Novel-novel oleh Vexa Moon

Esme P.O.V.Selene stops me just short of the dais, close enough that her perfume reaches me before her words do, light and floral and expensive in a way the kitchens never smell. She holds a ribbon between two fingers, pale silk looped once, the ends hanging loose, her posture relaxed as if this is casual and not exactly what she planned.“For neatness,” she says, her voice smooth, warm, pitched to carry without sounding like it’s meant to.The space around us tightens. I feel it before I hear it, the subtle shift of attention, the way conversations slow and then thin out, leaving a pocket of silence where every sound suddenly matters. Marek’s rule sits heavy in my mind, clear as it has always been, no gifts, no adornments, no exceptions, not even from the court. Especially not from the court.My hands stay at my sides. I don’t reach for the ribbon but I don’t step back either. My fingers curl once and then still, nails pressing lightly into my palm, grounding me in the feel of my ow

Selene P.O.V.I am announced by full title.“Lady Selene of House Rhiannon, Council Liaison.”The herald’s voice carries across the council chamber before the doors finish opening. Nobles straighten, pages step aside, chairs stop shifting and I walk through the space carved for me by lineage and record. High-born blood opens the door and my results keep it open.The table is long, polished, and crowded. Varick sits to the right of where the King will sit, Maelis to the left and Thalos near the far end, posture loose, fingers tapping his slate like a bored student. They pretend the agenda formed without me.They know better.I take my seat without waiting for an invitation and the cushion holds a faint scent of lavender, placed there this morning. Someone tried to please me. That is normal, but it’s rarely enough.Varick clears his throat. “Lady Selene, you grace us early.”“I grace you effectively,” I correct. The corner of his mouth twitches and he hides it with a hand.Ardon enters

Esme The court changes shape around me. It isn’t sudden, it’s slow, like heat rising from ovens, silent until you notice the sweat on your skin. Faces I don’t know begin turning when I enter a room, a servant that shouldn’t draw attention. A kitchen gir thatl shouldn’t have a name carried ahead of her like a rumor.But they know it now. Esme. No one says it aloud. They don’t have to because it hangs in the air between glances and the turn of shoulders.I carry the morning tray into the council corridor. The dishes rattle against the silver plates, the scent of roasted meat mixes with strong tea and the hall smells of wax, stone, and perfume. Two maids pass and slow just enough to look at me, their eyes flick over my uniform, over the tray, over the space behind me, as if they expect someone to follow.Marla appears at my elbow. She has flour under her nails and a curl stuck to her cheek. She bumps my hip lightly.“Careful,” she mutters. “You’re making the peacocks restless.”“Peacock

Ardon At midday, I send Esme to the upper gallery with nothing in her hands and no visible duties. The order is simple. “Walk the long arc twice, stop if anyone demands it, I’ll be behind you.”I follow at a distance that allows me to see who approaches her when they think I’m not near. Varick’s attendant tries to block her with a question about linens, she says, “Speak to Marek,” and keeps moving. Thalos’s clerk stands in her path and asks if she will carry a message to the scullery. “I’m not a runner today,” she says and she doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t soften the refusal, she speaks plain.Darian waits near the stairs and checks his watch. “Two circuits,” he says when she completes the second. “Order fulfilled.” She nods and returns to me without asking for praise so I give her work instead.“Bring me the patrol change logs from the west wall,” I say. “And on the way back, stop at the healer’s and confirm his stock of poppy tincture. Make him say the number out loud, write it

ArdonSmall orders reveal more than grand ones, so I start there.“Deliver this ledger to Maelis,” I tell Esme at first bell the next day, handing her a slim book with the new patrol rosters. “Use the eastern stairs. Do not speak to anyone on the landing.”She answers with one word. “Yes.” I watch the clock on the mantel and the corridor beyond my door. Seven minutes later, she returns, the ledger is gone and a strip of parchment rests in her palm.“Maelis asked for your mark on the addendum,” she says. “She didn’t argue the route. She argued about the timing.”“She would.” I cut my initials where Maelis likes them. “Return it.” She goes and comes back again without excess steps and without the scent of panic that clings to people who run without plan. She breathes steadily when Darian tries to stop her at the landing with a routine check, she says, “The King sent me. I have to make his time,” and waits until he lets her pass. He does and he tells me she held his stare without shaki

ArdonThe antechamber door closes with a clean sound, no echo and no audience. The morning light shines through the windows, and I know what must be done must be done in private. Darian and Nixton take their positions outside without comment, making sure no one gets good ideas on bad paths. The guards along the corridor adjust their stance when I meet their eyes, they know this room is now sealed for a reason they won’t be told.Inside, Esme stands near the center table, her hands clasped in front of her apron. The lamplight catches the skin at her throat, and a thin line of color rises from her collar to her jaw, bright against her pale skin. She lifts her chin when I face her, not defiant, simply steady. I take off my cloak and lay it across the nearest chair, the room smells faintly of oil and old ink. The poppy from last night is only a bad memory. “I dismissed the others,” I say. Her shoulders stay square. “I saw.” She answers steadily, quiet. I move closer, but not enough to