The balcony had grown colder since Velora joined him, but neither of them had gone back inside.

  The night wrapped around House Duskbane like a living thing, quiet and watchful. Moonlight traced the edges of the Obsidian Spires, turning their sharp silhouettes into silver-lined shadows against the sky.

  Mordain’s hands still rested on the stone railing where they had been before, the cold long since sinking into his skin. Velora stood beside him, close enough that the wind moved through them both as one.

  “You’re still thinking,” she murmured.

  “I never stopped,” he replied.

  Below them, the palace had settled into uneasy silence. Torches burned lower. The courtyard patrols moved slower, quieter — as if even the guards felt it.

  Something was shifting.

  Velora followed his gaze toward the distant mountains. “Father’s been in the council chamber all evening,” she said. “Mother hasn’t left his side.”

  Mordain didn’t look surprised. “They feel it too.”

  She glanced at him. “You say that like you know what it is.”

  “I don’t,” he admitted. “But it feels like… a door opening somewhere far away.”

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  Velora studied him in the moonlight. “You’ve had that look since we were children. Like you’re listening for something.”

  A faint smile touched his lips. “Maybe I am.”

  She nudged his shoulder gently. “That’s not comforting, Mord.”

  A quiet breath of laughter left him — rare, but real.

  The stars stretched endlessly above them. For a moment, the world felt suspended between heartbeats.

  “Do you ever wish,” Velora asked softly, “that you were born into a different house?”

  Mordain didn’t answer right away.

  “No,” he said at last.

  She blinked. “Not even once?”

  “If I had been born elsewhere,” he said calmly, “I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have this view.” His eyes shifted to her. “Or you.”

  Velora looked away quickly, though a small smile tugged at her lips.

  “You’re unfairly kind sometimes.”

  “I’m just honest.”

  The wind picked up, carrying the distant crash of waves far below the cliffs.

  “They don’t see you,” she whispered. “Not the court. Not the nobles. They think you’re fragile.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’re fine with that?”

  Mordain’s gaze drifted back to the horizon. “It’s easier to move when no one is watching.”

  Velora fell quiet at that.

  “Mord,” she said after a moment, voice softer now, “promise me something.”

  He turned slightly. “What?”

  “When the world finally turns its eyes on you… don’t disappear into the shadows just because it’s easier.”

  Moonlight caught in his eyes — and for a fleeting second, something older than the night seemed to stir there.

  “I won’t,” he said.

  She searched his face, then nodded.

  “Good,” she whispered. “Because tomorrow… the world might start looking at you.”

  The wind passed between them again, colder now.

  Far beyond Duskbane, beyond the forests and rivers and borders drawn by men, something ancient shifted in its sleep.

  Mordain felt it.

  Not fear.

  Recognition.

  And beside him, Velora leaned her head lightly against his shoulder.

  Neither of them spoke.

  The night held its breath.

  And in the silence between heartbeats…

  the waiting began to end.