The court carried on behind her, growing louder with each emptied goblet. Laughter rose from the tables, the clinking of silverware punctuated by the occasional burst of song from some noble emboldened by drink. This was how it always ended, the slow unraveling, the inevitable surrender to revelry.

  Ellirae had no interest in watching it unfold.

  Instead, she moved toward the balcony, drawn to the night air like a tide to the shore. The scent of salt thickened as she stepped past the gilded doors, the cool sea breeze tugging at the loose strands of her hair. Beyond the marble, the ocean stretched into endless darkness, its surface broken only by the silver gleam of moonlight on the waves.

  She exhaled slowly.

  The weight in her chest was heavy as ever, a quiet and constant pressure, but here, where the air carried no scent of the sea, she found, if not relief, then at least the space to breathe. She lingered at the edge, gaze fixed on the horizon’s silver line, watching the waves rise and fall in steady rhythm, indifferent to the burdens of those who stood upon the shore. A gull wheeled overhead, its cry swallowed by shore. The wind curled against her cheek, cool but not sharp, and for a moment, she let herself be still. Then she the heard the faint rustle of silk before her mother spoke.

  "You always did prefer the quiet."

  Ellirae did not turn immediately, but she did not tense either. Queen Ellarisa had never been one for theatrics. She did not chase after moments, nor did she waste words on sentimentality, and yet, she had followed Ellarisa here.

  The Queen came to stand beside her, her hands resting lightly on the stone railing. Her profile was cast in moonlight, sharp, elegant but unyielding. Even here, with no audience to perform for, she remained composed, her posture impeccable and her expression unreadable.

  For a long while, she said nothing. Ellarisa’s gaze lingered on the sea, the moonlight casting silver paths across the water.

  Ellirae did not press.

  Then, at last, the words came.

  “When you were little,” she murmured, “you used to think the ocean stretched forever.”

  Ellirae glanced at her. “I remember.”

  “I told you it only seemed endless because you had not yet reached the other shore.” A faint smile touched the Queen’s lips. “But that did not satisfy you.”

  Ellirae huffed softly. “I was five.”

  “And stubborn,” Ellarisa added wryly. “You asked how I could be so certain. I told you I had seen maps, that I knew the lands beyond. But you would not take my word for it.”

  Ellirae tilted her head slightly. “What did I say?”

  “You said you would believe it when you saw it yourself.”

  Ellirae breathed out, steadying herself against the stone railing. “And now I will.”

  Ellarisa turned to her at last, her expression thoughtful but resolute. “You will,” she said. . “You will learn more than I could ever teach you, and you will see more than maps could ever show.”A hush settled between them, filled only by the distant rush of the waves.

  Then, with careful grace, Ellarisa reached out, tucking a loose strand of Ellirae’s hair behind her ear. “You are ready for this,” she said, “You will be tested, and you will change. But do not fear that change, Ellirae. Do not cling so tightly to who you were that you refuse to become who you are meant to be.”

  Ellirae swallowed, nodding once. “Yes, Mother.”

  Ellarisa studied her for a long moment, then, in an uncharacteristic gesture, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Remember, distance is not absence,” she murmured. “Nor is time a severance. You will always have a home here.”

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  Ellirae closed her eyes, letting those words settle within her. When she opened them, Ellarisa had already straightened, composed once more. Soon, Ellirae would step onto a ship that would carry her south, beyond the reach of everything she had ever known, but tonight, she stood beside her mother, watching the sea stretch before her, knowing that when she crossed it, she would not be lost. Only moving forward. Beyond the balcony doors, the feast carried on, the sound of revelry curling through the night air.

  A measured knock echoed through the chamber, steady as a tolling bell. Ellirae's grip tightened around the railing. She had expected this. She had known. Queen Ellarisa breathed softly, tilting her head as if listening. When she turned to her daughter, her expression was calm and thoughtful.

  “There will be many goodbyes in your life, Ellirae,” she murmured. “Some you will be ready for. Some you will not. But none of them will wait for you.” She reached out, her fingers briefly brushing Ellirae’s shoulder, a touch that held far more than words could. Then, with the same quiet certainty that had shaped her rule, she turned toward the door. As she passed Eramis, she inclined her head, the gesture small but deliberate, a silent acknowledgment between mother and son. Without another word, she continued down the hall, leaving them alone. Ellirae breathed in slowly, steadying herself against the railing.

  For a moment, he said nothing. He simply surveyed the horizon.

  Then, with a dry sort of amusement, he muttered, “You’ve been given quite the send-off.” He leaned against railing, tilting his head slightly as he considered her. “All the wine and gold in Alvaren, wasted on a girl they’re tossing to the Magi.”

  Ellirae huffed, crossing her arms. “Hardly wasted. Duke Wynn seemed quite pleased with the financial investment.”

  Eramis snorted, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Wynn would weigh a funeral in coin if he could tax the grief.”

  Ellirae allowed herself to smile at that, shaking her head. “And you?” she asked, arching a brow. “Did you at least enjoy yourself? Or did you spend the whole evening glowering at Lady Morrayne?”

  At that, his jaw tightened slightly, just enough.

  “I don’t trust her,” he said.

  “You trust no one,” she countered, stepping toward him. “It’s exhausting.”

  His smirk returned, wry and knowing. “Being right usually is.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Have you come to lecture me one last time?”

  Eramis hesitated.

  Just for a breath, just for the span of a single heartbeat. It was quick, so quick she might not have caught it had she not spent years watching him, reading him. Beneath the wit, beneath the sharp-edged deflections, something quieter lurked. Something reluctant. Then, he exhaled, his posture shifting just enough to betray his intent.

  “No,” he admitted. “I came to give you something.”

  Eramis reached into his coat, the dark embroidery shifting with the movement, and when his hand emerged, he held a small, sheathed dagger. The leather-wrapped hilt was plain but well-crafted, sturdy rather than ornate, a stark contrast to the gilded weapons nobility often paraded as symbols of status.

  Ellirae blinked, surprised, as he held it out to her.

  “I doubt the Magi will appreciate me bringing a weapon,” she murmured, though her fingers twitched at her sides, itching to take it.

  “They don’t have to.” His tone was steady, but she knew him well enough to hear what lay beneath it, the insistence, the quiet refusal to send her into the world unarmed.

  She hesitated only a moment before accepting it, her hands moving carefully as she unsheathed the blade just enough to see the edge. It was sharp, well-balanced, made for use rather than ceremony, no jewels adorned the pommel, no sigil marked the steel. It was the kind of blade a soldier might carry, not a princess.

  She glanced up at him. “Where did you—”

  “I had it commissioned when you were still a child,” Eramis interrupted, his voice lighter now. He rubbed a hand along his jaw, shaking his head slightly. “I thought you’d have no use for it. But now…” He exhaled sharply, the admission reluctant, as if he despised even the thought of needing to say it. “If I can’t protect you, then at least take this.”

  Ellirae closed her fingers around the hilt, feeling the weight of it settle into her palm, solid and sure.

  “For defense?” she asked.

  “For reminding them that you are not just a Magi,” he corrected. “You are still Tiderain.”

  Something tightened in her throat. For all his hardened edges, for all his carefully measured words and ironclad composure, Eramis was still her brother, and in this moment, that meant more than any title, more than any vow made in the name of duty.

  She smirked, forcing lightness into her voice. “You’re being sentimental.”

  Eramis scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Don’t get used to it.” Before he could protest, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. His shoulders stiffened at first, Eramis had never been one for displays of affection, but after a moment, he sighed, his chin resting lightly against her hair.

  “Stay sharp, little sister,” he murmured.

  Ellirae pulled away and met his gaze, smirking. “Always.”

  Eramis studied her for a breath longer, then gave a single nod before turning toward the door. When it closed softly behind him, Ellirae stood alone in the moonlight, the blade in her hand, and the weight of everything she was leaving behind pressing down on her.