After that day, Talia wandered through the rear garden whenever she had the chance.
But until a great elm tree was planted where she had once found the dying bird, and until the once shabby garden was crowded with brightly colored flowers, she never saw him again.
Talia felt the loss as if she had misplaced a treasure she had stumbled upon by chance.
She wished she had ignored her nurse's call back then…
The father who was supposed to come see her never appeared that evening, and her mother did not come looking for her either.
Surrounded by cold, indifferent maids, Talia ate a tasteless dinner, drowning in regret.
She should have gone after that boy. If she had begged, he might have pretended to resist and taken her along.
Now, lying under a cold blanket, she longed for those large, warm hands that had held her.
Perhaps he was nothing more than an illusion born of her loneliness.
It was when she was sinking into that doubt that the boy once again appeared before her eyes.
No, it would be truer to say that it was Talia who discovered him.
Seasons passed, and she grew from eight years old to nine.
The skies no longer poured rain but instead scorched the earth with midsummer heat.
Walking down the long corridor leading to the Emperor's private chamber, Talia was drawn to the sound of loud shouts. She turned toward a large arched window.
In the wide courtyard bleached white under the summer sun, apprentice knights in black surcoats were swinging wooden swords.
Though there were nearly thirty trainees, Talia's gaze, like a moth drawn to flame, flew instinctively to him.
His faded flax-colored hair caught the harsh summer light and gleamed faintly silver.
It was the first time she had seen him without a hood, but she recognized him instantly.
It was the boy who had appeared to her in the early spring rain.
She leaned her body over the windowsill to see him better.
The blue-eyed boy moved with a clarity and precision that set him apart from the others.
His long, flexible limbs sliced through the air with elegance and force, so much so that Talia imagined she could hear the sound of wind being cut.
"Do you know who that is?" she asked.
The old attendant walking beside her, tasked with escorting her to the Emperor, cast an indifferent glance at the training yard.
"They are apprentice knights, training to enter the Imperial Guard. All of them are sons of noble families."
He showed not the slightest interest in which one had caught her attention.
Then, with clear disapproval at her hesitation, the attendant added:
"His Majesty is waiting. We must hurry."
Reluctantly, Talia pulled herself away from the window and walked down the tomb-like, silent hallway.
It was the first time she would meet her father since entering the palace, yet she felt no particular emotion.
When the Emperor had once visited the Taren household, even then she had not thought of him as her father.
The stern-faced man had shown no interest in her, and Talia could only hate the man who had stolen away her mother's affection.
Even after being formally entered into the Imperial family registry, nothing changed.
Inside a large, ornate chamber, Talia stared warily at the imposing figure standing with the light at his back.
How long did the silence stretch?
The man, seated behind a fortress-like desk, kept his eyes on the parchment before him and finally spoke:
"From now on, you will learn the etiquette of the Imperial Court."
He pressed a seal onto the document without lifting his head.
Talia waited for him to look at her.
But his gaze never lifted to meet hers.
She could not understand.
Why would a man who claimed to love Senevier so passionately refuse even to look at the daughter who shared her face?
While scribbling something with a quill, the man spoke again, his tone indifferent:
"I've gathered excellent tutors for you. From now on, come to the main palace before noon to attend your lessons. You must work hard to catch up on the studies you've neglected."
Her answer was not required.
The Emperor waved a hand dismissively, and thus the reunion between father and daughter—after a whole year—ended just like that.
As she retraced her steps back down the hallway, Talia searched the training yard through the window.
But by then, the practice had ended. Only the blinding white summer sunlight lingered in the empty space.
From that day on, whenever she went for lessons, Talia would sneak glances at the boy training in the courtyard.
She liked to watch sweat bead faintly on his sculpted face, and how the vigorous exercise brought a delicate flush to his pale cheeks.
Sometimes, she even spoke to him in her mind:
"Tell me… what happened to that bird? Did it die in the end? Did you bury it somewhere? Or did you set it free, flying far, far away once it was well?"
She wanted to look into his eyes again, as she had that day in the rain, and talk to him.
She wanted to see if the silver crown still shone within his gaze.
The impulse grew so strong she could no longer hold it back.
She neglected her history lesson, staring endlessly out at the training yard, when suddenly a dark shadow fell behind her.
Startled, Talia turned.
Her mother—absent for half a month—stood at the boundary of light and shadow.
Once, she had been a face Talia saw every day. Yet in that moment, Talia's heart nearly stopped.
Adorned to embody the full dignity of an Empress, Senevier seemed to embody every imaginable beauty. Even the elf mages who had often visited the Taren household had never dared compare themselves to her.
"What are you staring at?" Senevier asked, looking down at her daughter.
Snapped out of her daze, Talia quickly stepped away from the window.
For some reason, she did not want to speak of the boy.
But Senevier seemed to understand at once what her daughter's gaze had been fixed upon.
Turning toward the window, the Empress looked down at the tall, golden-haired boy and smiled meaningfully.
"Ah… the son of Grand Duke Sheorcan."
Talia's eyes widened.
She had guessed he was from some noble household, but never imagined he belonged to a family so exalted.
The Empress's deep blue eyes glimmered knowingly, as though she were reading her daughter's thoughts.
"Do you want that boy?"
Talia's face burned red, and she could not give an answer.
But that alone was answer enough.
Senevier laughed softly, amused, then bent to kiss her daughter's cheek.
"If you want him, I could give him to you as a gift."
Her whisper was chilling, like the wind blowing through a dark forest at night.
Straightening, the Empress painted her lips with a crimson smile.
"But not for free. If you want such a reward, you must first please your parents."
Detecting the faint note of reproach in her mother's voice, Talia hastily clutched the history book she had abandoned on the windowsill. Then she turned and ran.
She could feel her mother's gaze cling to the back of her head like a spider's web.
Every night, she had longed for her mother.
So why was she now running away from her?
She had thought that if she saw her mother again, she would throw a tantrum—refuse to study, demand to know why she was being neglected, pour out all her bottled-up resentment and grief.
But Senevier, now the Empress of the Empire, no longer seemed like her mother.
She had become something strange, frightening—no longer someone Talia could cling to.
That night, Talia tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
She had not been truly happy even in the Taren household, but at least back then she had Senevier. Her mother had been less of a parent and more of a companion, a comrade-in-arms.
Even if the whole world pointed fingers at them, they could endure it as long as they had each other.
But now Senevier stood tall as the Empress, and Talia was left alone in an unfamiliar place among strangers.
Loneliness gnawed into her bones.
She yearned for someone to be by her side—someone who would hold her in warm arms, look at her with gentle eyes.
She felt that if such a person appeared, she could give them everything.
And so, she decided.
She would no longer simply watch that boy from afar. She would meet him.
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