The palace was not asleep that night.
It was only… quieter than it should have been.
Saelis entered carrying the tray of tea, her steps measured and familiar—steps she knew by heart.
Perhaps it was lavender, or ginger, or chamomile—she wasn't certain.
A calming tea, served every night before sleep.
Beside it, several sealed letters were arranged with care, waiting for hands that had not yet reached them.
As always, she placed the tray on the table near the window and turned to leave at once.
It was not proper to linger.
And it was never safe… not ever.
But the silence stopped her.
It was different.
Heavy. Suffocating.
As if the room had been holding its breath for hours.
The darkness did not trouble her at first—this wing was accustomed to shadows—but when she reached out and lit one of the candles, her breath caught.
The luxury was still there… yes.
But it was ruined.
The large mirror lay shattered.
The gilded table overturned.
The curtains torn at their edges.
As though the room had witnessed a storm—
not men.
She stepped back, her heart pounding violently.
And in that moment, she heard the sound.
Behind her.
Heavy… exhausted… broken.
"I… I'm sorry."
Saelis froze where she stood.
It was not the voice of anger.
Nor an order.
It was an apology—
and that frightened her more.
She did not turn immediately.
Her eyes slipped instead to the floor, where she noticed something else.
A dark stain.
Then a body stretched at the far edge of the room, barely visible in the trembling candlelight.
She did not know if it was one man… or more.
She did not know if he was already dead… or if the silence had come first.
She drew in a shaky breath.
This was not her place.
This was not her concern.
But some things—once seen—can never be forgotten.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
And when she opened them… there was no time to understand.
The palace was not asleep that night.
It was only… far too silent.
**
Saelis stood at the end of the stone corridor, still holding the tray—no longer caring what rested upon it.
The air was heavier than usual, as though the walls themselves were storing unspoken breaths, as though the flickering torchlight knew more than it should.
She had not been called by name.
No summons had reached her.
And yet, she knew she was expected.
She took a step forward—then stopped.
Something inside her whispered that retreat would be easier… and more honest.
But the palace had never favored honesty.
Inside, the doors stood half-open.
That alone was a mistake.
Doors in this wing were always closed.
She entered.
She did not lift her gaze at once.
She had learned long ago that looking directly could cost more than a servant could afford.
She saw the floor first—black marble, cracked along the edges, as though it had broken once and been forced to remain whole.
Then she heard his voice.
He did not speak her name.
He only said,
"Leave it… and go."
She was not certain whether he meant the tray—
or something else entirely.
She raised her head despite herself.
The man stood near the tall window, his back to her, one hand gripping the stone frame as though clinging to it.
He wore no crown.
And that was another mistake.
For a man seen without his crown was either alone—
or unwilling to be reminded of who he was.
She placed the tray on the table, a heavy unease settling in her chest.
This was not the first time she had seen him.
But it was the first time she felt that her presence here… was not a coincidence.
He spoke softly,
"How long have you worked in this wing?"
She hesitated.
"Three… years."
Silence.
Then,
"Three years… and I never noticed you."
She could not tell whether it was an accusation—
or a confession.
She lowered her gaze.
"We are servants. We are noticed only when we err."
A short laugh escaped him.
Joyless.
At last, he turned.
He did not approach.
He did not touch.
He did nothing that could yet be condemned.
And yet, his eyes alone were enough to make her feel that a single misstep might change everything.
"Your name?"
She said it.
"Saelis."
He repeated it slowly, as though testing its weight.
Then he said,
"Names… always carry more than we understand."
She did not understand.
And she did not wish to.
In that moment, she thought of Thorne.
Her husband.
The way he fastened his belt before leaving.
His silence when deep in thought.
His hand, reaching for hers without looking.
She remembered him as a shield—
never knowing that shields do not protect against everything.
"Do you love him?" he asked.
The word trembled in her chest before leaving her lips.
"Yes."
It was a simple answer.
Honest.
And dangerous.
He did not comment.
He did not rage.
He did not smile.
He only said,
"Go."
She left feeling that something had broken—
behind her,
or within her.
That same night, Thorne was working in the lower courtyard, repairing a door that had not yet been broken.
He felt a nameless unease.
Some fears do not come as thoughts—
but as a long, lingering silence.
He lifted his head suddenly.
No clear reason.
Only the sense that the sky itself had changed color.
He did not know that his name, in that moment,
was being written differently.
High above the palace, the man stood alone once more.
He stared at his reflection in the glass and did not recognize the face that stared back.
He spoke—to himself, or to something deeper:
"Not a crown…"
Then he fell silent.
"Nor a body."
He did not finish.
For some words, once spoken, can never be taken back.
And some desires—
once seen clearly—
become sins.
..
🖤 Reader Note
If this story moved you, add it to your library or leave a comment — I'd love to know how it made you feel.