Chapter 26 – I will

Chapter 26 – I will

Selene’s POV

Now that I’ve fully regained my strength, I’ve begun spending several afternoons each week at Lady Nyra’s residence in the east wing of the palace. Each visit is like stepping into a quiet sanctuary. Her space may not boast the extravagance of the main chambers, but there's something warm and inviting about it...a quiet elegance that feels like a reflection of her heart.

Lady Nyra is poised and graceful, with laughter lines that dance around her eyes when she smiles. There’s a serene energy about her, and she’s been a gentle guide as I learn her delicate craft...potion-making, the old way, slow and precise.

“Be gentle with the wolfsbane oil,” she instructs as I lower a few drops into a simmering base of crushed silverleaf and moonroot. “The ratio matters more than most realize. Too much, and it burns. Too little, and it does nothing.”

I nod, focusing intently on my task. The scent is sharp and clean, earthy with a whisper of lavender. I find myself wanting to impress her, to earn her approval not just as a student, but as someone who belongs.

When the potion finally stabilizes, the liquid gleams faintly blue. I pour it carefully into a glass vial and present it to her. She examines it, gives it a swirl, and then lets a single drop fall onto her wrist. The liquid absorbs instantly, and her smile deepens.

“Exquisite, Selene. Your instincts are sharp. This should speed recovery and reduce swelling by half.”

Before I can fully bask in her praise, the sound of approaching footsteps draws our attention. Two young men step into the room, their features carrying hints of Lady Nyra’s gentleness.

“Smells like someone’s brewing magic,” one of them says with a grin.

Lady Nyra rests her hands gently on my shoulders. “Actually, you’re complimenting Selene. She’s the one behind this potion.”

She introduces the elder first. “This is Vale.” He offers a polite handshake.

“I’ve heard good things,” Vale says kindly. “It’s a pleasure.”

I return the gesture with a slight curtsy. Then the younger one steps up.

“And this is Sir Ronan. He’s training to be a warrior,” Nyra says proudly.

Before I can respond, Ronan envelops me in a cheerful hug. His vibrant energy catches me off guard, but it’s infectious.

“Please just call me Ronan,” he says, beaming. Then he pulls back with a wince, touching his side.

“Training injury?” Nyra asks.

“Caught a blade during sparring,” Ronan admits, lifting his shirt to reveal a purpling bruise just above his ribs.

Lady Nyra raises a brow and hands him the vial I just finished. “Try this. Selene brewed it not ten minutes ago.”

Ronan shrugs, uncorks the vial, and dabs a few drops onto the bruise. Within seconds, the color fades, the skin smoothing over as if the blow never happened.

His eyes widen. “That… that actually worked. Fast.”

Lady Nyra smiles. “Of course it did. She’s a natural.”

Ronan turns to me, mock-serious. “Alright, mirror-girl. You’re not allowed to leave the palace ever again.”

I laugh despite myself, even as a soft ache builds in my chest. The warmth between them...their teasing, their closeness...makes something inside me long for it. Is this what it means to belong somewhere?

Isolde’s POV

On a day when Selene is working at my mother’s estate, I go for a walk through the palace grounds. I deliberately take the long path that curves near the windows of my mother's wing.

There, through the open pane, I spot them. My mother and Selene stand side by side, laughing. My brothers arrive shortly after, greeted by that same open-hearted affection. Vale even smiles at her. And Ronan? Hugging her like they’re old friends, pinching her cheek like a giddy boy. It’s revolting.

The sight needles under my skin. They’re so comfortable around her...without me. My jaw tightens, and before I realize it, my fists are clenched at my sides. My nails bite into my palms as I stand there, watching, burning with quiet resentment.

Selene’s POV

Zaria’s glare follows me like a shadow, more venomous than usual. When I pass her at work, her stare is sharp enough to make my hands tremble. I stumble, dropping a stack of files.

“Need a hand?” comes a chirpy voice. I look up to see Praise, a red-haired girl with freckles and a mischievous grin, crouched beside me.

“Thanks,” I murmur, bending to gather the papers.

“She’s just bitter,” Praise says with a snort. “She's been stripped of her rank. Can't even appear in the palace anymore ”

My brows rise. “What? Why?”

“Prince Lucian’s orders. For that little incident at the lake...you know, the one that nearly killed you.”

I blink. That punishment was for me?

Just as I glance back at Zaria, she notices.

“What? Got something to say?” she sneers.

“No, I just...”

“Oh, spare me. Don’t act like your life is perfect now just because you married Lucian. You don’t know him. It’s all going to unravel soon.”

I pause. “I don’t believe that.”

“Prove it. Do you even know when his birthday is?”

The question strikes me like a slap. My mouth opens, but I can’t find an answer.

Zaria scoffs, delighted. “Unbelievable. His birthday’s in five days. And his wife doesn’t even know?”

Five days? My heart drops. Could it really be that soon?

But Zaria has lied before...she thrives on confusion. I decide not to take her word for it. As soon as work ends, I rush off, hoping to catch Koda before nightfall. I need to know the truth.

When I spot him across the street, I call out.

“Hey! Quick question...Is Lucian’s birthday really in five days?”

Koda nods. “Yeah. It’s coming up soon, but...”

A clock chimes nearby, drowning out the rest of his words. I wave and thank him before hurrying home. If his birthday really is that close, I have so much to do.

Later, Lucian is sitting at the table while I tidy up the remains of our quiet dinner. The flickering candlelight paints soft shadows across the room, and though we’ve barely exchanged more than a few words since we sat down, his presence feels heavier than silence.

“You don’t have to clean, Selene. We have staff for that,” he reminds me gently, his voice breaking the quiet.

“I know,” I say with a small smile, stacking two empty plates. “I just like staying busy.”

But his gaze lingers, unreadable. There’s a pause before he speaks again.

“You’ve been… different lately. A little on edge. Is something bothering you?”

I pause, fingers tightening slightly around a glass. For a breath too long, I say nothing. Then I force a light tone into my voice. “No. Nothing at all.”

Too quick. Too smooth.

Lucian doesn’t call me out on it, but I can feel the weight of his skepticism. He’s giving me space, but he’s watching. Waiting.

I need air.

A thought rises, not entirely formed, but it spills from my mouth before I can stop it. “I’m stepping out for a bit.”

He lowers his glass, brows slightly drawn. “Where to?”

“The Temple. I want to speak with the Messenger Mage.”

He chokes mid-sip, sputtering water as I rush to hand him a napkin.

“I just...back home, with the Duskwatch Pack, we heard stories about the Mages and how they communicated with the Goddess. Visiting the Temple helped me once before. I think it might again.”

Lucian dabs at his mouth, not saying a word. But something about him shifts. His knuckles whiten slightly around the napkin. His gaze lowers. When he looks back up, his expression is carefully blank...but there’s a pale tightness to it, something unreadable beneath.

He doesn’t argue, just nods once. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

***

The Temple is quiet tonight. Unsettlingly so.

I pass through the outer courtyard alone, the gravel crunching beneath my steps the only sound. The lanterns that usually glow a soft gold are dimmer than usual, as if the very walls are holding their breath. The air is heavy with incense and something older, something dust-laced and ancient.

I slip into a small chamber at the far end, the one used for private communion. A sheer curtain divides the room, veiling the Mage in shadows and ritual mystery. I bow slightly out of habit, then clear my throat.

“Hello?” I say softly.

At first, only heavy breathing answers me. Then a wet-sounding cough.

“Y-yes, child. Speak.”

“I… I have a strange question,” I say slowly. “What sort of gift would you want for your birthday?”

There’s a long pause. Then suddenly, the Mage’s voice booms through the chamber, harsh and guttural:

“Souls!”

I jolt. “What?”

There’s immediate shuffling...papers, perhaps, or cloth...and another bout of coughing. Then the voice softens, hoarse now, almost embarrassed.

“Forgive me,” the Mage murmurs. “That was… not meant for you. Why ask that?”

I inch closer to the curtain, uncertain if I should be worried. “My husband’s birthday is almost here. I want to give him something meaningful, but I’m at a loss. He already has everything. I just want to make him smile.”

Silence stretches out between us like a thread pulled taut. I can hear the Mage breathing again, slower now. He’s thinking.

And then, finally, in a voice that sounds almost human again:

“Perhaps you should ask him… whether he even wants to celebrate it.”

I blink at the curtain, startled. The idea hadn’t even occurred to me. Somehow, I assumed that joy was a universal need.

But Lucian...Lucian doesn’t always move with joy. He moves with duty, with burden.