The room smelled faintly of metal and herbs. Not the best combination.
I lay flat on my back, staring at the ceiling like it might start talking back. My legs were wrapped, my neck bandaged, my finger splinted. The herbs Devie used were mint-cool against my skin — soothing, smug.
And to top it all off, The Dowager Princess decided my food portions should be reduced for the next week, as punishment.
Life was good. For once.
Honestly, I'd have drifted to sleep already if Theo weren't beside me — seated, knees tucked up, babbling about his day as he tried to braid my hair. Strands of it, anyway.
"I heard there was this huge rumble outside," he said, twisting a lock too tightly. "The guards said it was some noble dispute, but the maids said—"
"The maids," I cut in dryly, "also said Lady Mirelle's cat turned into a demon last spring."
He puffed his cheeks. "Still! They said it was really bad. Broken marble, scorch marks, and all."
"Sounds awful," I murmured, staring at the ceiling. "Wish I'd seen it."
Theo paused, blinked—"you know," he began slowly. "it's not always funny when you dismiss my efforts. I know you had a fight with Cousin Marrisa"
He said her name like we had any other cousins.
"…I also know—" he continued. "That you don't trust me. Yet."
"Theo, that's not—" I began, but he suddenly looked up with scared but endearing eyes.
"Onita, I love you. You always tell me I don't know the meaning of it. But I know I love you, if nothing else."
I felt the shimmer in my eyes—warm, my chest melted. I did always tell him that, but it was for my own restraint, I didn't want to love the kid. I thought—care was enough.
{Again with the unfiltered language.}
"—Were you scared." I murmur.
He freezes. "...a little."
I tilt my head slightly, wincing at the pull on my neck. "Theo."
"I'll get strong. Stronger than Daddy even!"
"Mhm." The mention of Father prickled a few hairs on my neck. The chilly wind only made it obvious too.
He continues anyway. He's mimicking Father now, laughing under his breath. And for a moment, I almost forget about the ache in my legs.
Then –knock knock–
And before I can even say anything, a deep voice cuts through the quiet.
"I'm coming in."
Theo shoots up straight, hands flying behind his back like he's been caught stealing cookies. Father steps through the doorway, tall, unhurried, still wearing the coat from this morning. His presence fills the space instantly—weighty, commanding.
"Theo," he says. "I'd like to speak with your sister."
Theo glances at me for permission. I nod once.
He gets up slowly but stops at the door.
"Daddy, if you yell at Onita, I won't be happy with you."
Father's mouth twitches — the tiniest almost-smile. "Noted."
Once Theo slipped out, the door clicks shut, then the silence lands. The wind filled the emptiness.
Father doesn't speak immediately. He studies me like I'm some... puzzle. He wasn't good at this one.
His gaze drifts, to the opened window.
"Aren't you cold?" he finally says, tone even.
"Theo prefers it cold," I replied. Counting my thoughts.
"I asked about you, iris." He turns to me.
I couldn't keep my eyes up to his, I looked away. "I don't mind it."
He exhales—slow. "I'm not here to scold you, I'm not upset."
{I know, being the loving Father that you are. You're probably scared.}
"You've never raised a hand to anyone. Not even your brother when he deserved it." He continues,
"Are you asking for an explanation?" My eyes still fixed on the sheets.
No answer came.
"I'm asking if you're alright." words accompanied with a warm–rough touch on my hand.
I looked up. "Honestly?."
"Yes. Don't lie to me" He almost pleaded.
"I'm fine, really. I am"
His brow tightens. "You're growing into a fighter. You'd avoid conflict even when it would be justified. I used to want you to be strong. To stand your ground. But now… I think I preferred the version of you who'd rather read an exciting book."
"I read to learn, I can't live there."
"So you live to burn down palace courtyards and sleep soundly after."
That earns him the faintest smile. "I didn't do that alone."
"You think so?"
He was running out of words—beating around the conversation to find a comfortable point.
{What's he—}
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" He said,
I pause. {Does he suspect me?.}
I stare, my mind practically blanked-out. "Dad. I just… lost my patience. It won't happen again."
He watches me for a moment longer, "I told you I'm not here to scold you," he pulls me into a hug. "Why are you scared?"
I looked around, something to catch my reflection.
"Your eyes are dark," the words came—still, reassuring. "I first saw them the day you Mother...died"
Slowly, I clasped my arms around him too. I was getting comfortable with hugs.
.><><><.
The prince's chamber was dim but alive—half the light came from the hearth, the other half from the golden glow of runic lanterns stacked unevenly on the shelves. Maps, old tomes, and reports littered the desk in front of Crown Prince Raymond, who sat on his chair, gazed fixed like a hawk, huge spectacles sliding down his nose.
Across the room, Ryder knelt—back straight, shoulders squared, arms steady — In the air, he held an ornate cushioned chair aloft, and balanced neatly on top of it sat a vase, crystal—delicate, enough to bankrupt a man's paycheck with a single wobble.
"Your Highness," he groaned through clenched teeth, "how long do I have to continue this exactly?"
"Until I fall asleep," Raymond said, eyes never leaving the parchment in front of him.
Ryder's arms flexed under the weight—not from strain, but from the sheer insult of the situation. "And that's going to be... when, exactly?"
"I'm busy. Stop blathering."
"Busy?" Ryder's tone dripped disbelief. "You don't have your six months' wages hanging over your head, do you?"
Raymond looked up at that, a single brow arching above the rim of his spectacles. warm light glinting off the glass. "If you'd actually paid attention to the task I entrusted to you," he said coolly, "we wouldn't be having this discussion now."
Ryder grimaced. "I was attentive." He shot back " Forgive me, for not anticipating flying marble and hair-pulling nobility." He's tone dramatic–
"You think this is funny?," Raymond muttered. His quill scratched again, deliberate. "You couldn't do your job right, and you're laughing?" The prince's gaze turned icy—guel."Giving excuses?, You should've anticipated everything."
"She doesn't even know I was supposed to protect her," Ryder shot back, though he regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.
"All the more reason to fault you." Raymond said, now standing, the lamplight catching in his silver hair. "If she knew your true intents, she'd never even glance at you, but even after getting at arms length with her, you still couldn't do a thing. It almost makes me question my own safety." his gaze flicked to the vase, cold as moonlight—
"As if you need protecting."
Raymond didn't answer. The vase wobbled, just slightly. Ryder steadied it, jaw tight.
Then Raymond sighed—a sound too weary for someone not yet thirteen. "Iris Hampton," he said, almost to himself. "Even when she bleed, even her recklessness trouble me."
" And I'm the scapegoat of those troubles."Ryder muttered.
Raymond's lips curved—somewhere between a smile and a warning. "You're dismissed when I've fallen asleep, not before."
"Yes, Your Highness," Ryder said dryly. "May your studies be long and sleepless."
The prince ignored that. His quill dipped, inked again. "Ryder," he added, almost absently. "You'll continue to protect from arm's length, and you'll do it well this time. I won't be so forgiving if there's a next."
"Some great forgiver you are," Ryder mumbled, under his breath. He adjusted the chair just slightly. The vase trembled but held.
.><><><.
It's funny how quickly people move on.
Just two weeks ago, everyone was whispering about Marrisa and me like it was the lastest/hottest show in town.
Now? Suddenly, it's like no one remembers it even happened. And nine days later, we said goodbye to the palace. Hopefully for good.
Father said the manor was finally fit for life again, whatever that meant. I think he just missed his study chair.
Since then, Eloria's been buzzing—like the whole city was on a fire drill. Everywhere I turn, someone's talking about themarch. Training grounds rang all day long, metal against metal, shouts echoing down the valley. Aides tripping over themselves to deliver messages across.
The nights smelt of sweat, heat and steel.
The ladies were busy too, stitching handkerchiefs for their beloveths. Because clearly, lace will stop the spear, in good faith. Or something like that.
Mia and Gia joined them—each made one for Father. Green plants—maybe poddles, red heart—apples, golden—loose edges. Crooked, but it didn't stop them from showing it off. With the proudest of smiles you'll ever see.
They said they'll give them to him on march day.
Theo had been skipping across the manor like a small—cute silver haired wandering ghost. Appearing at various intervers.
I might have wandered along with him if I wasn't too busy trying not to burn my lashes off, off stump my thumb.
I was working hard. Hard than I'd ever work—literally,
I spent days thinking about what to give Father.
The handkerchief idea was just.....not my thing, you know.
I wanted something useful. Something that wouldn't need to be protected so it doesn't burn, or gets torn.
And, I wanted to standing out, while spoiling the man.
And technically, this was my first gift ever to him. So, naturally. I chose a sword.
Not just any sword—a Vinadry blade. Rare metals, beautiful haute night—blue, super pricey too. nearly impossible to forge without setting something or someone on fire. Zerlious helped me, mostly because he didn't trust me not to blow up his forge. The man complained the entire time—said I was "wasting expensive material on a vanity theory."
I was forced to tell him it was for Father. He shut up real quick after that.
The manor hasn't been quiet since we returned. Preparations for the march everywhere—clattering armor, shouted orders, the smell of oil and horse sweat mixing with polished wood. The food portions doubled, as families visited every day, to thank Father or to say goodbye to their own. Mostly both. They greeted too me for some reason, I discovered the common folks were a lot more barrable than Nobels.
Emily came too. Brought her little sister along—same age as me, but with the tempre or a kicked hornet. She had said, "Money corrupts even the holiest souls."
Which, if you ask me, just means "I'm forever devoted to being poor."
I smiled, nodded, and decided not to invite her to tea. I thought Money spoke every language. Guess not.
The morning of the march came sooner than anyone wanted.
The manor looked like a festival—banners draped from the windows, flowers braided into the railings, ribbons fluttering wherever the wind pleased. The entire front court shimmered under the sunlight, and the smooth-stone path had been laid with a fine cloth for the riders to pass over.
Father hated that part. "Wasteful," he muttered earlier. But he didn't stop them either.
Everyone gathered in the yard—servants, knights, and nobles alike. The air buzzed with laughter, chatter, and the occasional sniffle that people pretended not to notice.
Handing out their charm.
Theo went first. He'd helped pack Father's bag—gloves, wears, snacks and something he called a "lucky token." I didn't look too closely, but it was shaped suspiciously like a fish.
{So that's what he's been busy with.}
Father didn't question it. He just smiled that small, quiet smile that meant he was fighting back a laugh.
Then Mia and Gia approached, one on each side, clutching the handkerchiefs they'd embroidered.
"Return the kiss when you come back!" they chorused after pecking his cheeks, their little ribbons bouncing with each word. Mia was especially ripe red.
Even Father's usual stoicism cracked a little at that.
laughed at their performance, not knowing what awaited me.
I didn't play any theatric, the curtsying or ceremony. Just walked up, the wrapped Vinadry sword in both hands, and held it out. Not even above my head, just at him.
"Something for the road," I said. " I wanted to give you something… that would matter. Something different."
Father took it carefully, running his thumb along the hilt.
"Vinadry," he murmured. "You've outdone yourself."
"I know," I said, because being humble isn't really in my skill set. "I'm a little bankrupt, but it's fine, I'll just sell it when you return."
I could feel the tears, caught under my eyes.
He laughed—a rare, low sound that felt heavier than it should. Then reached into his coat and pulled out a small velvet pouch. I blinked.
"No, I don't want—" I stopped, couldn't find the words. Ones that made sense.
He opened it, revealing a brooch—a red gem, polished smooth and glowing—soft like it had its own heartbeat. "It's a communication relic," he said, fastening it carefully at my collar. "Usually reserved for generals and warheads, but…"
His hand paused. "I'd rather hear your voice myself than through anyone else's report."
"You're giving me a military-grade relic," I said slowly, "because you're worried?"
"Because you're unpredictable," he corrected, though the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him.
I traced the gem between my fingers. "You know, this is like... Our first gift exchange."
"But I always get you something for your birthday." he said, tone confused.
" Exchange." I repeated.
"Really?" He leaned in—then hugged me. I had hoped he would. Tho he was squeezing the air out of me but, I almost wished it didn't end.
When he pulled away, I thought that was it—until he leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
{Hun?!}
Right there. In front of everyone.
My mind blanked. My soul left me.
"F–Father!" I hissed, face hot enough to light a torch. "We're outside! People are staring!"
He only chuckled, low and maddeningly calm. "So?."
Behind him, I heard Gia cooing to Mia, "Aww, I'm so jealous," which wasn't helping!.
I tugged my hair over my face. "Meanies," I muttered.
I felt him staring, as if memorizing my expression before turning to mount his horse.
As he did. The banners fluttered in the wind, bright as sun against Eloria's gray morning skies. Flowers lined the path, ribbons tied to the gates and well, everywhere. Even the air felt dressed for ceremony—heavy with perfume and nerves.
The knights formed their ranks, shields gleaming, the sun bouncing off their armor like a mirror. Behind them, the lords and generals on their mounts—all straight-backed, proud, like their wives weren't crying behind pretty fans and parasols.
Theo sat in front of Father on his horse, legs swinging, grinning like the parade was made just for him. Gia and Mia had their bodies halfway out the carriage window, waving until their hands went red. The crowd waved back—some smiling, most crying.
I couldn't tell if it was a send-off or a farewell.
Someone started a horn, deep and loud—sharp, it rolled through the streets like thunder. Then came the first hooves, steady, rhythmic, the sound of men marching toward glory—or graves, don't even ask.
I wanted to wave too—jion the pretense, but my hand wouldn't move. My fingers kept brushing against the brooch at my collar, feeling the faint hum beneath the tips. The gem pulsed warm.
I bit my lip. "if there's a god out there, I don't wanna be orphaned again. Please." I whispered, so quietly even the wind didn't hear.
The horses began to move, and Eloria—our Eloria—cheered like the world depended on it.
And at this point. My world did.