Sunlight slants through arched windows, warming the marbled floor of the solarium in slow, golden ribbons. The room smells of honeyed pastries, jasmine tea, and quiet tension. You sit stiffly at a long table set with fine china and too many knives, a lace-gloved hand resting lightly on the rim of your teacup.
Vaergan sits at the head of the table, flanked by eager courtiers and sycophants dressed in pastel silks. His silver-blond hair is tied back neatly today, and a pleasant smile rests on his lips—one that never quite touches his eyes.
Across from you, Levi is composed but distant. He's barely touched his plate. He moves with surgical precision—one slice of fruit, one sip of tea, one unreadable glance across the table. But you can tell he's watching everyone. Especially Vaergan.
The lord lifts his cup with theatrical grace. "The masquerade was... illuminating," he says to the room at large. "So many fascinating interactions. The energy between new couples is always thrilling to observe. And some—" he glances at you, then at Levi "—some had particularly... evocative moments. Near the west wing hallways, wasn't it?"
Your grip tightens on the porcelain.
Levi's expression doesn't change, but he reaches for his fork with slightly more force than necessary. The metal clinks against his plate.
You tilt your head politely. "We were merely enjoying the party, my lord. It was a lovely event."
Vaergan hums, swirling his tea. "I do hope you weren't disturbed by the... foot traffic. Some hallways are more private than others."
There's a flicker of something behind his eyes. Not jealousy. Calculation.
Levi sets down his fork. "We weren't disturbed," he says evenly. "But you're right. Some things are better left unseen."
Vaergan's smile curls. He moves on to speak with the woman to his left. But his attention lingers.
Levi doesn't look at you, but his hand brushes yours beneath the table—a small pressure. Not affection. Warning.
You don't eat the rest of breakfast.
—
You don't wait for an excuse to leave. You rise with a soft smile, murmuring something about air, and Levi follows a beat later. The guards don't stop you. But you know they see.
The gardens beyond the solarium stretch in disciplined lines of color—roses and climbing ivy shaped into perfect arcs. The sky is pale and cloudless, the kind of weather that dares you to believe nothing is wrong.
But your stomach twists.
You stop at a curve in the path near the marble fountain. Levi pauses beside you.
"You were being stupid," you say without preamble.
He turns to you slowly. "You froze," he says. "I did what I had to."
"You didn't have to kiss me like that."
He's quiet for a moment. "Maybe I didn't. But it worked."
You take a breath. "You could've pulled away sooner."
His jaw clenches. "Didn't hear you say stop."
You look away, jaw tight. The air between you vibrates with something unspoken. The fountain bubbles behind you, soft and mocking.
"You looked like you meant it," you say finally.
He doesn't move. Doesn't blink.
"I was acting," he replies.
"Really? Then you're a better actor than I thought."
The silence thickens. For a moment, you think he'll say more—but he doesn't.
You run a hand down the length of your skirts, smoothing the fabric as though it might straighten your thoughts.
"Vaergan's not suspicious of both of us," you murmur. "He's suspicious of me."
Levi's voice is low. "Because you're the one he thinks he can break."
You meet his eyes.
"He's wrong," Levi adds. "But we need to tighten the performance."
You nod, but your heart is still hammering for reasons you don't want to name.
—
The knock comes late. Past midnight. Past safety.
Levi looks up from where he's been sharpening a blade with slow, rhythmic strokes. You answer the door.
Marla steps inside without a word. Her eyes flick to you—then to Levi. Her hands are steady as she sets the tray down and begins to pour.
Not a word is spoken.
She bows and turns to leave.
But you know her timing is deliberate.
When she's gone, you lift the lid of the teapot.
A folded note waits inside.
Levi takes it and reads aloud:
"Observatory. North wing. Vaulted door. Cipher lies within. Guard rotation lightens tomorrow night."
You glance at each other.
"She's been watching us," Levi says, tone unreadable. "And covering for us."
—
You walk to the wardrobe and kneel beside it, fingers slipping into the false bottom. Velvet-lined fabric lifts to reveal cold metal.
ODM gear. Polished. Waiting.
Levi walks over, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Of course you brought it," he says.
You look up at him. "You didn't?"
He snorts, then reaches for the blades. "That observatory's locked up like a fortress."
"Which is why we're not walking in," you reply. "We're climbing in. The guard rotation tomorrow night gives us just enough time."
"You really don't like following orders, do you?"
You pause and look over your shoulder, a faint smile tugging at your lips.
"Only the stupid ones."
His gaze lingers.
Tomorrow night, you'd break into Vaergan's observatory.
But tonight, the tension still simmered—unspoken and volatile.
You could feel it, humming between you.
Waiting.