The corridor outside Lila's chambers was quieter than the rest of the palace. Jace noticed the muffled hush of servants' slippers against polished stone, the faint glow of lanterns lit earlier than usual. He had passed this way before, but he had never crossed the threshold of her private rooms.
The maid who led him there gave a polite bow before slipping inside to announce him. A beat later, the door swung open wider. Jace stepped through and found himself studying a chamber that spoke of both taste and weight.
One wall was almost swallowed whole by shelves of books—spines of leather, some new and some worn thin, their edges uneven from constant handling. A desk stood beneath the shelves, neat to the point of severity, with a single quill resting across a closed inkwell. Opposite, tall windows overlooked the gardens, curtains of soft violet drawn just enough to let the night in. A faint fragrance lingered in the air, something floral but sharpened by parchment and candle wax.
Before he could look longer, she appeared.
"Wart," Lila greeted, her voice carrying an easy warmth. She inclined her head, the gesture more personal than formal. "You came. I'm glad."
Jace bowed slightly in return, still taking in how strange it felt to be standing in the chamber of a woman who was held in high regard by the kingdom.
She did not linger in introductions. "Come," she said, gesturing him along as she moved past him. He followed, and the maid closed the chamber doors behind them.
They walked a short corridor that ended in a dining room set for two. The table was small compared to the great hall's sprawling feasts, but it bore all the same finery—silver trays gleaming under lamplight, dishes steaming with roasted meats, spiced greens, and fresh bread. Two goblets of deep red wine caught the light, already poured. A centerpiece of pale flowers softened the formality of the arrangement.
Lila gestured to his seat before taking her own. Servants withdrew to the corners, silent and watchful.
Conversation began simply. She asked after his life as a champion—the trials, the court, whether he had been settling into palace routine. Jace answered honestly enough, though he kept his tone light. He found it easier to joke about long drills with the militia or the endless ceremonial bows than to speak of the weight of what was coming.
For a while, it was easy. Yet the longer they spoke, the more he noticed something off in her manner. She smiled at the right moments, nodded at his replies, but her gaze flicked away more often than it stayed. When he asked if she was well, she lifted her goblet, drank, and answered simply, "I am." Then she rose without warning.
"Excuse me for a moment."
He nodded, though her abruptness left a question buzzing in his head. She swept out, leaving the place across from him empty.
Jace sat at the table, eyes drifting over the gleam of silver cutlery, the ripple of candles in polished glass. A minute stretched. Then he flagged a nearby maid.
"Could you show me to the bath?"
"Yes, my lord." She led him through another passage and pointed him into a tiled chamber, then departed.
When he finished, Jace pushed open the door and paused. Voices carried down the hall—low but clear enough in the stone.
"…you put it in his cup?"
"Yes, my lady."
His brow tightened. Lila's voice.
A pause, then: "Good. It will have him pliant soon enough."
The answer chilled him, but confusion tangled the feeling. What? His gaze darted toward the direction of the dining room. He strained to listen again.
"It will leave him dulled. Like wine, but stronger." Lila's voice clarified.
Relief flickered, but it didn't settle the unease in his gut. Why would she want him in such a state? His mind pulled at the thought, but the only clear thing was that he had not yet touched the wine.
Quietly, he slipped back into the bath chamber. From his inventory, he drew a small vial—one of the clarity elixirs he had hoped not to waste this early. He uncorked it, the liquid sharp on his tongue, and drank it down in one tilt.
The glass clinked softly as he tossed it into a corner basket, empty. He straightened, steadying himself with a slow breath. Then he turned back down the hall toward the dining room, where Lila was already seated once more, waiting.
The meal stretched between them in quiet rhythm—silver clinking gently against porcelain, the faint rustle of servants shifting at the edge of the hall.
Jace leaned back in his chair, more at ease now than when he first sat down. He even found himself smiling more readily, matching her small talk with pieces of his own.
Lila set down her fork, fingers curling lightly against the stem of her glass. She studied him for a beat before asking, her tone light, "Have you tried the wine yet?"
Jace glanced at the untouched glass beside his plate. "No," he said simply, tilting his head at her. "Why?"
For a moment, her chest tightened as though she'd forgotten to breathe. Her lashes lowered, buying herself the smallest pause. Then her voice returned smooth, measured. "It's the finest vintage in the capital. Straight from the brewer's casks this morning. I thought you might enjoy it."
"Really?" Jace's brow rose, the faintest edge of curiosity in his voice. He reached for the glass, fingers closing around the cool stem. Holding her gaze, he lifted it in a casual gesture before bringing it to his lips.
Lila's shoulders softened almost imperceptibly. A sigh slipped out, quiet but unmistakable, relief carried on the exhale.
The wine was rich, heavier than the tavern brews he was used to, with a lingering sweetness at the back of his throat. He set the glass down and let a grin spread slow and wide across his face. "You're right," he said, tapping the rim lightly with a fingertip. "It really is fine."