Season 1: Awakening the Viliness

  Ch 11: The Brother Returns

  The music in the hall had softened, the rhythm dipping into something slower, more intimate, as if the revel was beginning to loosen its own ces. Conversation flowed like wine, pleasure hung thick in the air, and Mira thought—just briefly—that she could leave. Slip out through one of the arched walkways, disappear with Luceran trailing behind her, unspoken but understood.

  Then he appeared.

  Alveric Vaelen stepped into the space like a man born to command it. He wore a high-colred coat in dark ste, silver-threaded, open just enough to suggest confidence without arrogance. His smile was small, well-practised. His dark hair had lightened slightly with age, but the resembnce to Luceran was undeniable. The same cheekbones. The same sharp mouth. But colder. Polished. Older in ways that had nothing to do with time.

  He approached without hurry, the host melting politely out of his way, murmuring something Mira didn’t catch. Alveric’s eyes were on her the entire time. As Mira slowed to a stop, Luceran sank to his knees out of trained obedience.

  “Viscountess Nysera,” he said with a bow just deep enough to signal respect, but not submission. “You wear restraint like a crown, as always.”

  Mira dipped her head in return. Just enough.

  Her pulse had already started climbing, but she didn’t let it show. Not in her face. Not in her voice. “Duke Vaelen,” she said coolly. “Your fttery’s grown more elegant since st I heard it.”

  He smiled again, a touch wider now. “I’ve had time to refine it.”

  His gaze slid to Luceran—still kneeling, still perfect—and lingered there.

  “You’ve kept him in remarkable form,” Alveric murmured, as if admiring a rare book. “I remember when he was more unruly. But then, you’ve always had a gift for discipline.”

  Mira’s fingers tensed under her gloves, just enough to feel the skin pull. She didn’t look at Luceran. Not yet. She couldn’t.

  Nysera would’ve ughed. Would’ve made some dry comment about housebreaking wild things.

  Mira smiled instead—polite, empty, practiced. “He’s learned his pce.”

  The words tasted like ash.

  Alveric’s expression didn’t shift, but something flickered in his eyes. Pleasure? Approval? Amusement? She couldn’t tell. He looked like a man used to receiving good news from sharp-tongued women.

  They know each other, she thought. Well enough to speak without masks. Well enough to smile like this.

  And beneath that: Nysera liked him.

  She felt it in her bones.

  Gods, I have to stay in this room.

  Luceran hadn’t moved.

  His posture remained fwless—kneeling just behind her, hands resting on his thighs, head slightly lowered. But Mira felt the shift as surely as if he’d screamed. His breathing, too slow. Too measured. His jaw, too tight. The divine current that had once thrummed faintly beneath his skin like light behind fabric had dulled. Fttened.

  He was still kneeling. Still colred. Still hers.

  But inside, he was folding in on himself.

  She wanted to say something. Wanted to reach for him, to rest her hand against his shoulder and let the leash fall and whisper, You don’t have to stay like this. But she couldn’t. Not in this room. Not with this man watching her like he was already halfway to uncovering the lie.

  Because Duke Alveric Vaelen was smiling.

  And Mira was certain—down to her marrow—that he was the worst man in this room.

  He had that kind of charm. The easy confidence of someone who’d been rewarded too many times for cruelty too well-disguised. She didn’t need Luceran to tell her who he was. She felt it. In the weight of his stare. In the calcuted way he gnced at Luceran like he was admiring a pair of gloves he’d once worn and forgotten.

  And Luceran said nothing. Did nothing. Just sat in that silence, and let it devour him.

  Mira kept her voice even. “I’m surprised you found time to attend tonight, Alveric. It’s not your usual scene.”

  “Mm,” he said, “but some scenes become worth revisiting when the cast stays interesting.” His gaze flicked to Luceran again. “Or when the understudies start performing above expectation.”

  He was trying to provoke something. Or confirm something. And if she broke—if she defended Luceran, if she faltered—he’d know she wasn’t Nysera. Not the one he remembered.

  And if that happened, there’d be worse things than grief waiting for both of them.

  So she smiled again, cold and beautiful. “Perhaps I should have you back to dinner. You’ve always enjoyed a good dispy.”

  His grin deepened. “You read my mind.”

  Luceran didn’t flinch. But Mira felt the grief like a fog seeping off him.

  Alveric shifted, just slightly, angling his body toward her as if settling into a shared joke. “You’re not slipping away already, are you?” he asked. “There’s a banquet beginning in the lower hall. The hosts insisted on a seated affair, old-fashioned as that is. But I told them it would only be worth the effort if you attended.”

  His tone was light, ced with polished warmth. But Mira heard the weight behind it. A test. An expectation. A warning.

  “You always did set the tone, Nysera,” he added. “Let’s not disappoint.”

  Behind her, Luceran hadn’t moved. But Mira felt something coil tighter in him, like the st thread of restraint had been pulled taut enough to hum. She could hear his breath now—slow, shallow, mechanical. The kind of breath a man takes when he’s already left the room inside his mind.

  Mira didn’t respond right away. She kept her expression poised, mask perfect. But her thoughts spun too fast.

  If I refuse, he’ll push harder. If I falter, he’ll start to dig. And if he finds out I’m not her…

  There was no good choice.

  But there was a safe one.

  She inclined her head. “Then I’ll make the effort. Lead the way.”

  Alveric offered his arm. She didn’t take it. Nysera never would. She simply turned, the leash trailing smoothly from her hand as she stepped toward the hallway. Luceran rose without command and followed, his body elegant as ever.

  But Mira could feel it now—the way he moved slightly slower than before. The way the silence around him had deepened. He wasn’t present.

  He was enduring.

  The descent into the banquet hall was quiet. Too quiet.

  Mira moved with measured grace, her fingers resting lightly on the leash as if it weighed nothing at all. Luceran followed at her heel, perfect in posture, utterly silent. Each step he took echoed in her chest—not because he stumbled, but because he didn’t. There was no resistance. No hesitation. Only grief pressed into performance, so well hidden even the divine current didn’t flicker.

  The hall had already begun to fill—nobles drifting between tables dressed in candlelight and crushed velvet, ptes of pomegranate-gzed meats and candied roots id in eborate spirals. The smell was rich. Heady. Decadent. A feast for people who had never known hunger, but knew the power of appearing to offer it.

  The White Veil women who remained were already seated—silent, gloved, impassive.

  Alveric slowed beside her as they reached the central table, gesturing toward the seats at its head. “Let’s remind the others what it looks like,” he said smoothly, “when control and css dine together.”

  Mira didn’t answer. She sat.

  Luceran knelt beside her, perfectly positioned at her right, the leash coiled neatly between them.