The palace still felt strange to me .
Too clean.
Too polished.
Too peaceful—peaceful in a way that made her skin itch, because i wasn't used to places without danger.
But the strangest thing wasn't the silence or the servants or the golden hallways.
It was the princess.
Princess Lyria watched me the same way someone might watch a rare animal—curious, unsure, but fascinated.
Not afraid.
Not cautious.
Simply… interested.
That part confused me more than anything else.
Riven sat on a wide balcony, drinking tea the princess insisted she try. The warmth felt good against her palms. Lyria sat across from her, smiling softly every time Riven took a sip.
"You like it?" Lyria asked.
"It's… decent," Riven answered honestly.
Lyria laughed quietly, as if that simple word made her morning brighter.
From behind Riven's chair, Morrivayne's shadowy outline floated lazily.
"She watches you like you're something precious. How irritating."
Riven ignored her.
Lyria leaned forward a little.
"If you feel tired, you can tell me. You're still recovering."
Riven frowned. "I'm fine."
"Still," Lyria added gently, "I'm glad you're here."
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was simple warmth—something Riven didn't know how to react to.
So she just nodded once, awkwardly.
"Riven," Lyria said later, standing a bit straighter than usual, "would you train with me?"
"You want to spar?"
"A light one," Lyria clarified. "I want to see how strong I am now that I'm healthy."
Riven studied her posture—hopeful, yet nervous.
Like someone asking a friend for something important.
"…Fine," Riven said. "But I won't go easy just because you're royalty."
Lyria's grin widened.
"I don't want you to."
Morrivayne drifted behind Riven like a disapproving cloud.
"She calls you by your name with such fondness. Ugh."
But Riven didn't mind.
It was… nice.
The training yard was empty. Lyria started with stiff shoulders, but as they warmed up, she relaxed. She wasn't strong—certainly not compared to Riven—but she was determined.
Riven respected determination.
When Lyria swung her wooden sword incorrectly, Riven stepped behind her, gently adjusting her arms.
"No—like this."
"O–oh. Right."
Lyria straightened, cheeks lightly flushed—not with embarrassment, but with effort.
Their hands touched for a moment.
Lyria smiled at her, a small grateful smile.
"Thank you."
Riven blinked, unsure why her chest felt slightly warmer.
"That's… normal. I'm teaching you."
"You're a good teacher," Lyria said softly.
Morrivayne muttered:
"Congratulations. You've acquired your first friend in fifteen lifetimes."
That night, the gardens glowed with floating fireflies. Lyria walked beside Riven , hands clasped behind her back. Not reaching for her. Not nervous.
Just relaxed.
Comfortable.
Riven wasn't used to people being comfortable around her.
"Can I ask you something?" Lyria said suddenly.
"Ask."
"When you came to the palace the first time… and you looked at me… you said I didn't 'seem well.'"
Riven nodded. "I meant it."
"And you were right." Lyria's voice was quiet. "You were the only one who noticed."
She looked up at Riven—eyes soft, grateful, and honest.
Riven didn't know how to respond to gratitude that wasn't desperate or fearful.
So she said the only thing she could:
"I'm glad you're better."
Lyria's smile was warm
The kind of smile someone gives to a person they trust.
"Me too," she whispered.
"And… I like spending time with you."
Riven felt a strange flutter in her chest—not romantic, but unfamiliar.
Morrivayne murmured:
"She's your friend, little hunter. Don't look so confused."
Friend.
Yes.
That word fit.
Riven nodded—slow, but sincere.
"I like spending time with you too."
And Lyria's expression brightened like she had been waiting to hear exactly that.