The four of them sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they waited to finally arrive home. The joy that had once lit their faces had now dimmed, smothered by the shadow of what had happened earlier at the Plaza stage, when Elira's mother had caused such a humiliating scene.
Cassian stole a glance at Elira, who sat directly before him. Her head was bowed so low that her face was almost hidden, her fringe falling across her features like a veil. She clutched her right wrist with her left arm, where the angry mark left by Elinor's grasp earlier still burned against her skin. A flicker of worry crossed Cassian's eyes; he feared the wound might deepen. Yet, before he could speak, the carriage suddenly came to a halt.
"I suppose we're here," Mrs Joana announced, her voice unnaturally bright as she tried to dispel the heavy silence around them. But Elira said nothing. Shame weighed on her too heavily for words.
Cassian was the first to step down from the carriage. He turned, offering his hand to Elira. Hesitant, she placed her own trembling hand into his, and with his gentle assistance she descended gracefully. Behind her, Mrs Joana and Sylas followed.
The moment Mrs. Joana saw Elira's forlorn face, her spirit sank. Without hesitation, she turned to the two young men."Boys, would you mind carrying everything inside? Elira and I need a little moment," she said warmly.
They both nodded and began unloading the parcels one by one. Meanwhile, Mrs Joana placed her hands tenderly on Elira's shoulders, guiding her with quiet encouragement.
Together they stepped into the house, climbing the stairs side by side. "Come now, Elira," Mrs Joana said, her tone firm yet full of care. "Forget what happened earlier. Don't let it trouble your heart, my dear."
But Elira's eyes remained vacant, her thoughts tangled in shame. Mrs Joana's chest tightened with worry; she feared that the girl's painful past might once again resurface to haunt her dreams. Having witnessed firsthand the cruelty of Elira's mother, she could not help but feel an aching pity for this gentle young soul.
At last, they reached Elira's room. Elira pushed open the door, then turned slowly to face Mrs Joana.
"Thank you… for always being here for me," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the floor. "I'm sorry, I feel like such a burden to you and Sylas." Her left hand instinctively shielded her right wrist from sight, as though she wished to hide the pain from everyone.
Mrs Joana reached out, gently lifting Elira's chin until their eyes met. For a moment Elira's eyes widened in surprise, caught by the warmth of that motherly smile. Without another word, Mrs Joana pulled her into an embrace.
"You've nothing to apologies for, my daughter," she murmured. "Have I not told you already? You are my daughter now."
Elira's heart stirred, and a faint smile touched her lips. She felt her chest warm with comfort. Soon after, Mrs Joana left to put away the parcels, leaving Elira alone in her room. As she moved to close the door, a soft voice drifted through the hallway.
"Elira?"
Her heart skipped. It was Cassian. She swung the door wide open, only to find him standing there, his arms full of her belongings.
"Oh! Cassian… you didn't have to bring those up for me. I feel so embarrassed," Elira said quietly, her cheeks warming as memories of the Plaza rushed back—the scene her mother had caused, the disgrace before the Crown Prince. She took the parcels from him with trembling hands, her head still bowed, unable to lift her eyes to meet his.
Cassian noticed. He saw how carefully she avoided his gaze, how shame had drawn a veil over her face. And still, he only smiled—softly, reassuringly.
"You don't need to feel ashamed of what happened, Elira. As long as you are with us… everything will be all right."
Her heart fluttered at his words. Slowly, almost against her will, she raised her eyes to him. Cassian's gentle smile was waiting for her, warm and unshaken, and it set her chest alight with a feeling she could hardly name.
"Yes… thank you, Cassian," she whispered, her voice fragile yet sincere. "Despite everything, today… I am happy."
And with that, she closed the door softly, leaving Cassian alone in the quiet corridor.
He lingered there, staring at the closed door with a faint ache in his heart. What she had endured tonight weighed heavily on him. Yet, as his hand curled into a fist, his lips curved into an involuntary smile. For even now, the memory of their dance beneath the plaza lights lingered in his vision—the beauty of Elira shining like a flame he could not extinguish.
Drawing a steady breath, Cassian composed himself and turned away, retreating into his own chamber. The night was deep, and yet his heart refused to rest.
It was well past midnight when Mrs. Joana finally finished arranging all the things they had bought from the heart of the capital. She retired quietly upstairs to rest, leaving Sylas alone to wash the exhaustion from his face. The day had been draining—not just the long walk, but the memory of what had unfolded at the Plaza stage. Elira's mother had appeared unannounced, creating a scandal that left everyone stunned. Now, dressed in his black night attire, Sylas reflected on her audacity. He had never imagined a mother could behave so shamelessly, humiliating her own child in front of the public. 'And who would go so far as to sell their daughter into…' Sylas shuddered at the thought.
His unease deepened when he recalled Elinor's threat to return for Elira. Sylas knew he could not tell his own mother—she would only worry. Yet despite his usual cold indifference to the world, there was a tiny ache in his chest for Elira's past suffering.
Most pressing of all, however, were the bruises marking Elira's wrist from her mother's cruel grip. Sylas fetched bandages and ointment, determined to tend her wound personally. Though he was often aloof and distant, to those he cared for—friends and family—he was fiercely protective. Elira had quietly claimed a place in that circle, and he could not bear to see her hurt.
By the time he reached Elira's door, he assumed she had already fallen asleep from exhaustion. It was easier this way—he could treat her wound without disturbance. Silently, he pushed the door open, and his breath caught.
Elira was awake. She sat on her bed, legs extended and crossed at the ankles, her left shoulder resting lightly against the window frame. The night air drifted in, teasing the sheer curtains and lifting strands of her hair. Her gaze was fixed on the broad, silver moon, yet there was no light in her eyes. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, yet she remained still, as if frozen by grief. Her bent form leaned against the wall near the window, fragile and vulnerable.
A rare, protective warmth stirred in Sylas. He lowered himself to sit at the edge of her bed, and she startled.
"Oh… Sylas? Why are you here?" she asked, hastily wiping her tears.
He remained calm, arranging the bandages on his lap with methodical care.
"What's that?" she whispered, noticing the items in his hands. Her voice was a mixture of curiosity and concern.
Without a word, Sylas reached for her wrist. She flinched instinctively, but when she saw the gentle care in his touch, she said nothing, letting her eyes drift back to the moon.
"I thought you were asleep," he murmured, uncapping the ointment. "So I didn't knock. I intended to treat your wound."
As the cool salve touched her skin, Elira's breath caught. Sylas leaned down, blowing lightly on the sore spot to ease the sting. She froze, unsure how to respond. This was the first time she had seen him gentle, the first time his icy demeanor had melted into quiet care. Her heart fluttered unexpectedly, a warmth spreading through her chest. Perhaps it was the kindness, or perhaps… something more.
Once the bandage was secure, Sylas tidied the supplies. For a long, quiet moment, they simply shared the moonlight, each silently watching it's silver glow.
"I'm sorry, Sylas," Elira whispered, her voice heavy with sorrow.
He turned, silver eyes sharp yet warm, his eyes finding hers with an intensity that left her breathless.
"Why apologize? You didn't cause this."
Elira opened her mouth, words trembling on her lips. "It's just… I—"
But Sylas cut her off gently, his voice firm yet careful, like a hand brushing away the storm from her thoughts.
"Because it was your own mother who caused this scene," he said, silver eyes sharp but softening as they met hers. "That doesn't mean her sins are yours to carry. You are not responsible for the cruelty of others, Elira."
Elira froze, her chest tightening at the weight of his words. They were unlike anything he had ever said to her before—stern, yet infused with a quiet warmth that seeped into her very bones. His presence, usually cold and untouchable, now felt like a sanctuary, a safe harbor from the chaos of her day.
"You know," he continued, leaning slightly closer, his gaze unwavering, "stop blaming yourself. Those who are unworthy of your kindness do not deserve it."
Elira's eyes widened, stunned. She couldn't reconcile this gentle Sylas with the distant, aloof boy she had always known. Her heart fluttered, a strange warmth spreading through her chest, a curious mixture of comfort and something she could not yet name.
"Th-thank you, Sylas," she whispered, her voice trembling, touched beyond words.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved her lips, and Sylas, noticing, suddeny placed a medium-sized box beside her with careful precision.
"What is this?" she asked, curiosity and surprise mingling in her tone.
"Just… open it after I leave," he said, his voice as cool as ever, though the faintest softness lingered at the edges. He allowed her a lingering glance as he turned toward the door, a quiet authority in his movement that made her heart beat faster.
Hesitantly, Elira lifted the lid. Her eyes widened in astonishment. Inside lay a pair of light peach ballet flats—the very pair she had touched at the shoe store while Mrs. Joana had shopped. She had admired them in silence, discouraged by the cost, and never imagined someone would notice, let alone gift them to her.
Her cheeks flushed crimson with delight. She pressed the shoes gently to her chest, a warmth flooding her heart. For the first time since the chaos at the Plaza, her chest felt light, her mind at ease. She leaned back against her pillows, eyes glimmering, letting the serenity of the moment envelop her.
Sylas lingered for a heartbeat at the door, watching her, his usually cold heart quietly moved. He observed the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the fragile trust she had placed in him, and the unspoken bond between them that had deepened silently, glowing softly in the silver moonlight.