Chapter 73: The Twilight Before The Crown (8)
They stood in silence for a while, side by side, their shoulders not quite touching but close enough to share the same stillness.
Both of their gazes were lifted beyond the stone rail of the balcony, past the carved arches and quiet corridors of the academy, toward the open sky beyond.
Above them, the heavens stretched out in quiet splendor, vast, endless, and uncaring in the best possible way. The world felt smaller beneath it, its problems softened by scale alone.
The moon hung low and luminous, its soft glow spilling pale silver across the dark treetops below and the distant academy towers rising like sentinels from the night.
Shadows pooled gently at their bases, blurred and forgiving under the moonlight’s touch.
Stars scattered across the sky like spilled sugar on velvet, countless points of light pricked into the darkness.
They twinkled softly, some brighter than others, their glow gentle and almost shy, as if they were aware of being watched.
Neither of them spoke for a long minute.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It didn’t demand filling or explanation. It settled between them naturally, the way quiet did after a storm had passed, cool, steady, and deeply needed. The kind of silence that allowed thoughts to slow, breathing to even out, and presence to be shared without expectation.
Lucien was the one to speak first.
His voice, when it came, was low and careful, as if he didn’t want to disturb the night more than necessary.
“So,” he said softly, not quite looking at her, “I might’ve almost died.”
Vaelira arched a brow, glancing sidelong at him.
“Just once?”
He let out a breathy laugh.
“Well… three times. Technically. Maybe four, depending on how you count near-death spiritual disassociation.”
Vaelira blinked.
“What.”
Lucien leaned his elbows on the railing, hands folding together as he looked out toward the stars again.
“The written test was fine, mostly. Thought I bombed the last two sections, but turns out being deliriously exhausted makes my handwriting look confident.”
Vaelira chuckled.
“But the aptitude test? That was something else.”
His smile faded slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression.
“They threw us into a jungle. Magic-rigged. Giant animated statues.”
She blinked, startled.
“Actual combat?”
“Yeah. Some could breathe fire. Others just wanted to smash us into pancakes.”
He shrugged with casual exaggeration, like he was trying to make it sound funny.
“The final trial had these winged lion statues. Smart ones. Tricky bastards. Took all of us just to slow them down. I only survived because we cheated. Or-” he glanced up at her with a crooked grin, “-got creative. Rewired its priorities mid-rampage. Accidentally made one of them attack its brother.”
She blinked at him again, incredulous.
“That actually worked?”
He smiled sheepishly.
“One in a thousand chance. Lucky me, huh?”
Vaelira let out a long breath, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Gods. And here I thought I had a hard week.”
Lucien tilted his head.
“What, your days weren’t filled with mortal peril and flaming breath attacks?”
“No,” she deadpanned.
“Just endless, soul-draining etiquette sessions. Two full weeks of posture drills, diction training, and being force-fed the names and bloodlines of every half-relevant noble this side of the continent. I think one of the tutors cried when I held the salad fork with my left hand.”
Lucien laughed.
“Truly harrowing.”
Vaelira groaned dramatically.
“You have no idea. Every move, every phrase, every blink had to be calculated like I was about to negotiate a peace treaty between rival empires.”
“Isn’t this just a ball?”
“Apparently not.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’d think the world would end if I didn’t compliment the right noble son’s cufflinks.”
Lucien gave her a mock-serious nod.
“Clearly, the fate of the continent hinges on cufflink diplomacy.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she muttered.
They shared a grin, a moment of rare levity suspended in the hush of the night air.
Lucien tilted his head.
“Still… I think I’d have taken your place. Sitting in a warm room, learning how to curtsy? Beats getting thrown against a wall by a magical war-cat.”
Vaelira scoffed.
“Please. I’d rather get body-slammed by a ten-foot golem than hear the phrase ‘elbow parallel to the rim of the teacup’ one more time.”
Lucien burst out laughing, the sound cutting clean through the stillness around them.
Vaelira smiled again, soft this time, the expression gentle and unguarded in a way it hadn’t been before.
It wasn’t the practiced curve she wore in crowded halls or formal gatherings, but something smaller and more honest, meant only for the moment they shared.
A quiet settled between them once more, but it was different now. Not silence that begged to be filled, nor the kind that carried tension beneath its surface.
This was a stillness of shared space, lived-in and easy, where words felt unnecessary and presence alone was enough.
The night seemed to lean closer around them, calm and patient.
And above them, the stars kept watch, steady and distant, bearing silent witness to a moment that asked for nothing more than to exist.
***
Lucien tilted his head, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
“So,” he asked quietly, “why aren’t you inside?”
Vaelira, who had just been beginning to relax, turned to him slowly with a dry smile.
“I could ask you the same.”
Lucien gave a sheepish shrug.
“Well… they took the food away. Just, gone. Like it was a trap to lure me in.”
Vaelira chuckled, despite herself.
“And then the dancing began,” he continued.
“Everyone suddenly turned elegant and dramatic. I tried standing quietly in the corner to blend in, but people kept… looking. Whispering.”
He mimed an exaggerated side-glance, then shivered.
“I was starting to feel like I’d shown up to a royal wedding in my sleepwear.”
Vaelira let out a soft laugh, the edge of her lip curling as she patted his back once, twice.
“That’s probably because they think you’re rejecting every girl here.”
Lucien blinked.
“What?”
“You know,” she said, voice slipping into a mocking imitation of noble gossip, “‘Oh, he must think none of them are worth his time politically or romantically. Maybe he’s already taken. Maybe he’s just too high-blooded to dance with common dukes’ daughters.’ That kind of nonsense.”
Lucien stared at her, deadpan.
“You’re telling me me… standing silently in a dim corner… is enough to spark a conspiracy?”
She nodded solemnly.
“Apparently so.”
Lucien sighed, lips twitching into a wry smile.
“And here I was just trying not to faint from the wine fumes and a poorly digested tart.”
Vaelira laughed again, this time more honestly.
Then the question returned, like a boomerang gently placed back into his hand.
“But seriously,” Lucien said, his voice softer this time, “why aren’t you inside?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Her fingers tensed against the stone of the railing.
The breeze tousled strands of her lavender hair across her cheek, and she didn’t brush them away.
“I…” she began, then faltered.
“It’s just…”
Her throat tightened.
“I am not sure… It just felt…”
The words were there, but as soon as she reached for them, they slipped from her mental grasp like water through trembling fingers.
As frustrating as it was, the disconnect between the words shimmering in her heart and those her mouth permitted to be spoken was visible.
Palpable.
“I don’t know,” she admitted at last, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I wish I did.”
Lucien turned toward her, studying her in the pale glow of moonlight.
The guarded strength in her posture.
The faint furrow in her brow.
The way her eyes flickered with frustration… and something softer beneath it.
Sadness, maybe.
Or exhaustion.
Or the quiet weight of too many expectations.
She always looked strong.
Composed.
But in that moment, he could see it.
The fatigue.
The loneliness.
The ache of standing still for so long in a world that never let her rest.
Suddenly the chill in the air felt more piercing than it was moments ago.
Lucien didn’t speak right away.
He didn’t offer empty platitudes.
Didn’t try to fix what she hadn’t put into words.
Instead, he stepped a little closer.
And held out his hand.
Vaelira blinked, startled, glancing from his face to the hand, then back again.
Her eyes narrowed in confusion.
“…What are you doing?”
Lucien smiled, not teasing this time.
Gentle.
Warm.
“Well,” he said, “this is a ball, isn’t it?”
She blinked again.
“And I haven’t danced with anyone.”
His voice dropped slightly, earnest now.
“Would you honor me with one?”
For a moment, everything went still.
The music inside floated faintly through the open balcony doors, a soft and bittersweet melody drifting on the wind.
Vaelira stared at his outstretched hand.
And said nothing.
