The warm light of the setting sun painted Evelyne Amana's marble balcony in soft gold, the breeze carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine from the gardens below. She sat cross-legged on a cushioned chair, the newspaper spread open on her lap. Her auburn hair laid flat over her shoulders as she absently twirled a strand around her finger. As she sat, the tips of her bare toes grew cold from brushing against the cool floor. Her eyes, bright and curious, darted across the bold letters of the headline.
“The King is Dead. Chaos Erupts in Selnia.” Evelyne read aloud, her voice soft but tinged with awe. She tilted the paper closer, squinting as though it might reveal some hidden truth. “And here it is—‘Cedric Varian, the newly Starbonded knight, wreaks havoc in the capital under the guise of heroism.’” Her lips twisted into a faint pout. “Why do they always write about Starbonded like that? It’s so unfair.”
A soft warmth pulsed across her shoulder, faint as the first glow of starlight, and the constellation marks etched into her skin shimmered to life. They twined across her shoulders like a map of the heavens, delicate and radiant.
“You do realize that storybooks rarely account for the collateral damage,” came a soft, melodic voice in her head.
Evelyne started slightly, her head tilting toward her shoulder instinctively, though no one was physically there. “Lyra,” she breathed, her tone a mix of exasperation and fondness. “You don’t have to glow every time you talk to me. It makes me feel like I’m being scolded.”
“I’m not scolding,” Lyra replied, her voice carrying the hint of a smile. “Merely reminding. You were quite absorbed in your reading, and I wouldn’t want you to get carried away.”
“It’s not just reading,” Evelyne said, leaning forward with sudden enthusiasm. She waved the paper as though Lyra could see it. “This Cedric Varian—he’s bonded with Draco for crying out loud! That’s one of the strongest constellations! He stormed an onslaught of Starless and faced down rioters and criminals. Doesn’t that sound…I don’t know, heroic?”
Lyra’s presence in her mind hummed with mild disapproval. “It sounds chaotic, reckless, and entirely too dangerous. A knight bonded with Draco should understand the value of measured strength, not squander it on rash displays.”
Evelyne frowned, her youthful face crinkling in disagreement. “Maybe. But isn’t it exciting? A Starbonded knight standing up for what’s right, trying to bring order to all this mess?” She gestured toward the distant cityscape, where Valoria’s spires glittered faintly.
The markings on her shoulder flickered softly, like a breath of light. “Exciting, perhaps. But the path of a Starbonded is rarely as noble as it appears from the outside. And you, my dear Evelyne, are far too eager to romanticize what is better approached with caution.”
“I know it’s dangerous,” Evelyne replied, her voice softer now. “But how can I just sit here, Lyra? You didn’t choose me because I’m good at doing nothing. If someone like Cedric can make a difference, maybe I can too.”
Lyra’s warmth seemed to settle over her like a protective cloak, grounding and steadying her. “I chose you, Evelyne, because your heart is as strong as it is kind. But even the strongest hearts can falter when they take on too much. You are not ready to face what Cedric faces—not yet.”
Evelyne’s brows furrowed, a spark of defiance flaring in her eyes. “I might not be a knight, but I’m still Starbonded.” she proclaimed, “You’ve already taught me so much. Strategy, diplomacy, leadership. What good is all of that if I just stay here, safe and useless?”
For a moment, Lyra was silent, her voice absent but her presence vivid, as if the constellation herself was studying Evelyne’s resolve. Finally, Lyra’s voice returned, softer now. “You’ve always been a stubborn one.”
Evelyne opened her mouth to respond, but the rhythmic clack of boots against marble drifted from inside the villa, halting her thoughts. The sound was familiar, precise, and it sent her heart racing.
She stiffened, her fingers tightening around the edges of her shawl as she pulled it closer to cover her shoulders. Lyra’s warmth flickered in warning, a fleeting reassurance that quickly dimmed.
She rose from her chair just as Lord Valron appeared in the doorway, his portly figure silhouetted against the soft glow of the villa’s interior. The sharp lines of his finely tailored navy doublet were a welcome sight for her, and the warm smile tugging at his lips softened the commanding presence he often carried.
“Evelyne!” he greeted, his deep voice laced with genuine affection. He strode toward her with open arms. “My dear, you grow lovelier every time I see you.”
“Uncle Val! You’re back!” Evelyne exclaimed, her worries momentarily forgotten as she ran into his embrace. His arms encircled her at the waist, and she felt like a child again, safe and cherished.
Pulling back, Valron studied her with a fatherly gaze. “You’re positively radiant. Are you taking care of yourself? You’ve been far too quiet lately.”
“Oh, you know me,” Evelyne replied, forcing a lighthearted laugh as she adjusted her shawl, ensuring it stayed securely in place. “Always reading and dreaming out here. But how was court? I’ve been dying to hear everything.”
Valron arched a brow, a faint frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Court was… tense, as expected. The King’s funeral was a somber affair, but the mood quickly turned to politics and posturing. It’s no surprise, really.” He waved a hand dismissively. “And then, of course, there’s the matter of that Starbonded knight causing a stir in the capital.”
Evelyne’s stomach twisted with anxiety and curiosity, but she masked her reaction with a bright smile. “Oh? What about him? I’ve heard bits and pieces, but I’d love to know more.”
Valron sighed heavily, sinking into a chair and gesturing for Evelyne to sit as well. “His name is Cedric Varian, newly bonded with Draco of all things. He’s made quite the entrance. Too dramatic for my taste, though I suppose that’s to be expected of someone bonded with a constellation.”
Evelyne perched on the edge of her seat, leaning forward with feigned casualness. “But surely someone bonded with Draco must be remarkable, right? Isn’t that one of the most powerful constellations?”
“Remarkable? Perhaps,” Valron admitted, his tone sharp. “But power alone doesn’t make one trustworthy. The Starbonded are more trouble than they’re worth. Always have been.”
Evelyne’s heart sank, but she forced a curious expression.
“Trouble? How so?”
Valron’s lips thinned, his gaze hardening. “They think themselves above everyone else simply because the stars chose them. Cedric is no different. Planning to charge into the Heartlands, playing the hero, causing chaos wherever he goes. I fear the court will fawn over him as if he’s our salvation, rather than seeing him for what he is. Another problem on a very long list.”
Evelyne watched her uncle closely, noticing for the first time how the lines around his pale blue eyes seemed deeper, the shadows beneath them pronounced. It struck her that he looked tired. Truly exhausted in a way she hadn’t quite registered before. The opulent doublet, the jewels on his fingers, and his sharp, commanding voice all did little to hide the weariness etched into the set of his shoulders. She wondered how many days he had spent at court, arguing, strategizing, and juggling the kingdom’s unraveling politics. How many nights had he collapsed into a bed far from home, only to rise with fresh burdens?
For a moment, guilt pricked at her. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so insistent on prying into court affairs, not when he’d barely had time to rest. Being away for days or weeks at a time had to be taxing on him—both on his body and his spirit. Yet the thought of the Starbonded, of Cedric Varian, kept her persistent.
“But isn’t he just trying to help?” Evelyne asked, her voice carefully neutral.
“Help?” Valron barked a laugh. “The Starbonded only help themselves. They disrupt the balance, draw attention to dangers better left forgotten, and leave the rest of us to clean up their messes. The Starless wouldn’t even be an issue if not for the existence of the Starbonded.”
Evelyne clenched her shawl tighter. She fought to keep her features calm, nodding as though she acknowledged his point, but inwardly she flinched. A quiet, insistent part of her mind warned that he wasn’t entirely wrong. She hated that truth. That, in some dark corner of history, the Starless existed precisely because of the Starbonded. And yet, there was another part of her. A determined hope that refused to believe all Starbonded were doomed to bring calamity.
Lyra hovered at the edge of her consciousness, offering silent reassurance that steadied Evelyne’s racing pulse. You are not just another disaster waiting to happen, the constellation seemed to say. But Evelyne couldn’t fully drown out her uncle's words. Even if she wanted to dismiss them, she understood the deep-seated fears that fueled his resentment.
She forced a polite smile, though it felt hollow on her lips. “I see your point, Uncle Val,” she managed, her voice quieter. “But… not all Starbonded are the same, surely? And what about Cedric himself? Do you think he’s really as dangerous as rumors say?”
Valron leaned back in his chair with an exasperated sigh, running a thick hand over his weary eyes. “He’s a wildcard, Evelyne. A man wielding that kind of power can’t be trusted. The houses are already divided enough without him muddying the waters.”
Evelyne lowered her gaze, fighting the urge to bristle at his harsh comments. She had to remind herself: No one knows my secret. And no one would, until she was ready to show them what a different kind of Starbonded could be.
With a sigh, Valron straightened up in his seat, setting a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. “I just want to protect you, Evelyne. The world is changing, and not for the better. You’re too good, too pure, to be caught up in all this.”
Evelyne smiled faintly, her heart heavy. “Thank you, Uncle Val. I’ll be careful.”
As Valron began recounting other events from court, Evelyne listened intently, nodding and asking questions where needed. But her thoughts were elsewhere, turning over his words and the conflicting image she had of Cedric Varian.
Eventually, he let out a long, weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as though the weight of the conversation was suddenly too much. “There’s also the issue of the Cult of the North Star stirring up trouble in the Wastes again,” he muttered. “I’ll have to leave on an expedition soon, take some men with me before those fanatics cause any more trouble.”
At that, Evelyne’s eyes lit with both curiosity and concern. “The Cult of the North Star?” she repeated quietly. The name alone sent an uneasy chill through her. She’d heard rumors over the years. Dark whispers in courtly halls about how this cult had tried to harness celestial magic through twisted rites.
She straightened her shoulders. “Let me come with you, Uncle,” she offered, her tone resolute. “If there’s danger, I want to help. You know I’ve studied tactics—”
Valron cut her off with a barking laugh. “Good heavens, you’re too eager for your own good.” He shook his head, rings flashing in the lingering evening light. “This is no place for a young woman like you, especially one who should be minding her own estate and ensuring her future is secured. You’ve got enough to worry about with the kingdom on the brink. You and your… studies can remain here.”
“But—”
Evelyne swallowed the retort burning in her throat. What does he want her to do? Drink tea and look pretty? The thought stung more than she cared to admit. She forced a calm expression, though her knuckles whitened against the shawl draped over her shoulders. “I— yes, of course, Uncle Val,” she managed, masking the flicker of anger in her voice.
She tried to keep her breathing steady, reminding herself that Uncle Val meant well—he always had, ever since her parents’ deaths left her in his care. But the words he’d just uttered refused to sit right with her.
“You’ve always been my precious niece,” Valron said, his voice gentle as he saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes. “We already lost your mother to this wretched world, and I can’t bear to see you thrown into the same danger.”
Evelyne pressed her lips together. “I appreciate your concern, Uncle, but I’m not a child anymore.” She fiddled with the edge of her shawl, pulling it closer as though it might shield her from the sting of his protective stance. “I can’t just sit here, play hostess, and do nothing while the kingdom unravels. I’m capable of more than that.”
Valron’s gaze softened for a moment, a subtle hint of sorrow slipping through his stern exterior. “I know you’re capable, Evelyne. But sometimes capability isn’t the question. Safety is.” He exhaled, running a hand through his gray hair. “We’ve already lost too much.”
She moved in closer beside him, her hand resting atop his own. “Don’t you think that’s exactly why I should do something?” she pressed, her tone wavering between earnestness and exasperation. “For Mother. For Father. I can’t stand by and watch while Cedric Varian, or anyone else for that matter, bears the entire burden of saving Selnia.”
Valron’s lips thinned again, and for a moment, the harsh lord of the court glimmered through. But he forced it down, replacing it with a weary, paternal sigh. “And what would you do, Evelyne? Rush off into the Wastes after me, sword in hand? Charge into court sessions full of vipers waiting to devour any weakness?” He shook his head. “You’re an Amana. You have duties here. Diplomatic, strategic duties. Not gallivanting across the realm.”
Evelyne’s cheeks flushed. “Being an Amana doesn’t have to mean I’m restricted to tea parties and polite conversation,” she argued, voice trembling with contained anger. “I’ve spent years studying, learning, and preparing. I want to help.”
Lyra’s comforting presence stirred at the back of Evelyne’s mind, the constellation gently reminding her to keep her composure. “There are more ways to fight battles than with a sword, Evelyne,” Lyra’s motherly tone echoed in her head. “And there are more ways to serve the people than charging into the fray.”
She inhaled sharply, letting Lyra’s calm wash over her roiling emotions. Uncle Val was only trying to protect her. He always had, from the day assassins ripped her parents away. He had taken her in, let her study what she wished, granted her the freedom to dream, but only if it fit the mold of a noble lady.
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Valron’s gaze turned a shade more vulnerable. “I’m not saying you’re incapable, my dear. But I’d feel better if you… took your time. Made the right choices. Even regarding marriage—there are a few candidates I’ve been discussing with your father’s old associates—”
Evelyne’s eyes flared. “Uncle!” she snapped. “I— Are you really trying to marry me off when the kingdom is in chaos?” The frustration in her voice was palpable.
Valron raised his hands defensively, though a small, disarming smile curved his thin lips. “Calm down, child, calm down,” he said, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I’m not marching you to the altar tomorrow. I’m only saying it’s something to consider. Carefully. It’s about strengthening our house’s alliances, not about stifling you. And you shouldn’t rush into it blindly, anyway.”
Evelyne shook her head, torn between anger and reluctant understanding. She knew Valron treasured her, that he genuinely wanted her happy. But the pragmatic side of him overshadowed any notions of romance or personal choice. ‘Power above all else’—the family motto in practice, if not in word. Yet she couldn’t deny that his protectiveness was rooted in genuine love.
Seeing the conflict warring in her eyes, Valron let out another sigh, patting her shoulder. “We can talk about all this another time. For now, get some rest, Evelyne. The last thing I want is to see you worn down by all this nonsense.”
She forced a small smile, reminding herself of the kindness and sacrifices he’d made for her. “All right, Uncle. I’ll think on what you’ve said.”
Valron’s expression softened. “If you’re so keen on helping, I do have a small request, though. One of my business partners is coming by later this week. He’s from the Heartlands, easily impressed by fine hospitality, from what I hear. Perhaps you could entertain him, serve some of those famous honey buns you make?” He gave a gentle shrug. “It might not be the grand heroism you crave, but it would help our family’s standing with him.”
Evelyne hesitated, her mind still at war over duty and obligation. But she nodded, not wanting to upset him further. “Yes… yes, I can do that.” she said quietly, her shoulders slumping with newfound exhaustion.
Valron inclined his head, relief evident in his posture. “You’re a good girl, Eve. Truly. You’ll see. There’s more than one way to shape this realm without throwing yourself into danger.”
He then rose from his seat and turned, footsteps echoing on the polished floor as he retreated back inside. Evelyne watched him go, her hands knotting in the fabric of her shawl. The worst part, she thought bitterly, was that he wasn’t entirely wrong—and that only stoked her anger all the more.
***
Evelyne crept across the moonlit balcony, the moonlight catching on the delicate straps of her heels and the gentle swish of her gown as she moved. The cool tiles pressed through the thin soles of her shoes, and she carefully lifted the hem of her dress to avoid tripping. The quiet night around her was broken only by the faint chirping of crickets in the gardens below, and the distant tread of patrolling footsteps. She paused to glance over her shoulder, making sure no servants prowled the corridors behind her.
Just hours earlier, she had been the perfect noble lady. Smiling warmly, offering trays of delicacies, and pouring tea for her uncle’s business partner. The man’s flowery compliments still rang in her ears, but she found herself barely listening to them in the moment. Her thoughts had been elsewhere, fixated on the conversation she’d overheard between him and Uncle Val after she slipped behind a pillar, feigning a sudden interest in the tapestries.
“The council’s forming a warband?” Evelyne had heard her uncle say, his tone terse with disapproval.
“Indeed,” the visitor had replied. “They plan to strike the Starless in the Heartlands before the threat grows. Lord Harrick has already volunteered to lead one of the charges.”
Evelyne’s heart had fluttered at that, an undeniable spark of hope lighting her chest. Lord Harrick, her father’s old friend, a man she respected for his steadfastness and blunt honesty, leading a warband. She couldn’t miss this chance. Even if Uncle Val frowned upon her involvement, Harrick might be willing to let her join, or at least hear her out.
Now, she stood at the edge of her bedroom balcony, the shutters ajar, waiting for the right moment to climb down and slip past the estate walls. From there, she hoped to reach the castle grounds before dawn. She knew it was a reckless plan, but her mind buzzed with the prospect of contributing something real to the kingdom.
Lyra’s presence flickered through her thoughts, warm and cautious. “You’re aware your uncle will be furious if he discovers this, right?”
Evelyne pressed her lips together. “I know,” she whispered inwardly. “But this might be the only way to show him and the council that I can do more than just pour tea and smile.”
“Didn’t we ‘just’ talk about this” Lyra warned gently. “There are many ways to help without rushing into danger.”
Evelyne huffed under her breath as she gripped the ledge of her bedroom balcony, her knuckles going white from the effort. “We don’t have the luxury of waiting for permission, Lyra,” she thought back. “The kingdom needs more than passive bystanders.”
She eased herself over the railing, precariously balancing on the narrow lip of masonry. The warm glow of her room’s lanterns spilled through the open bay doors behind her, casting her silhouette across the elaborate tilework that spread below.
A light breeze began to ruffle the hem of her gown, sending a chill prickling across her arms. The family villa’s rooftop stretched above her, the patterned tiles glimmering faintly. Evelyne swallowed her nerves, carefully setting one foot on a raised trim, then the other, heaving herself upward. Her knees shook a little as she stood, the angle of the roof steeper than she’d expected.
She exhaled softly, trying to focus on finding her footing when she caught a hint of motion in her peripheral vision. Winding vines creeping up the side of the house. They offered a natural handhold if she could just reach them, though each step felt like it might send her sliding off the edge.
“Evelyne, this is a risk you don’t need to take,” Lyra chided. “It would have been safer to use the garden path—”
“Yes, yes, but the guard patrols the gardens at this hour,” Evelyne hissed, inching forward. “I know exactly what I’m—whoa!” She stumbled, nearly toppling forward as one heel snagged on a loose tile. A muttered curse escaped her.
The heels were a mistake. She knew it now. She balanced on one foot, teetering, and finally yanked the offending shoe off. Without thinking twice, she flung it into the dark bushes below. Her other foot still sported the matching heel, but she teetered again, rolling her eyes at her own stubbornness.
“You could throw the other one as well,” Lyra suggested, her voice gentler now. “Stumbling around is only drawing attention to yourself.”
Evelyne huffed. “Fine.” She kicked off the remaining heel and watched it arc into the darkness, landing with a quiet rustle of leaves. “Happy?”
A resigned hum sounded in her mind, but Evelyne ignored it. She resumed her careful crawl across the rooftop, barefoot now, dress bunched around her knees as she fought to keep her balance. The night air was cool against her skin, the tiles rough under her soles. At last, she found a place to descend.
Carefully, she reached for one of the thicker vines, testing its strength with a firm tug. Satisfied it wouldn’t give way, she shifted her weight, stepping onto the vine-laced section of the roof. The slope felt less treacherous here, though the vines snagged the hem of her dress, tugging it taut against her legs.
“Come on…” she muttered, trying to free the fabric. Halfway freed, her foot slipped, the tear of her dress deafening. She gasped, arms flailing as she lost her grip.
“Eve!” Lyra cried out, but Evelyne had no time to respond. She tumbled downward, dress tangling around her ankles, and landed with a muffled thud in a thick patch of brush. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled, and pain spiked through her side.
For a moment, she lay there, trying to catch her breath. But before she could fully gather herself, footsteps crunched on the gravel nearby. A guard’s voice sliced through the quiet, calling out, “Who goes there? Show yourself!”
Evelyne’s heart lurched, and she froze, wide-eyed, Lyra’s presence like a steady hand at the back of her mind. “Stay calm. Breathe, Evelyne. Use your gift.”
She swallowed, forcing a shaky breath. Pulling leaves and twigs from her hair, she rose on unsteady legs. The guard’s torchlight cut a narrow beam through the dark, revealing his stern expression as he approached. Evelyne stepped from the bushes, forcing her spine to straighten and a carefree smile to form on her lips.
“Enchantment, child. Slowly,” Lyra reminded her. “Steady your voice.”
“I—I’m sorry,” Evelyne said, her tone lilting with a subtle magic that clung to each word like gossamer threads. The guard’s tense posture relaxed fractionally. “I was just out for a stroll. My dress got caught on a branch, and… it’s all a bit embarrassing.” She gestured vaguely at her tattered hem and reddening cheeks.
The guard blinked, torch lowered. “Oh,” he said, momentarily unsure. His gaze flicked to her face, then to her torn dress.
Evelyne felt Lyra’s subtle power flowing through her, threading a soft compulsion into her voice. “Please don’t worry,” she continued, letting false cheer bleed into her tone. “I simply needed some air and lost my footing. Nothing to alarm anyone about, truly.”
The guard nodded, his suspicion draining away like water. “Ah—right, of course. My apologies, m’lady.” He shifted on his feet, looking faintly flustered. “Shall I escort you back inside?”
“No need,” Evelyne replied, pressing the enchantment just a little more. “I can manage. But… it would be wonderful if you didn’t mention this.” She gave a small, grateful smile. “I’d hate for anyone to worry.”
A faint haze passed over the guard’s eyes before he broke into a friendly grin. “Of course, m’lady. I’ll keep this to myself.” With that, he turned, torch held at his side as he headed back in the direction he came from, disappearing around a hedge.
Evelyne exhaled, relief mingling with the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. “That was too close.” she told Lyra inwardly, hoping her racing heartbeat would slow.
“You handled it,” came Lyra’s gentle reassurance. “But next time you might not be so lucky.”
Ignoring the dull ache in her hip where she’d landed, Evelyne limped across the remaining stretch of lawn, adrenaline fueling her steps. The villa’s ornate main gate towered at the edge of the property—its wrought-iron bars pointed with decorative spikes. More guards were usually stationed there, but at this hour, the patrol might be minimal.
She reached the gate, gripping its metal bars. Her dress snagged as she hoisted herself up, the fabric catching on the sharp points. She bit back a yelp as she felt it tear once more, the sound echoing in the quiet night. At last, she swung her legs over and dropped to the ground on the other side. Grass tickled her bare feet, and she allowed herself only a brief moment to collect her breath.
The night stretched out before her, the paths leading away from the estate disappearing into darkness. Evelyne sighed, gazing at the tattered edges of her dress. “Guess I’m committed now,” she murmured under her breath. Drawing strength from Lyra’s gentle thrum in the back of her mind, she straightened her shoulders and began the long walk toward Castle Valoria. Even with no shoes, the thought of what lay ahead fueled each soft step on the cobblestones.
By the time she reached the castle’s looming silhouette, the torchlight danced against the tall battlements, flickering across the worn stone. Evelyne slipped quietly through the heavy wrought-iron gates, her heart pounding. She paused just inside the threshold, pressing herself against a column draped in ivy, listening for approaching guards.
Lyra’s gentle glow flickered underneath her shawl, a steadying presence, yet laced with concern. “Are you sure this is the best way?”
Evelyne’s breath came fast, adrenaline surging through her veins. “Why don’t you try sneaking into a fortified castle and see how well it works out for you.” She whispered sarcastically.
At the far end of the courtyard, two guards stood by a set of tall oaken doors, spears in hand. Evelyne stepped forward, her steps slow and cautious as she gestured for Lyra’s assistance. A soft, intangible warmth suffused her senses as the constellation complied, the faint glow beneath Evelyne’s shawl barely visible.
She mustered the same voice enchantment she’d used back at home. “Good evening,” she greeted the guards, letting the subtle magic weave through her words.
Both men stiffened, their eyes briefly flickering with confusion. “Who—?” began one, but Evelyne stepped forward, her lips curving into a calm, reassuring smile.
“I’m here to see Lord Harrick,” she said, infusing her tone with the soft thrall Lyra allowed her to call upon. “You don’t need to trouble yourselves. It’s all perfectly fine.”
The guard’s suspicion melted, replaced by a hazy deference. “Yes… perfectly fine,” he echoed, blinking rapidly.
“Just let me pass,” Evelyne continued gently. “And forget I was ever here, all right?”
They exchanged befuddled glances, then nodded as one. Their spears lowered, and they stepped aside, clearing the way to the door. Evelyne murmured a quiet thanks as she slipped inside, her conscience pricking at the edges of her relief.
I hate doing this, she thought, her shoulders tensed. But it’s the only way.
Lyra’s voice chimed in with gentle reproach. “You know how I feel about using enchantments for personal gain, Evelyne.”
“I know,” Evelyne whispered, hurrying down a dimly lit corridor, her eyes scanning for any sign of life. “But I’m not hurting them, just… smoothing things over. I promise I’ll keep it to a minimum.”
“And what happens if you’re discovered? Lyra asked softly. You might be Starbonded, but the court hates having its will bent.”
Evelyne swallowed, pushing open another door. Beyond it lay a wide hall, hung with faded tapestries depicting ancient battles. “I know,” she said again, more quietly. “But fewer people knowing about my abilities is best. And I need this chance to talk to Harrick. Even if it’s just through a letter.”
She made her way deeper into the castle, guided by memory and the gossip she’d gleaned from Uncle Val’s old stories. Harrick’s office was tucked away near the war room, an unassuming chamber that reportedly housed his personal library and workspace. The corridors she passed were eerily silent this late at night, save for the occasional flicker of torchlight against stone walls.
At last, Evelyne found a half-open door leading into a modestly furnished space with a broad wooden desk at its center. Lord Harrick’s nameplate rested against a stack of maps, and Evelyne’s pulse quickened. This was it.
She crept inside, closing the door behind her with careful slowness. The desk was cluttered with letters, charts of troop movements, and half-finished correspondence. Evelyne scanned it all with a surge of excitement and dread. She’d leave her letter here, among his things. Then, when Harrick returned, he’d see her plea. A request to join the warband and lend her skills to the coming battle against the Starless.
“Is this truly the best plan?” Lyra pressed gently.
With trembling fingers, Evelyne retrieved a folded sheet of parchment from the inside pocket of her dress. “It’s the only plan I have,” she whispered, placing it atop Harrick’s correspondence. She’d spent hours drafting it, explaining her qualifications—her studies in strategy and diplomacy, all while carefully avoiding any mention of her celestial pact. She signed it simply as “Evelyne Amana,” trusting the weight of her family name to carry some influence.
She hovered for a moment, her hand resting on the letter. “I wish I could speak to him in person,” she murmured. She wanted to be there, to look Harrick in the eye and prove she wasn’t just some naive noble girl. But the thought of explaining how she planned to help, of possibly revealing Lyra’s presence, made her stomach twist.
Stepping back from the desk, she cast one last glance around the office. It was a spartan space, all function and little ornamentation, reflecting the man she knew Harrick to be. Blunt, practical, and unwavering in loyalty. She could only hope he’d grant her a fair hearing.
She turned to leave, only to freeze at the sound of distant footsteps approaching the office door. A ripple of panic shot through her. Guards? Harrick himself? She mentally reached for Lyra’s presence, already preparing another enchantment if it came down to it.
But the footsteps faded, their owner continuing down the hall. Evelyne released a shaky breath, slipping out through a side door she spotted in the gloom. Once outside, she found herself in a narrow corridor leading to an exit.
Minutes later, Evelyne was back in the courtyard, heart pounding, hurrying toward the same entrance she’d bewitched the guards to forget. Their torches still flickered in the distance, but with Lyra’s quiet urging, Evelyne managed to skirt the walls undetected. She was nearly at the outer gate, her footsteps light on the stone, when she turned a corner, and promptly collided with something solid.
“Oof—!” A startled cry escaped her as she stumbled back. Another voice grunted, half in pain, half in surprise. Evelyne’s eyes snapped upward.
There before her stood Cedric Varian—or, rather, a disheveled, tired-looking version of him. The reflection of the torches glinted off messy hair that seemed hastily brushed back, and faint shadows carved beneath his eyes. He wore a battered cloak that hung off his shoulders as though he’d thrown it on in a hurry.
For a heartbeat, Evelyne simply stared, shock rendering her momentarily speechless. All the whispered tales and court gossip she’d heard—this was him? Right before her, more real than she could’ve imagined, and looking nothing like the heroic figure she’d conjured in her mind. Instead of a poised and mighty warrior, there stood a man who looked like he could use a warm drink and a full night’s rest.
“S-sorry,” Evelyne managed, her cheeks flushing in the flickering torchlight. She tried to gather the dignity she had left, smoothing her torn dress. “I didn’t see—Are you all right?”