Cylis stood near the side table in the inner corridor, watching the chef putting the final touches on the tea tray.
Delicate porcelain cups, small neatly arranged sweets—nothing particularly striking… yet everything seemed overly calculated.
As if the mistake wasn't in breaking something, but in the arrangement itself.
One of the maids, adjusting the edge of her apron, said:
"The coming week will be exhausting. The Founding Day always throws the palace into chaos."
Cylis nodded lightly… for a moment she thought,
"I won't see it, my dear Thorn… and my angel Theo."
The thought passed, then slipped away, as if she didn't have permission to linger.
She quickly returned to reality… she hadn't even noticed the weight of that thought yet.
She knew it.
The parties didn't tire the palace just with guests, but with the anticipation, the vigilance, the single mistake that might be noticed.
And the palace never forgets mistakes.
"The king likes things to be precise on these occasions," the maid added, her tone not without worry.
There was nothing to worry about. Entry into the palace wasn't easy anyway.
Nor was leaving it, sometimes.
-
— "The ceremony must reflect stability, not extravagance."
The king's voice was steady.
So steady that it left no room for objection—or even for a thought.
— "The servants will work day and night, Your Majesty."
Marrow replied calmly, standing in his usual place, half a step behind the king.
— "As expected."
— "The head of the servants suggested taking direct charge of coordinating your personal affairs next week… as usual."
— "No."
The king said it as a window closes: no sound, no return.
— "Cylis will be in charge."
Marrow froze for a fraction of a second.
Since when did His Majesty know the names of the servants?
He hesitated for a moment, keeping his official tone.
What he thought and what he said were two entirely different things.
— "Is there a specific reason, Your Majesty?"
— "She is precise."
Then he added, as if it didn't require further explanation:
— "And I prefer precision."
It was not an answer.
It was the end of the conversation.
— "As you command, Your Majesty."
She entered.
The lighting was dim, coming from a single lamp on the desk.
The room was not dark, but not bright enough to offer complete comfort.
Marrow paused for a moment to watch her from behind before closing the door completely and moving on.
Cylis stepped forward with measured steps, the tray in her hands.
The door closed softly behind her.
Outside, just before he walked away, the assistant spoke in a low voice, tinged with mild mockery:
— "Poor head of the servants… he'll be shocked by the news."
Then, smiling, he added:
— "Cylis."
He chuckled lightly, a sound barely audible in this wing of the palace.
--
Cylis placed the tray on the edge of the desk, with a motion more deliberate than necessary.
Not out of fear… but caution she had learned without remembering when.
The aroma of the tea rose lightly, warm, unlike the coldness of the room.
Another small contradiction.
She paused for half a second.
Not because the king hadn't spoken,
but because the silence here… was measured.
She lifted her head.
The king was bent over the papers, shoulders tense, as if the work didn't end at the ink but extended to the body itself.
He did not look at her immediately.
Finally, without raising his eyes, he said,
— "Leave it there."
She obeyed.
Yet, for the first time, she felt her steps heavier than they should be.
As if the floor beneath her had shifted without warning.
When the tray settled, he said,
— "Sit."
The word was neither harsh nor loud.
Which made it disorienting.
Her hand froze for a moment near the desk's edge.
Sitting was not her task.
Not wrong… but not right either.
One fleeting thought crossed her mind, quick and incomplete: Can I… not?
The thought vanished as it came.
But its trace remained—a light weight in her chest, a dryness in her throat.
She sat.
She did not feel comfortable.
Nor rebellious.
But something else…
Something without a name yet.
The king finally lifted his gaze.
It was not scrutinizing.
Nor sharp.
It was steady, as if he had noticed something slightly out of place.
— "You haven't eaten… yet."
She looked at the sweets before her, then back at him.
— "It wasn't… the right time, Your Majesty."
Silence.
Then he said sharply,
— "Then… eat."
The silence stretched between them.
Longer.
Heavier.
She finally extended her hand and took a small piece.
It was not hunger that drove her,
nor obedience alone.
It was curiosity.
And the fear of curiosity.
She didn't have the luxury of choice…
She was a servant… he was a king… King Morvin.
As she raised the piece to her mouth, the king said quietly,
— "You look tired."
She paused.
It was not a question.
Nor a passing remark.
He added, in the same tone,
— "And that… bothers me."
She didn't know why the room suddenly felt smaller.
The air slower.
The exhaustion she had hidden all day… had been seen by someone who shouldn't see it.
Finally, she said,
— "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again, Your Majesty."
He didn't comment.
But his gaze did not return to the papers immediately.
And as she swallowed her bite with difficulty,
a question began forming inside her—silent, unspoken:
Had Thorne made a mistake?
Had she failed?
Or was this… something else?
Something she had never been trained to avoid.
No one had told her how to handle it.
---
Marrow walked down the side corridor faster than usual.
Not in haste… but something closer to impatience.
Where had she gone?
Cylis was not the type to be late without reason.
Nor the type to disappear after being directly summoned.
He turned the corner and found the Head of Servants standing near the records, flipping through them with unusual agitation.
Marrow stopped. He spoke directly, without preamble:
— "You will not be in charge of coordinating His Majesty's affairs next week."
The Head of Servants lifted his head sharply, as if the words had struck his chest.
— "What?" His voice rose, too loud for the place. "Has His Majesty finally decided to dismiss me?"
Marrow didn't let him continue. Calmly, yet sharply, he said:
— "Cylis."
The name fell between them… heavy.
The Head of Servants stared at him, as if he hadn't heard properly.
— "Cylis?" Then he shook his head quickly. "Impossible. Why Cylis? Why now? And why her, of all people?"
He stepped closer, voice dropping, tense:
— "Since when are the King's personal duties entrusted to a servant?"
Marrow did not answer directly. Instead, he asked:
— "Have you seen her? I've been looking for her for some time."
The Head of Servants shook his head slowly.
— "No. The last time I saw her… she was carrying a tea tray to His Majesty's office."
Marrow nodded, as if confirming a thought beginning to form:
— "Yes. That's what everyone I asked said."
They fell silent.
A brief silence… yet heavy.
They looked at each other, then, without agreement, glanced around. The corridor. The doors. The stillness.
At the same moment, they spoke together:
— "She hasn't left since she entered?"
Marrow's eyes widened slightly. He muttered,
— "Damn… what's happening?"
The Head of Servants clenched his fist. In a low voice, closer to anger than a question, he said:
— "What have you done, Cylis?" Then he added, as if the thought pained him:
— "What have you done to become… prominent?"
They did not complete the thought.
But it was there. Clear. Unspoken.
Or was it… Thorne?
Neither of them spoke the name. They didn't want to hear it aloud.
Marrow cleared his throat.
— "I'll tell her when she appears herself."
The Head of Servants nodded, unconvinced, and returned to the records… but his hands were no longer steady.
As Marrow walked away, the question gnawed at him:
Is she more precise than me? Or has the King… no longer wanted me by his side?
Perhaps… perhaps he needs someone warmer. Less habitual. More… present.
The thought displeased him. He could not dismiss it.
And somewhere in the palace, Cylis was still in the office, unaware that her name had begun to circulate… more than it should.
----
Cylis had finally left the office.
The long stone corridor felt colder than usual—or perhaps it was just her perception. Her footsteps were quiet, measured, as if she did not want to leave a trace behind.
Before reaching the turn leading to the back courtyard, she caught an unintended whisper.
Two servants stood near the tall windows.
— "Did you hear about the gardener?"
One of them said, lowering her voice, as if the walls had ears.
— "John?"
— "Yes. The King was already angry… and it seems he needed something to vent that anger."
— "But the flowers weren't his fault."
— "Poor man… everything has its time."
She paused for a moment, then added in a hesitant tone:
— "Even though the King said it was his favorite bloom."
— "Did you really believe that?"
The other said, in a faintly mocking tone.
— "His Majesty doesn't care about these things."
— "Who cares?" the first continued coldly.
"When the King's mood turns sour, it doesn't matter who gets broken… the only thing that matters is that he calms down."
A brief silence followed, heavier than it should have been.
Then the first spoke again, softer:
— "His Majesty's mood has become strange…"
— "Not just his mood."
The second hesitated, lowering her voice further:
— "His actions as well. That common carpenter… he comes and goes from the palace as he pleases."
She paused, then added:
— "Only God knows if His Majesty truly trusts him… or merely watches him."
— "Yet he still allows him to work within the walls."
— "Permission is one thing… trust is another."
The second hesitated before continuing:
— "But the strange one… isn't him."
— "Then who?"
— "The servant. Cylis."
— "What about her?"
— "She hasn't left His Majesty's office since she entered."
— "…"
— "The King keeps no one close without reason."
— "And no one stays long… without being watched."
Cylis paused, not on purpose, but because her legs had betrayed her for a moment. She did not look back. She remained standing to the side, half in shadow, half in presence.
— "Funny how some people…"
Then suddenly, one of them noticed her.
A brief, heavy silence fell.
— "Oh… Miss Cylis." The words came out in a hurried, forced tone.
— "You look tired today." The other added, smiling a cautious smile.
— "We should get back to work before…"
— "…you start lecturing us on our duties."
He finished, laughing lightly, a laugh that didn't reach his eyes.
They bowed in an exaggerated, quick salute, then retreated as if the ground had swallowed them.
Cylis said nothing.
She simply continued on her way, shoulders straight, face calm, as if she had not heard a single word. Yet inside her… something was being recorded, silently.
---
"I wasn't angry," Cylis said, sitting in front of Thorn later, her voice low.
"Nor sad. I just… felt invisible, then suddenly more visible than I should be."
She looked at her hands, then added in a softer tone:
"Sometimes, people don't know what to do when they can't put you in a clear box."
She finally lifted her gaze to him.
"That day… made me realize that my name was being mentioned more than I wanted."
—
Thorn reached out gently, not touching her directly, merely pulling her chair slightly closer, as if adjusting the distance, no more.
He spoke in a low, warm voice, without commands or analysis:
"No need to worry, my dear."
She looked up at him, as if she hadn't realized she needed to hear that.
He continued, with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes:
"Today was long for you. Longer than it should have been."
Then, softer still, he added:
"Go to sleep. Rest well… tomorrow will be clearer."
He didn't ask.
He didn't request more details.
It was as if he understood that some things cannot be solved with words, only with calm.
Cylis nodded silently.
And when she stood, for the first time in hours, she felt the weight on her chest ease slightly—not because it vanished, but because it was carried by someone else, even partially.
Finally, she spoke.
"Alright. Let's go together." She paused at the stairs and glanced back…
"Thorn… I love you."
Thorn smiled and said, "I know… I love you too."
"So… don't overthink what I just told you. I just don't like hiding things from you… my dear."
--
Cylis went to bed quickly, as if her body had been waiting for permission all along.
She didn't take long before exhaustion took over, and her breathing became slower, deeper.
Thorn… did not.
He lay beside her, his back to the ceiling, eyes open. The darkness wasn't complete; a thin sliver of light slipped through the window, enough to reveal her calm features.
She slept.
He remained awake.
What she had told him wasn't enough to cause sleeplessness…
But it was a beginning.
The king doesn't interfere with the exhaustion of his servants.
That's not his concern.
It never had been.
Fatigue is managed with orders, not observations.
With replacement, not attention.
And yet… he said it.
He noticed.
He paused on it.
Thorn clenched his jaw slightly.
He wasn't foolish enough to think this was romantic interest.
Nor naive enough to ignore what he knew about men in power—
Men remain men, no matter their titles.
He breathed slowly.
Cylis wasn't the most beautiful woman.
Nor the weakest.
Nor the most obedient.
But she… was different.
Not like the others.
There was that silent quality she carried,
Never displayed,
Never demanded to be seen—
Yet, it was noticed.
And he knew it.
He had known for a long time.
He turned slightly, looking at her.
Her eyebrows were relaxed, her hand near her chest, as if protecting something even in sleep.
He did not feel anger.
But something far more dangerous:
Attention.
He thought to himself, without allowing the idea to complete:
If he noticed… someone else surely would.
And that was uncomfortable.
He closed his eyes at last,
But sleep did not come.
And among all the failed attempts at rest,
One thing was clearer than anything else:
This had not been an ordinary day.
And it would not be ordinary again.
This… wasn't dangerous enough to be called a threat,
——.
Nor simple enough to be forgotten…
And that, in itself, worried Thorn more than anything.
* * *
🖤 Reader Note
If this chapter felt intense,
know that the next one doesn't raise its voice…
it approaches.