Third Person POV
Lucia watched Zephyr from across the grand hall, her eyes skimming past the elites beautifully and handsomely dressed at the ball, her eyes narrowing as she caught the way his gaze drifted past the assembled nobles, unfocused and distant, as if searching for something—or someone—beyond the flickering candlelight and the murmured conversations of the court. He had been like this for days now, ever since he returned from his last mission, his mind seemingly elsewhere, lost in thoughts he refused to share with her.
It was subtle, the way he no longer responded as quickly to her touches, the way his once-intense devotion had dulled into something that felt obligatory rather than genuine. He still smiled at her, still spoke to her in the practiced tones of a man fulfilling his duty, but there was hesitation now, a ghost of reluctance behind his dark eyes that she had never seen before. And Lucia, for all her charm and grace, was not a woman who tolerated hesitation, especially not from the man who was meant to be hers.
"Zephyr," she finally called, her voice light and lilting, carefully crafted to sound inviting rather than accusing. He turned at the sound, but it took him a fraction of a second too long, and she caught it—the slight delay, the flicker of something unreadable before he masked it with a polite expression. That was all the confirmation she needed.
"Lucia," he greeted, his lips curving into a faint smile as he stepped toward her, ever the picture of nobility and decorum. He was perfect—tall, composed, powerful. He had always been exactly what she wanted, the ideal consort, the strong and steady force that would stand beside her when she took her rightful place at the pinnacle of the magical order. And yet, something had shifted, something was slipping from her grasp, and Lucia refused to allow it.
"You seem preoccupied," she murmured, brushing her fingers lightly against his forearm, the touch delicate yet charged with the slightest pulse of magic. Not enough for him to notice, but just enough for her to feel the way his energy wavered, the way his mind was resisting, pulling away from her even as his body remained. "Is something troubling you?"
Zephyr hesitated. That, in itself, was unusual. He was never hesitant, never uncertain. He was a man of conviction, a warrior bound by duty and honor. And yet, as he looked at her now, there was something almost lost in his expression, as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle whose edges had been blurred.
"I—" He stopped, blinking once, twice, his brow furrowing slightly. "No. I just… I feel strange, I suppose."
Lucia tilted her head, her lips curving in understanding, though the amusement in her eyes did not reach her heart. Strange. How interesting. She had been careful, oh so careful, never pushing too much, never taking too much at once. But perhaps she had been too lenient. If he was already noticing the shifts, then she had allowed his mind too much freedom. That was a mistake she would not make again.
"You've been working too hard," she said smoothly, reaching up to brush an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder, her touch lingering just a second longer than necessary, just enough to let her magic weave into the spaces of his consciousness like delicate threads tightening in an unseen loom. "Perhaps you should rest. Clear your mind."
Zephyr exhaled, as if relieved by the suggestion. "Perhaps you're right," he admitted, though his voice held an unfamiliar note of doubt. "It's just… I keep feeling like I've forgotten something. Or like something is just out of reach, something important." His hand lifted absently to his temple, fingers pressing lightly, as if trying to recall a thought that had slipped between the cracks of his mind.
Selene watched him, fascinated. She had never seen him like this before. It was working.
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a soft whisper. "Then don't chase it," she advised, her magic humming just beneath her words, slipping into his ears, curling around his mind like a lullaby. "If it's important, it will return to you. And if it doesn't… perhaps it was never meant to."
He frowned, his jaw tightening slightly, but the doubt in his eyes was already fading, dissolving into the haze she was carefully constructing around him. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she felt his resistance weaken, felt the last remnants of clarity slip just enough for her to deepen her hold.
And then, as if he had never questioned it at all, Zephyr sighed, nodding. "You're right," he said, and the last trace of hesitation in his voice melted away. "If it's important, I'll remember."
Selene smiled. "Of course you will," she murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek, sealing her magic with the warmth of her lips.
And as Zephyr exhaled, his mind settling into the comfortable fog she had crafted, she knew—whatever had been pulling him away from her was gone, lost in the gaps she had created, slipping into oblivion with every beat of his heart.
Thalia sat in the dimly lit room, the scent of old wood and dampness heavy in the air, her fingers drumming against the scratched surface of the table as she watched the man before her with calculating eyes. He was a jittery thing, his fingers twitching as they hovered over his half-empty glass, his gaze shifting toward the door every few seconds as though expecting someone to burst in at any moment. It was clear that this meeting was a risk for him, but that only meant one thing—whatever information he carried was worth something.
"So, you're the one who claims to have insight into Keith's movements," Thalia mused, her voice smooth, almost bored, but there was a sharpness beneath it that warned against any attempts at deception. "I hope you didn't bring me here to waste my time."
The man, a low-ranking member of Keith's ranks who had apparently grown tired of playing by the rules of a man who saw his people as nothing more than disposable pawns, swallowed hard and nodded. "I got something. But—" He hesitated, rubbing his palm against his jeans before shifting forward, lowering his voice. "It comes with a price."
Thalia exhaled sharply through her nose, leaning back against her chair, one brow arching as she studied him. "Of course, it does. What do you want?"
The man glanced around the room again, paranoia practically dripping from him as he licked his lips. "I need out. Completely. And not just me—my sister too. Keith… he's not just getting reckless, he's getting desperate. People are disappearing, and I know I'm next. If I give you this information, I want your guarantee that you'll get us out of here safely."
For a moment, Thalia was silent, considering his words. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for—an insider with valuable information, someone who had seen and heard things that Keith would never willingly expose. But it also meant responsibility. Getting him out would be tricky, and ensuring his sister's safety added another complication. Still, if what he had was truly worth it…
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking onto his, unwavering. "That depends on what you have. If you're handing me scraps, I have no reason to take on that burden. But if what you know can turn the tide, I'll make sure you and your sister disappear before Keith can even realize you're gone."
The man's throat bobbed as he swallowed, the desperation in his eyes almost painful to witness. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper, placing it on the table between them before sliding it toward her. Thalia didn't reach for it immediately, instead studying him for another long moment before finally picking it up. As her eyes scanned the hastily scribbled words, her expression remained neutral, but something in her posture shifted—a tension that hadn't been there before.
If what he had written was true, then Keith was far more prepared than she had anticipated.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, Zephyr stood in his office, staring out at the rain-slicked streets below, the rhythmic tapping of droplets against the glass the only sound in the room. He should have felt victorious. He had spent years ensuring every piece on the board moved exactly as he intended, but for the first time in a long while, something felt… off. Wrong. Like a thread slipping through his fingers just as he was about to tighten his grip.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening as his irritation grew. It wasn't like him to be this unsettled, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something vital. Every move had been calculated, every decision made with precision, and yet, there was a nagging sensation in his gut that told him something was unraveling just beyond his sight.
A knock at the door broke through his thoughts, and he turned sharply, his gaze sharp as a knife as he called out, "Enter."
The door creaked open, and one of his men stepped inside, hesitant. That hesitation alone set Zephyr further on edge. "What?" he snapped, his patience wearing thin.
"There's been movement," the man said carefully. "Something's changing. We can't place it yet, but…" He hesitated before finally adding, "Keith's been making unusual moves. People are getting nervous."
Zephyr narrowed his eyes, his fingers flexing at his side. There it was again—that damn feeling. Something was slipping, shifting, and he was just a step behind in seeing what it was. And that? That infuriated him more than anything else.