The Moonfire Courtyard
The courtyard was still, the white stones glowing faintly with the last light of day. The moon had just begun to rise—silver and full—as if fate itself wanted to witness what was about to unfold.
Lysandra stood beneath the massive moonwillow tree, her long braid brushing her spine, her expression unreadable.
She turned as he approached.
And she smiled. A mistake.
"Caveen."
Her voice was soft, almost hopeful.
But he didn't return the warmth.
"You lied to me," he said flatly.
Her smile faded. "I did what I had to."
"You stole my daughter."
"She is not a possession."
"Don't twist this!" he snapped, stepping forward. "You kept her from me. For years. You let me walk this world thinking I had nothing—no legacy, no blood—while she called another man 'Papa.'"
Lysandra's jaw tightened. "Kylan died protecting her. He loved her like his own. And unlike you, he was there."
---
Caveen flinched.
"You don't get to use that against me," he growled. "I would've given everything to protect you both if I had known!"
""I had no choice—"
"You had every choice!" he shouted. "You could have told me. The moment you knew."
She swallowed hard, but her voice remained steady. "You were already married, Caveen. To Madelline. I found out I was pregnant two months after you left. What was I supposed to do—march into your new life and say, 'Congratulations, you're going to be a father'?"
"Yes!" he roared, slamming a hand on the table. "You should have told me! Damn it, Lysandra, you don't get to decide for me!"
Her composure cracked.
"I had to decide. Because you didn't!"
Caveen stared, stunned.
"I loved you," she continued, voice shaking now. "I waited for you. But you chose her. You married her. And when I found out I was carrying your child, I thought—maybe, maybe I could just disappear quietly. Raise her alone. Spare her the pain."
"And what about me?" he said, his voice raw. "You robbed me of her first cry. Her first steps. You let me live thinking I had nothing—when I had her."
"I did it for her!" Lysandra shouted. "If the Council knew she existed, if they learned she was your daughter—do you think they'd let her live in peace?"
"She was mine to protect."
"She was mine to carry!" Lysandra snapped. "Mine to hold through fevers and nightmares and hunger. Kylan may not have been her blood, but he was there. He died to keep her hidden. You were not."
The words hung between them like knives.
Caveen looked at her, breath catching.
Then, softly: "You never trusted me."
Tears welled in her eyes. "I trusted you once. And it almost cost me everything."
Silence.
"I'm not that man anymore," Caveen said quietly.
"And I'm not that girl who believed in promises."
They stared at each other, both broken in different ways.
Finally, Caveen stepped back, eyes hard.
"She's mine, Lysandra. Whether you like it or not. And I'll fight anyone—including you—if you stand between us again."
Lysandra didn't flinch. "Then you'd better be ready. Because I will not let you bring your chaos into her life."
Caveen turned away, his voice like steel. "You already did that the moment you lied."
Then he walked out, leaving Lysandra alone in the silence she'd chosen years ago.
Night had cloaked Ravenshade in stillness, save for the faint glow of torches dancing along the stone walls. Inside the grand dining hall, warmth radiated from the long oak table, filled with platters of roasted meats, fresh bread, and elven wines.
Lysandra sat at the far end, her posture poised, eyes trained on the food before her. Across the table sat Caveen—silent, unreadable, but his eyes never strayed far from her.
Alaric raised a goblet. "To alliances," he said in a deep voice, trying to cut the tension with a diplomatic toast. "May our union bring the Council to its knees."
Carlos clinked glasses with Seraphine beside him. "To survival," he murmured.
Lysandra merely nodded, lifting her wine but not drinking. Caveen mimicked the gesture, eyes sharp as blades as they flicked to her, unspoken accusations in their depths.
The air was thick. Not even the gentle music from the elven strings in the corner could dilute the fire simmering between them.
Seraphine, ever observant, glanced between the two. "Elara is adjusting well in Landon Estate, Mother said," she offered gently, hoping to ease the frost.
Lysandra's eyes flicked up just briefly. "Lady Maika has always been nurturing," she replied.
Caveen's fork clattered a little too hard on his plate. "Yes," he said coldly. "She has a talent for raising children others abandon."
Carlos froze mid-bite. Alaric's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.
Lysandra placed her utensils down, the movement precise, deliberate. "If you've come here to provoke me, Caveen, kindly wait until dessert."
"I'm not provoking," he said, a mirthless smirk forming. "Just pointing out how comfortable you've become with lying."
Lysandra stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor. Her face remained composed, but her fingers were trembling.
"I've finished," she said to the group, tone formal. "Please, enjoy the rest of your meal."
She turned, cloak swaying behind her as she walked out, back straight despite the weight pressing on her chest.
The doors shut softly behind her.
A long silence followed.
Caveen pushed his plate aside.
"She had no right," he muttered, half to himself.
Carlos leaned back, folding his arms. "She had every right, if you ask me. You left her behind."
Caveen's head snapped toward him, but before words could fly, Alaric intervened with a warning look.
Seraphine placed a hand gently over Carlos's. "Now's not the time."
Caveen stood without a word and walked toward the balcony, the glass of wine untouched on the table. Outside, he stared at the moon. The wind bit through his coat, but he welcomed the chill.
Inside the dining hall, Seraphine sighed. "They loved each other deeply once."
Alaric stared after Caveen, voice quiet. "And deep love makes the deepest wounds."