abandoning propriety, Charles. You know how important this day is—for you and for the family.”

“I know,” Charles said sharply, sitting up suddenly. His disheveled hair fell into his eyes, but he made no effort to fix it. He looked at her, his green eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and something deeper—fear, perhaps. “I just… I can’t handle it, Lisette. I wish it was someone else. Why couldn’t it be Cassian or Alessia? They’re better at everything anyway!”

The words spilled out in a rare moment of raw honesty, and they caught Lisette off guard. She opened her mouth to scold him but stopped, her sharp features softening. Instead, she reached out and smoothed the edge of the blanket that had fallen halfway to the floor.

“Charles,” she said carefully, her voice low, “the ceremony hasn’t happened yet. None of this is decided. You’re placing burdens on yourself that don’t even exist.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. His voice cracked slightly, the veneer of his usual bravado crumbling. “I know. I know I’m a mage. And not just any mage.”

Lisette froze, her hand stilling on the edge of the blanket. She studied him closely, the weight of his words settling like a stone in her chest. Charles, the household troublemaker, the boy who turned every lesson into a jest, spoke with an intensity she had never seen before.

“Why do you say that?” she asked, her tone quieter now. “Did you dream of something? Have a vision?”

Charles looked away, his gaze shifting toward the window. The light caught the edge of his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. “It wasn’t a dream,” he said finally, though he avoided elaborating.

Lisette straightened, clasping her hands in front of her. “Charles, listen to me. Whatever you believe—whatever you know—this is not something you face alone. You have your family, and you have me. This weight, whatever it is, does not rest solely on your shoulders.”

Her words hung in the air, but Charles didn’t reply. He simply stared at the sliver of the city visible through the window, his face unreadable.

Lisette stepped back, concern etched into her features. For the first time, she wasn’t sure how to handle him. The usual boyish charm, the mischief, even the stubborn defiance—none of it was present. What she saw instead was a young man teetering on the edge of something she couldn’t quite grasp.

“Get dressed,” she said finally, her tone soft but firm. “We’ll speak more later. For now, gather yourself. You have a part to play today, and it starts with showing the world the strength of a Marcellus.”

She turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Charles,” she added, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, “you’re stronger than you think.”

As the door clicked shut, Charles remained where he was, her words echoing in his mind. But they did little to ease the knot in his chest. I know I’m a mage, he thought again, his fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.

He clenched his fists, his shoulders trembling slightly. The realization that he couldn’t escape this truth was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Whatever destiny awaited him at the Starspire Chapel, it wouldn’t be an ordinary one.

The room remained heavy with silence after Lisette’s departure, her words echoing in Charles’s mind like faint ripples on still water. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands. You’re stronger than you think.

Charles wasn’t so sure. The weight of his suspicions, of what he might become, loomed over him, growing heavier with each passing moment. He had barely begun to process the conversation when the door creaked open again.

“Lisette said you were sulking,” came a soft, familiar voice.

Charles turned to see Lyra standing in the doorway, a hint of worry in her wide green eyes. The youngest Marcellus daughter, at sixteen, was a picture of youthful grace tempered by an almost preternatural sensitivity. Her auburn hair, soft curls framing her face, caught the morning light, and her pale pink dress gave her a serene, almost ethereal quality. But it was her expression—kind and open, yet laced with quiet determination—that made her presence comforting.

“Sulking?” Charles managed a dry laugh. “She always knows how to make it sound dignified.”

Lyra stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “She’s worried about you,” she said, crossing the room with light, deliberate steps. “So am I.”

“Worried?” Charles tilted his head, forcing a weak grin. “You’re the one with a suitor list longer than Ardella’s spell repertoire. Shouldn’t you be sulking?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Lyra gave him a look, equal parts amusement and exasperation, before sitting beside him on the bed. “Nice try, Charles, but you’re not deflecting this time. What’s going on?”

Charles hesitated, the tension in his chest tightening again. He wanted to brush her off, to make a joke, but the earnestness in her gaze made it impossible.

“I’m just… struggling,” he admitted finally. “The ceremony. The expectations. All of it. I feel like… like it’s all too much. Why couldn’t it be Cassian or Alessia? They’re better at this kind of thing.”

Lyra frowned, her delicate hands resting in her lap. “You really think that?” she asked softly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “Cassian’s the heir, the golden child who can do no wrong. Alessia could charm a dragon if it suited her. And me? I’m just the wildcard, the troublemaker, the one who gets by on luck and quick thinking. How am I supposed to be the one who carries the family?”

Charles remained silent as Lyra’s gaze lingered on him, her concern evident in the soft downturn of her lips. When he didn’t respond right away, she shifted closer, her green eyes searching his face.

“Charles,” she said gently. “You’re stronger than you think. Cassian and Alessia have their strengths, but they’ve already tried, and the ceremony showed they didn’t have magical talent. That’s not their fault, but it means the rest of us have to play our parts differently. And you?” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not just the wildcard of the family. You’re the one who can surprise everyone. Even yourself.”

Charles exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re just saying that because you have to. I’m your brother.”

“No,” she said firmly, her grip on his shoulder tightening ever so slightly. “I’m saying that because I’ve seen what you can do.”

He raised an eyebrow, his skepticism plain. “Really? When have I ever done anything that impressive?”

Lyra hesitated for a moment, as if deciding whether to share something deeply personal. Finally, she straightened and gave him a small, almost wistful smile. “Do you remember when I was eight, and that boy from House Veylan teased me at the spring festival? He called me a ‘useless little doll’—too delicate, too weak, and only good for looking pretty on a shelf.”

Charles blinked, the memory stirring faintly in the back of his mind.

Lyra laughed softly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I cried and ran away, and you found me hiding behind the garden maze. I didn’t even have to tell you what happened—you just knew. And before I could stop you, you marched right up to that boy and gave him the scolding of his life. I don’t think he knew what hit him.”

“Right.” Charles chuckled, recalling the scene more clearly now. “I told him that if he didn’t apologize, I’d convince Ardella to turn him into an actual doll and toss him in a fireplace.”

Lyra’s laugh was brighter this time, and she nodded. “Exactly. He practically tripped over himself apologizing. You didn’t care that he was older or that his family was more powerful than ours. You just… stood up for me. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

“That wasn’t exactly a life-or-death situation,” Charles said, his voice tinged with self-deprecation.

“But it was to me,” Lyra replied softly. Her expression grew earnest, her voice steady. “You’ve always been like that, Charles. Standing up for the people you care about, even when it seems impossible. That’s why I admire you. You might not see it, but you have a way of doing what needs to be done when it matters most.”

Charles was quiet for a long moment, her words sinking in deeper than he expected.

Lyra stood, brushing her hands on her dress and looking at him with a mix of affection and determination. “I know the ceremony is scary. I know the weight feels impossible. But if anyone can do this, it’s you. I’ve believed that ever since I was eight years old, and I believe it now.”

She stepped toward the door, pausing as she glanced back at him. “Just remember, Charles, you’re not alone. And you’ve never needed magic to be extraordinary.”

As she slipped out of the room, her words left an almost tangible warmth in the air. Charles stared at the door for a long moment, a faint smile playing on his lips despite himself.

The black and green carriage rattled softly as it made its way through the cobbled streets of Mar’Vareen. Outside, the bustling sounds of the city carried on as if this day were no different from any other, but for Charles Marcellus, it might as well have been the end of the world.

Inside the finely crafted carriage, the air was heavy. Charles sat rigidly, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. The polished interior, with its dark wood paneling and soft emerald cushions, felt stifling despite its luxury. He stared blankly out of the window, his reflection fragmented by the passing buildings.

“Charles,” Ardella’s voice cut through the silence, gentle but firm. She sat across from him, her robes immaculate, the silver runes on her cuffs catching the faint morning light. Her expression, usually stoic and commanding, was soft now, her amber eyes filled with concern.

He turned to look at her, but his silence lingered, the tension in his jaw betraying the storm of thoughts within.

“I need to apologize,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. Her tone lacked its usual edge, replaced by something almost maternal. “Yesterday, I was trying to instill the gravity of the situation, but perhaps I miscalculated. Your chances of being a mage… they’re low, Charles. Very low.”

His eyes flicked to hers, sharp and searching.

“I would never betray House Marcellus,” she continued, her voice steady. “You must know that. I would gladly give my life for your family, for you.” She hesitated, her gaze softening even further. “You and your siblings are as close to me as my own children. Seeing you like this... it pains me, Charles.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

“No, you’re not,” she said quietly. Ardella leaned forward slightly, her piercing amber eyes locking onto his. “I’ve known you since you could barely walk, Charles. I’ve seen you scrape through mischief and tumble out the other side with a grin. But this… this isn’t you.”

Charles’s jaw tightened as he looked away, his fingers gripping his knees. “It’s different this time.”

Her brow furrowed, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but she hesitated. Instead, she studied him carefully, the unusual gravity in his demeanor casting a shadow over the boy she had always known. Finally, she whispered, almost to herself, “You can’t really know… right, Charles?”

He turned to her slowly, and the weight in his gaze made her stomach twist. His green eyes, usually glinting with humor or mischief, held a certainty that chilled her.

“I know,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I can’t avoid it, but I know.”

Ardella stared at him, her breath catching in her chest. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them. There was no hesitation, no doubt, only a truth that seemed far too large for an eighteen-year-old to carry.

For a moment, she felt utterly unmoored. What did he mean? How could he know? But the conviction in his voice, in his very posture, left no room for dismissal.

She straightened, taking a slow breath to steady herself. Charles’s uncharacteristic seriousness stirred something deep within her—a need to protect, to comfort, to shield him from whatever storm he believed awaited.

Ardella reached out, hesitated, then leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. It was an awkward motion at first, but her grip tightened as she held him close, her cheek brushing the top of his head.

“You’re not alone in this,” she murmured, her voice resolute. “Whatever happens, I’ll be there. My magic, my strength—I’ll protect you, Charles. I swear it.”

For a moment, Charles sat stiffly in her embrace, his breath shallow. But then he exhaled slowly, his body relaxing slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. He didn’t say anything, but the faintest nod was enough for Ardella to feel her words had reached him.

The carriage hit a small bump, jostling them, and Ardella released him reluctantly, her amber eyes searching his face for any sign of reassurance.

“I know this feels insurmountable,” she said softly, smoothing her robes. “But you are stronger than you realize. And you have me. Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

Charles didn’t reply. He turned his gaze back to the window, the looming spire of the Starspire Chapel now visible in the distance. Its pale stone glittered faintly in the sunlight, a beacon of what was to come.

Ardella sat back, watching him carefully. Despite her words, the unease lingered in her chest. Whatever truth Charles carried, it had shaken her more than she cared to admit. But for now, she would be his strength, even if she didn’t fully understand the burden he bore.