The carriage rocked as they rolled beneath the palace gates, her father's voice a steady thread at Aurelia's ear. "William does love his entertainments," he said, watching the parade of banners and torchlight. "Either that or he thinks wine steadies the court."
"Or both," her mother murmured, fingers steepled in her lap.
Rowena chattered quietly about perfumes and dresses, while Sebastian watched the crowds.
Aurelia pressed her palm to the cool glass and watched the palace draw near.
She hadn't worn court finery in months, not since the Academy's summons and the crippling, private work that followed.
The thought of navigating a room filled with polite smiles felt like walking a plank. However, being among the noble society might be beneficial.
The palace doors opened like a promise. Inside, the hall spread out in a crowding bloom of gold and marble, vaulted ceilings hung with banners, chandeliers like constellations, and rugs soft enough to swallow the noise of footsteps.
Courtiers, and those who wished to be courtiers, clustered in embroidery and jewels, the air warmed by lantern-light and the faint tang of citrus from the refreshments.
No one missed her entrance. It was a sensation she'd grown used to and resented in equal measure, an invisible chord that tightened the moment she crossed into view.
Eyes turned, but the looks that met her were not the thin knives she had expected. They were softer, bright with admiration rather than envy.
"Look—she's the hero of the Spire!" a young noblewoman breathed, stepping forward with the determined grace of someone who'd rehearsed compliments in a mirror.
Her companions leaned in as if Aurelia might whisper secrets of the Academy.
"Lady Aurelia," another murmured, voice trembling between flattery and awe. "I've heard so much. We'd be honored if you'd allow a meeting, perhaps you could give us a demonstration someday? I might even petition to attend the Academy."
Aurelia felt the flurry of attention like warm wind. Her cheeks warmed in spite of herself. She had walked through suspicion before, faces that had measured blame against headline, but this was an odd inversion… adoration.
It should have been welcome. Instead, it made her uneasy, the word 'hero' felt like a wound she didn't want to reopen.
"Please," she said, soft and careful, giving what grace she could. "You're too kind."
Then Lysandra appeared, cutting through the circle like a bright ribbon.
She did not glide, she strode, full of noiseless confidence, and everyone recognized the enthusiasm she carried.
At the sight of her, a ripple of whispered gossip expanded and folded into a chorus of envy.
"That's my friend!" Lysandra declared before she reached Aurelia, like a banner snapping free. Her hands flew outward in theatrical affection. "The hero herself! You lot, I told you. I told you she was fabulous. We spend afternoons at the manor and evenings in the gardens. She's better than the legends make her sound, honestly."
A dozen faces turned on Lysandra with the thin surprise of those who felt betrayed by a long-kept secret. "You never told us she was your friend," one woman hissed, more hurt than angry.
Another thrust forward, eyes alight. "You mean you eat pastry with her? Teach her embroidery? We demand her favorite cake?"
Lysandra laughed, delighted and unapologetic. "I simply prefer keeping good things to myself. But yes, she's been at my manor. Can you imagine? Lady Aurelia, these ladies would die for a word from you about your studies."
Aurelia felt the attention fan into something almost physical.
She smiled because social etiquette required it, and because the suit of manners she'd been taught fit her like a familiar glove.
But beneath the smile, her hands wanted the solitude of her study, the honesty of the training yard, the small quiet of Aether practice.
"We read together," Lysandra continued, waving aside the clamoring questions as if she could steer them away, "and she tells me the grandest things about Aether and—" she lowered her voice to a mock-conspiratorial whisper—"about the Spire. She smashed the core with her bare will. True story."
Aurelia's throat tightened. She wanted to tell Lysandra to stop embellishing, to keep the details sober and true, but the warmth of Lysandra's loyalty wrapped around her, a comfort she did not know she'd been missing.
A ridiculous, private gratitude made her cheeks burn anew.
Around them, the room's energy hummed: noblewomen clustered into instantaneous entourages, young men drew closer in polite curiosity, and a few older figures, those who watched the kingdom's levers, observed with the half-smiles that didn't reach their eyes.
Jealousy rippled like a tide under the surface, but for the moment, it stayed beneath the glint and silk.
Lysandra hooked an arm through Aurelia's and gave her a conspiratorial leer. "Come meet my friends. Tell them about the Academy. Tell them if it's as dreadful as the tutors claim, or whether the pastries are better than mine."
Aurelia let herself be led, pale glove brushing Lysandra's sleeve. She kept one thought steady in her mind like a mantra. Not a hero. Not a title. A person.
They were swallowed in a swirl of laughter and questioning, until the group abruptly shifted, a subtle parting of bodies like the ripple before a breeze.
Behind the departing pair, the Caelistra family watched.
Her mother was the first to exhale, a soft, almost imperceptible breath of pride mixed with tension. Duchness Caelistra's gloved fingers hovered near her lips, eyes following her daughter as if memorizing every step.
"She looks radiant," she murmured,
Rowena leaned in with a smirk of sisterly amusement. "Of course she does. She's Aurelia. She could walk into a collapsing ruin and still look like she's attending afternoon tea."
Her mother gave her a look, fond, exasperated.
Rowena raised both hands. "What? It's true."
Their father, Duke Caelistra, stood straighter than any banner, though the hand that rested on the pommel of his cane tightened just slightly. His gaze remained steady on Aurelia, but his jaw worked once as if weighing the room itself.
"She handles it well," he said. "Better than most in her position."
"Better than any in her position," Sebastian added, arriving just in time to catch the tail end of Lysandra's announcement.
"She's not even flinching," he muttered, though his tone carried more pride than surprise. "Good. I taught her well."
Rowena snorted. "You taught her how to kick someone in the shin."
"An important skill."
"Hardly relevant here."
"Could be."
Their mother turned, a reprimand ready on her tongue, but stopped when the duke spoke again, quietly.
"She shouldn't have to be this exposed so soon."
Duchness Caelistra's face softened. "She's stronger than we give her credit for."
"That isn't the point," he said. "Strength is not armor against the wrong kind of attention."
The meaning settled over them like a subtle chill. Even amidst the glitter and music, the shadow of the Spire still lingered, its destruction, its miracle, and Aurelia's name stitched into every retelling.
Sebastian folded his arms, watching his sister disappear deeper into the bright knot of nobles surrounding Lysandra. "She's handling it," he repeated, more firmly this time. "And if she stumbles—well—I'll handle whoever caused it."
"Sebastian," their mother warned, but she didn't entirely disagree.
Rowena chuckled under her breath. "Honestly, let the girl breathe. This is good for her. She looks happy."
All eyes followed Aurelia for a final moment.
And there, just before she vanished fully into Lysandra's orbit, Aurelia glanced back.
Only for a heartbeat.
Her expression blossomed into a bright smile, radiating warmth and confidence.
Rowena's smirk transformed into a proud grin.
The duke relaxed his hand over the cane, his eyes gleaming with approval. The duchess inhaled, feeling a surge of joy wash over her.
Sebastian's shoulders eased, a sense of pride swelling within him.
Then Aurelia turned away again, drawn back into Lysandra's whirlwind, her name already being spoken like a title.
Her family remained where they were, each wearing the same quiet, unspoken truth.
They were proud.
Aurelia didn't need to look to know who was approaching, the change in atmosphere said enough.
Lucien Aramont was crossing the ballroom.
Not with fanfare. Not with an entourage pushing aside lesser nobles. He merely walked, and the room rearranged itself to accommodate him, like water making way for a familiar stone.
He greeted a few nobles along the way, speaking briefly, warmly. His smile carried that effortless ease people mistook for charm. Aurelia recognized it as a shield, polished and reliable.
Lysandra's grin widened at the sight. "Ah…there he is. Our favorite troublemaker," she announced.
Lucien reached their small circle, bowing his head just enough to acknowledge the cluster of noble girls before letting his attention rest, directly, deliberately, on Aurelia.
"Lady Aurelia and Lysandra," he said, his voice low but not overly familiar. "It's good to see both of you in a time that isn't filled with crisis and destruction."
"You look two…" he started, then paused as if searching for the right word. He ultimately settled on the simplest one. "Well."
"And you seem busy," Aurelia replied. "As usual."
"My father likes to pretend these parties soothe the kingdom's spirit," Lucien said, the edges of his mouth tilting with humor. "But personally, I think he just likes the wine."
A ripple of laughter moved through the noble girls. Even Aurelia's mouth curved.
Lucien continued lightly, "I heard admirers were accosting you. Thought I should ensure you hadn't been kidnapped by well-dressed enthusiasm."
Lysandra's hand shot up. "That was me. I kidnapped her."
Lucien laughed softly, genuinely. "Of course it was."
He didn't push closer. Didn't pull her away. He simply stayed in her orbit, speaking with the group, deflecting excessive praise when Aurelia looked cornered, making it easy for her to breathe.
Only once did he lean in, just enough for his words to be meant for her alone.
"If you need space," he murmured, "signal me. I'll extract you."
Aurelia blinked, surprised by the simple consideration, and even more surprised by how relieved it made her feel.
The conversation swelled again, nobles bustling around them, but Lucien remained, steady, attentive, present without prying. Not a prince tonight. Not a political figure.
Just Lucien.
And that, somehow, unsettled her more than any title he bore.
The musicians shifted into a new melody, bright strings, a sweeping undertone of brass. The kind of song that meant one thing in noble gatherings.
A dance was about to begin.
Immediately, the ballroom stirred, pairs forming like constellations in motion. Lysandra gasped, clutching Aurelia's arm with the urgency of someone spotting a fire and running toward it.
"Oh no," Aurelia whispered. "What are you planning—"
"Aurelia." Lysandra's voice was grave with purpose. "This is my moment."
"For… what?"
"To orchestrate your social triumph."
Aurelia blinked. "No. No, Lysandra, don't you dare—"
But Lysandra was already gone, weaving through the crowd with the ferocity of a tiny, excited dragon.
Aurelia's stomach dropped.
This could only end in disaster.
Lucien drifted closer just as the dancers began to circle the floor. "Your friend looks determined."
"She's about to do something terrible," Aurelia murmured.
"Ah," he said. "So typical of her."
Aurelia followed Lysandra's path across the room and froze in horror.
Because Lysandra was marching straight toward the King.
"Oh no," Aurelia breathed.
"Oh yes," Lucien said, eyes widening with amusement, he tried and failed to hide.
Lysandra curtsied before King William, who looked understandably alarmed at the small, very intense young woman bowing to him with enough force to crack a floor tile.
"Your Majesty," she declared loud enough for everyone to hear, "it is the first grand waltz of the evening, and by tradition, the prince must take the most distinguished lady of the night as his partner."
Aurelia felt her soul attempt to leave her body. There isn't even a tradition like that!
Lysandra continued, unbothered by the way half the nobles were now staring.
"And clearly, that is Aurelia Caelistra. Hero of the Spire. Radiant, exceptional, breathtaking—"
"A bit much," Aurelia whispered.
King William blinked. Slowly. Then his gaze shifted across the hall to Aurelia.
Aurelia felt Lucien go still beside her.
"Lysandra," Aurelia hissed under her breath. "Stop. STOP."
But Lysandra was glowing with pride, hands planted on her hips, as if she had just solved the kingdom's greatest political crisis.
The King raised his brows, amusement tugging at his mouth. "Well," he said, "that seems to settle it."
Lucien shot his father a look that said it decidedly did not settle anything.
But the King only gestured elegantly toward Aurelia. "My son—go on."
Lucien exhaled slowly, as if preparing to step into battle, then turned toward Aurelia with a wry, helpless smile.
"Aurelia," he said, bowing just enough to make her breath hitch, "would you honor me with the first dance?"
She wanted to sink into the floor. She also wanted to kill Lysandra.
But she placed her hand in his.
"Yes," she said softly. "I will."
He led her onto the floor as the crowd parted, eyes following them.
The music swelled, and Lucien's hand settled at her waist, warm, steady.
"You are very calm for someone who was just socially ambushed," he murmured.
"I am going to bury Lysandra in the training yard," she replied.
Lucien's laughter was soft against the rising melody. "Make it quick. She'll probably enjoy the attention."
They began to move, step, turn, glide, flowing into the rhythm as if they had practiced for years.
Aurelia's heartbeat matched the pace of the violins.
Every motion was practiced with formality.
Every breath felt far too intimate.
And as the dance carried them across the floor, Aurelia caught sight of Lysandra at the edge of the crowd, beaming, waving both arms, mouthing.
YOU'RE WELCOME.
Aurelia stepped slightly too hard on Lucien's foot.
He winced.
She didn't apologize.
They finished the last turn, and the applause fell away like a tide.
The music softened into low chatter, and the room rearranged itself into clusters once more, but for a breath or two, Aurelia and Lucien were in a small, private orbit, two people in the middle of a crowded world.
Lucien guided her off the floor with a practiced, respectful hand at the small of her back.
Up close, with the chandeliers throwing constellations across his hair, his voice dropped to something private.
"You handled that beautifully," he murmured.
Aurelia let out a small, tired laugh. "I survived Lysandra. That feels like victory."
He smiled. Something in the way he looked at her eased the tight band under her ribs. "If you ever want a quieter victory," he said, "I know a staircase with a view and very few witnesses."
She hesitated only a second, surprised at how much the suggestion comforted her. "That would be… nice," she admitted.
He inclined his head just a fraction, as if he'd offered a small courtesy he expected her to refuse and was pleased it wasn't rejected. "Then, when you are ready." He kept his hand lightly at her back for a moment longer before letting it fall away.
Across the hall, unobserved by most, Sebastian stood with a cup of wine he had no intention of drinking.
He watched the pair with the same quick, disciplined attention he used on the drill field. In his mind, the scene read like an assessment.
Lucien moves the right way, Sebastian thought, annoyance knifing the observation. Polite, soft, not a man who presses. That's good. He'll be easy to read if he ever slips.
His jaw tightened. Keep watch. Keep a distance. Aurelia's not for the court to paw over. If anyone—anyone—makes her step back, they answer to me.
Beneath the soldier's calm was the small worry every brother wears like armor. He would not admit he disliked the way Lucien's presence felt, too smooth, too easy.
He would, however, ensure Aurelia left the ballroom in her own time and her own way.
The moment tasted private, however, and the room soon reminded them both that privacy in court was a thin thing.
A knot of noblewomen had drifted their way like a tide. At first, it was flattery, the bright, polished kind, but familiarity closed around it until it felt like a tightening noose.
"Lady Aurelia!" one began, fingers fluttering with the practiced motion of courtly enthusiasm. "Do tell us every detail of the Spire. The fashions must be incredible, was the core blue? Was the sky—what was the sky like?"
Another, younger, hungrier-eyed, stepped forward. "Will you consider teaching us? I could put in a petition for my brother. Imagine, all of us, trained with the Moon Maiden herself."
They pressed questions like hands at a door. Compliments arrived too fast, too earnest.
A different current threaded through the praise, a soft, invasive hunger to own proximity, to weave Aurelia into their own social webs.
Aurelia smiled and tried to answer politely. "The sky was—" she began, and the words felt small against the weight of their attention.
They wanted more details, anecdotes, the intimate color of trauma turned spectacle.
One woman reached for her sleeve with the airy gallantry of someone who thought possession was a compliment. "Tell us about the moment—did you think you would succeed? Did you fear—"
Aurelia took a single step back, the air thickening. She kept her composure by force, through the repetition of polite forms taught by tutors and the court.
The smile tightened. She looked toward Lysandra, who waved and laughed as if this were a play, and then toward the place near the door where Lucien had been talking with acquaintances.
Lucien saw the shift at the same instant she did, having cut through the court before.
A discreet step between Aurelia and the nearest questioner, an arm offered to her as if it were a natural extension of the dance. "If you would like some air," he said, low enough for only her to hear, "there is a small balcony off the eastern gallery. The night is quiet there."
Aurelia let out breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and accepted his arm with an almost-grateful relief that made her cheeks warm.
The noblewomen blinked, some with hurt, some with thin, masking smiles, but they did not press further.
Lucien's presence was a polite barrier, it said as much as a line of guards.
As they passed, Lucien murmured, "Forgive the intrusion. Shall I escort you?"
"If you like," she said, eyes meeting his.
They threaded through the room, through pockets of laughter and gossip, toward the east gallery.
Outside the doors, the air was cool. The city beyond the palace glittered in the distance like a scattering of embers.
Lucien pulled the balcony door closed with careful regard for privacy, then turned to face her, his posture open but unassuming. "Better?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, letting the muscles in her shoulders loosen for the first time since entering the hall. "A little."
They stood at the railing, looking out over the gardens where servants moved like slow ghosts and the moon draped silver across fields.
Lucien watched Aurelia for a moment as if cataloguing an unfamiliar constellation.
"What do you want to be when you finish at the Academy?" he asked suddenly.
Aurelia blinked, surprised by the question. "Why ask me that now?" she said, half-laughing. "Curiosity?"
"Curiosity," he admitted. "And… because we have only a few years left as classmates. I wondered what you plan to do next." His voice was light, but there was a genuine note under it.
She looked away from the glittering rooftops and back at him, the words forming carefully. "I want to help people," she said. "But not as a hero."
Lucien's forehead creased. "Not as a—?"
"Not admired," she finished. "Not lionized." She let the thought out like a small, bitter thing. "People call me a hero because I—" She stopped, breath tightening on the memory. "I killed Agnes. He took the core into himself to stop the Heart and keep the kingdom from burning. He gave everything. They call me the hero for ending what he became. The noble girls tonight fawned over me like I had the power of angels in my hands. I'm grateful they're kind, but I don't want to be praised at the cost of someone else's sacrifice."
Lucien's face softened in the light. "You don't have to be admired to be necessary," he said quietly. "But I see what you mean. The title's heavy."
She gave a short, humorless laugh. "Heavy and wrong. I want to do work that keeps people whole, rebuilding, teaching, keeping danger from starting, not standing on pedestals. I hate the idea of being made into something simple so others can feel safe."
"And if I offered you a position," Lucien asked after a moment, casual as a breeze, "to work under me, administrative, organizing defenses, coordination, would you consider it?"
Aurelia's eyes narrowed, she smiled before she answered. "In your dreams." It was reflexive, teasing.
Lucien laughed, a clear, pleased sound. "Of course you would say that."
He straightened, the ease momentarily folding into something more sober. "I'm not the crown prince," he said. "I won't be king. I'm glad for that, I don't want that burden. Alexander is better suited to wear a crown. He has the temper and the steadiness for it. I… I like freedom." He gave a little shrug, as if the confession had cost him nothing.
Aurelia studied him and found herself thinking of other moments.
How he had stepped into leadership at the Convergence Tournament, making quick decisions that steadied chaotic minds.
How he had helped marshal efforts when the Spire collapsed. She had seen him stand at the center of disorder and make it coherent.
"You know," she said slowly, "despite your penchant for mischief, you're a natural leader. You were steady during the tournament, you guided people when others were panicking. You helped organize the response when the Spire fell. You do it without wanting the credit. That's leadership."
Heat crept into Lucien's face, a faint color blooming at his cheeks. He tried to laugh it off. "Don't—don't joke like that."
"I'm not joking," Aurelia said, looking him in the eye. "I mean it."
The way he stared at her then was awkward and bright, like someone caught between embarrassment and pleasure.
His smile faltered, then returned, softer. "Well," he murmured, voice thin with a flustered warmth, "thank you. That means a great deal more than you'd expect."
Aurelia allowed herself a small, genuine smile in return.
Lucien was still recovering from the compliment, cheeks faintly pink, posture a little too straight, when Aurelia tilted her head and asked, gently, "Then what about you? What do you want to be after we graduate?"
Lucien blinked, as if she'd tossed the question back at him faster than he expected. His lips parted, closed, then curved into a crooked smile.
"Me?" he echoed. "I thought I was being clever asking you first."
"You weren't," Aurelia said dryly. "Now answer."
He huffed a quiet laugh, running a thumb along the cool marble railing. "I… don't know if I have a title for it."
His eyes drifted over the palace gardens below, soft lanterns in nested circles.
"I don't want a throne or an office someone has to polish for me. I definitely don't want to sit in meetings until I'm grey."
"That sounds like you," Aurelia muttered.
Lucien shot her a mildly offended look. "I can be responsible."
"Of course you can. You just hate being bored."
"…Fair enough."
He breathed out, watching the mist curl.
"I suppose," he said, choosing his words with unusual care, "I want to be someone who keeps the kingdom from rotting. Not by ruling it, by shaping the things that keep it alive. Roads, trade, academies, defenses that don't rely on one shining hero or one golden prince. I want to move freely between places. Listen. Solve problems where they start, not where they explode."
Aurelia blinked. That wasn't a childish dream. It was… thoughtful. Intentional.
Lucien shrugged, eyes dropping to his hands. "My mother calls it 'sticking my nose where it doesn't belong.' Alexander calls it 'being a menace.' But when I think about the future, that's what feels right. Not being locked to a throne. Being useful in motion."
Aurelia smiled, small, warm, surprised. "That's a good dream."
His head snapped toward her. "It's not a dream. It's a—well—maybe it is a dream. But a realistic one."
"I didn't say otherwise."
Lucien cleared his throat, suddenly shy again. "Well. Good. Then—thank you. And… maybe we'll cross paths after the Academy in that way. You helping people quietly, me wandering around fixing what's broken and annoying half the nobility along the way."
"Annoying all the nobility," Aurelia corrected.
Lucien's laugh came bright and unguarded. "See? You understand me perfectly."
Lucien watches her for a long beat, the moonlight tracing the line of his jaw. "Are you ready to go back to the Academy?" he asks finally. "The year's almost up—break's over in a few weeks."
Aurelia looks up at the moon, hoping it might provide answers. The silver light feels both honest and indifferent, amplifying the weight of her burdens, the echoes, the looks, the things she's done that others call brave but she cannot accept.
After a long hesitation, Lucien's voice breaks through her thoughts. "Aurelia?"
She startles, then forces a quick smile. "Yes," she says a little too fast. "Of course I'm ready."
Lucien's mouth curls, amused. "Bad liar," he says softly. "You don't have to pretend with me."
Heat rises in her neck. "You didn't have to—" she begins, but he cuts her off with the small, steady motion of a man who will not let an excuse stand.
"It isn't your fault," he tells her. "You did what you had to. Agnes, what he became, he saved the kingdom by taking that burden. You ended it. People call you a hero, and they mean it as a honor, but I can tell what it feels like on the inside. I've seen you. You don't feel the triumph they expect you to."
The words sit between them, exact and straightforward. His gaze is steady, not pitying. "I'm one of the people you saved," he adds quietly. "I'm alive because of what you did. I'm here with you right now because the Spire didn't burn. You gave us hope."
Aurelia's throat tightens. The small, honest confession lands in her like a stone in still water. She had known gratitude before, worn it like a shield, but this was different, this was a person saying she kept him whole.
"Stand tall," Lucien says, his tone steady and sincere. "Not for the praise, but for what you did and for those who can live because of it. You may not like the title, but don't shy away from the fact that you made a difference."
A small ember ignites within her, stubborn and quiet, an honest warmth that anchors rather than burns.
Aurelia breathes deeply, feeling the start of something new instead of merely holding onto the past.
"Thank you," she says, the sound small and real.
Lucien's smile is almost a secret. "Anytime," he answers. "Now, shall we get you back in there before Lysandra starts a coup in your honor?"
Aurelia exhales, the smallest laugh slipping past her guard. "She's probably already started one," she mutters. "If we don't get back soon, she'll crown herself Regent of My Reputation."
Lucien snorts. "Then we'd better intervene before she drafts half the ballroom into her personal fan-militia."
They step away from the balcony, the night air trailing after them like reluctant silk. Before they reach the doors, Lucien pauses. The chandeliers' gold light spills around him, catching his smile.
"Aurelia, if any of this ever feels too much… you don't have to carry it on your own."
She blinks at him, caught off guard.
He lifts a shoulder, as if making the offer casual when it is anything but. "We can share our bothersome lives together. If you want."
The words settle into her like warmth seeping through chilled hands, unexpected, undeserved, steady.
Aurelia meets his gaze, her nod small but sure. "I'd like that," she says.
And with that, they return to the golden hall, walking side by side.