The next few weeks passed in relative peace. Drakmire had returned to its usual gloom, the sky a permanent slate gray. The fog hugged the streets like a second skin, and life moved on as it always did.
Veylan and Selene had, somehow, returned to their familiar rhythm. Bickering. Laughing. Pretending. Distractions were easy when they wore the faces of old friends. And while he humored the label out of respect, Veylan knew better than to call her that.
She was not just a friend.
His eyes drifted down to the letter on his desk, open and scrawled in elegant, looping script. A council seal gleamed at the top. He inhaled slowly, the weight of it pressing down on him before he finally exhaled and reached for a fresh piece of parchment.
He’d been accepted. A seat at the council. Right beside his oldest friend—his so-called right hand.
His quill scratched softly across the page just as a knock echoed at the door, followed immediately by it creaking open.
Jin entered without waiting.
“You look happier,” Jin said simply, eyes sweeping across the unusually tidy room before landing on Veylan, who continued writing with quiet precision.
Veylan glanced up. The moment of peace vanished. His expression soured.
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” he muttered.
Jin raised an eyebrow. That tone… was new. Cold. Defensive. Sharp. It wasn’t like him. Not with him.
Was it Selene?
“Just because I lost someone doesn’t mean I should stop living,” Veylan continued, voice clipped. “Besides, I got a seat on the council. I leave tomorrow.”
He waved a dismissive hand as he set his quill down and reached for the wax and seal.
Jin stared, stunned. “You… got a seat on the council? What about Selene?”
Veylan froze mid-movement. “What about her?” he asked, voice low and flat as he watched the wax pool over the fold.
“Aren’t you two close?” Jin tried.
Veylan snorted and stood. “We’re friends. Sure. Nothing more.”
He brushed past Jin, pausing only for a heartbeat beside him.
“Is it because Father’s illness is flaring up?” he asked softly, voice dipped in venom. “Are you scared of taking the throne?”
Jin went rigid. The shadows cast over Veylan’s face made him look almost… unfamiliar. Cruel.
He turned to respond—but the door had already shut behind him. And Veylan was gone.
Jin stood there, fists clenched. Who did that arrogant bastard think he was? Acting like royalty already—like a king before the crown.
Meanwhile, Veylan smirked as he walked down the corridor, the letter tucked securely into his coat. His boots echoed along the marble floor in steady rhythm.
Poor Jin.
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The grand doors of the council chamber swung open with a reverberating creak, and Veylan stepped through them like a man born for it.
The soft light that filtered through the stained-glass ceiling spilled across him like divine favor—his golden hair catching the glow as if it were spun from sunlight itself. He strode forward with practiced ease, every movement precise, effortless. Controlled.
He bowed low, one hand behind his back, the other pressed to his chest.
“Greetings, council,” he said, voice smooth and even. “I am Veylan Laurence, heir of Drakmire.”
He rose slowly, his grin widening as he scanned the room.
There were six council members, all seated in a wide crescent at the long table, just shy of the figure at its head.
Oddfellow, as expected, sat closest to the center—his presence a comfort in the unfamiliar room.
Next to him sat a slim man, barely taller than the chair he rested in. His pale blue hair was tucked neatly behind tall, downy bunny ears—a clear mark of his Banshee lineage. His icy eyes studied Veylan with quiet calculation.
Beside him sat a woman of feline descent—elegant, sleek, and exuding danger with every casual flick of her tail. Her nails glinted like claws against the glass of her goblet.
Next came a dragonborn woman, her dark blue scales catching the candlelight. She was striking in a way that demanded attention—lean, powerful, and unmoved by Veylan’s charm.
Then there was the porcelain-skinned woman with pale hair and eyes like glass. She was quiet, unreadable. Like a statue sculpted by a forgotten god.
But none of them made Veylan pause like the man at the head of the table.
He was tall—taller than anyone else in the room—and sat with his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His black hair was cropped short, and his piercing gaze locked onto Veylan like a hawk sizing up prey.
He smiled—no, grinned—with a mouth full of secrets. The kind of grin that said he already knew far too much. Veylan felt a chill prickle down his spine.
“Hello there, Veylan~” the man said, his voice silken and smooth, but with an edge that made Veylan’s stomach twist. “Welcome to the council.”
He hated him instantly.
The man’s grin widened. “Please, do take a seat,” he purred.
Oddfellow. Sarnan. Sevina. Melantha. Chastity. And Viktor.
Those were the current council members Veylan had met today.
Oddfellow, as always, was smug and observant—eyes like razors, smile like a riddle.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXHffiEKpyN
Sarnan was short-tempered and calculating, the kind of man who always had three backup plans for your backup plan.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHaifEkcol0
Sevina… well, Sevina was something else. Sadistic in a strange, freakish way—unsettling, yes, but not entirely off-putting. He wasn’t sure what that said about him.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNFPMFOvDq4
Melantha was open-minded and passionate about her work, a diplomat with fire in her chest.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC7HNL9rMKx
Chastity—confident, energetic, practically vibrating with adrenaline and too many opinions.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡt0GohYK5jx
And lastly… Viktor. A callous, pretentious asshole. Veylan could tell just by looking at him: the man had disgusting tastes.
That was the read after an hour among them. Aside from Oddfellow, who was already a friend, Veylan figured he’d get along best with Sarnan and Sevina. Odd as they were, he couldn’t lie to himself—he had odd tastes too.
“So~ is the council all you imagined it would be?” Oddfellow asked, swirling his drink as they sat at a dimly lit bar, far from the polished halls of the council tower.
Veylan snorted and took a sip of his beer. “It’s certainly… something,” he mused, head tilted as he gave Oddfellow a look. “Tell me—does anyone actually like that asshole Viktor, or is the whole act just smoke and mirrors?”
Oddfellow let out a short laugh, almost bitter, and shook his head.
“No. Not at all. Viktor’s… well, he’s someone we’ve been trying to remove for years. The council is too far gone in some places, too tangled in old power, but if we can pull out the rot one root at a time… maybe Grasigna has a chance.”
“Except…?” Veylan pressed, already hearing the unspoken but.
Oddfellow chuckled softly, the sound shaking in his chest. “Except Viktor doesn’t go quietly. He claws his way through every attempt to get rid of him. He finds excuses, loopholes, allies in dark places. He’s like a parasite. A beautiful one, maybe, but a parasite nonetheless.”
Veylan raised a brow. “I could tell. He’s not exactly the sort I’d enjoy being around.” He leaned back in his seat, sighing. “Feels like every word out of his mouth has a hook buried in it.”
Oddfellow hummed, raising his glass. “No~ you’d much rather spend time with the uncanny ones. The smug, strange types. The ones who talk in circles and leave you wondering if they’re flirting or threatening you.”
Veylan’s eyes flicked over to him, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Is that so? Doesn’t that make me odd too, dear friend?”
Oddfellow shrugged and stood, tossing a few coins onto the bar. “Maybe. Why don’t we talk it out at my place?”
He cocked his head, teasing grin firmly in place.
Veylan’s brows rose. He laughed and downed the rest of his drink, clapping the mug down as he stood. “An invite to your place? I’m honored.”
Oddfellow chuckled as Veylan slung an arm around his shoulder, the two of them stepping out into the night, the streetlamp glow stretching their shadows across the cobblestones behind them.
“Do you plan on getting your own place here? Or are you thinking of staying at the academy, in the teachers’ quarters?” Oddfellow asked, lounging by the window in his room. His silk robe—white as moonlight—slipped off one shoulder, catching the faint glow of the stars outside as he sipped from a crystal champagne glass.
Veylan glanced over at him and shrugged, lazily fixing the buttons on his shirt—only halfway, as always. “Not sure. I haven’t exactly thought it through yet.” He poured himself another drink and eased down onto the cushioned window seat beside Oddfellow.
He’d only seen Oddfellow without that pristine white mask a handful of times. And while the face beneath wasn’t what most would call pretty—sometimes even a bit grotesque—Oddfellow had learned a glamour spell for these quieter nights, a subtle shift that wouldn’t throw Veylan off.
Without the mask, and with the spell, he was… beautiful in a strange, haunting way. Sharp, sculpted features. Golden eyes like liquid sunlight. Pale skin soft like porcelain. Blonde hair that fell around his ears just right.
Veylan sipped his drink slowly, stealing another glance.
“That sounds about right for you,” Oddfellow teased, “Always rushing into things without a plan.”
Veylan shot him a sideways look and rolled his eyes. “Oh please. God forbid I do something spontaneous.”
He pulled his knee up onto the seat, resting an arm on it as his fingers reached for the silk robe. He idly rubbed the fabric between them—thoughtless, familiar.
Oddfellow smirked and took another slow sip of champagne, eyes drifting out the window again. The silence that followed was warm, companionable. Veylan always liked these moments. Being around Oddfellow never felt like pressure. Maybe because he didn’t have to pretend—not about what he was, not about what he wasn’t. They understood each other. They always had.
“If you don’t want to live in the dorms again,” Oddfellow offered, voice soft, “I’ve got a spare room. We could go back to being roommates.”
Veylan looked at him, the silk slipping from his fingers. His eyes shimmered for just a moment, caught in the starlight.
“You’d really want to be my roommate again?” he asked, voice quiet, uncertain—but not unwilling.
Living with Oddfellow had been a nightmare at first. The bickering. The passive-aggressive notes. The silent wars over counter space. But somewhere between the arguments and the accidental all-night conversations, they’d become... inseparable.
Partners in crime. Co-conspirators. Maybe something more. Oddfellow nudged him with a grin. “Wouldn’t hurt, would it?”
Veylan let out a breath, then chuckled. “Sure. Why not.” They stared at each other, grins lingering. Until—
“Is that peach fuzz I see?” Oddfellow smirked, narrowing his eyes mischievously.
Veylan’s expression dropped into a deadpan pout. “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He cracked one eye open, side-eyeing him.
And Oddfellow laughed. Not the usual mocking snicker—but something real. Serene. Soft.
Veylan’s heart skipped a beat.
He couldn’t help it—he grinned and laughed along.
And with that, Veylan moved back in with Oddfellow. Roommates again.
It wasn’t awkward, or even strange. In fact, it felt… normal. Like slipping into an old coat that still fit just right. They attended meetings side by side, made their way to work together, returned home in sync—like they had back at the academy.
Every now and then, Veylan would send a letter home. He never got one back.
He didn’t mind. It was the same when he was at school.
"We just didn’t want to disrupt your work, dear~"
His mother always said that. Every semester, every holiday. Same phrase. Same empty tone. But he knew the truth.
He knew that when he was gone, his father got worse—drinking until the sunrise. Jin would disappear for hours, drugging and fucking whatever poor girl crossed his path. And his mother… well, he never quite knew. But she never left the estate unless it was to collect him, so he could only imagine what she endured.
As for Selene...
He wondered about her sometimes. Hoped she was alright. But he never dared send her a letter. He wouldn’t burden her like that. Not again.
A soft, sing-song voice broke the silence.
“Veylan, dahling~ Are you joining us for dinner at the estate tonight?”
Savina's head peeked into his office, her feline ears twitching playfully under a feathered hat. Veylan blinked up from his papers, mid-sentence, the quill still in hand. He tilted his head slightly, shoulder-length hair slipping across his cheek as he considered.
He set the quill down gently.
“Yes. Yes, I think I will be,” he said with a soft smile, rising to his feet. “Will Sarnan be in attendance?”
Savina smoothed her fur coat over her shoulders, flashing him a dazzling smile. “Yes~ He’ll be there. Just me, you, Sarnan... and Oddfellow.”
Veylan nodded, pulling on his own coat and blowing out the candle on his desk.
A quiet dinner with friends. Warmth. Laughter, maybe. It wasn’t home—not yet—but it was starting to feel like something close to it.
He could get used to this. To new friends. To being needed. To holding an important seat on Grasigna’s council. He could... get used to it.
Right?
That was... until he stepped into the parlor of Sevina’s mansion—and saw her.
Selene.
She sat on one of the velvet couches, her posture elegant, laughing softly beside Sarnan. The sound of it—that laugh—cut through the air like a blade. Veylan froze.
Her eyes lifted. Met his.
And for a moment, the world narrowed to just them. Time stopped. His throat closed, the air sharp and dry as ash in his lungs. The wounds he had spent years trying to stitch shut tore open all at once.
“Oh~! I completely forgot!” Savina purred, twirling into the room with a champagne flute in hand, completely oblivious. “This is Selene, a close friend of mine~”
Veylan didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Oddfellow, perched in one of the armchairs, looked up slowly from his drink. His masked gaze snapped to Veylan, reading everything in an instant. His expression—though hidden—soured.
Of course. Of course she was here.
Veylan opened his mouth, tried to form a word, a syllable, anything—but nothing came out.
Selene’s lips curled into a soft, knowing smile. “I’m already well acquainted with Lord Veylan~” she said sweetly, as if the past hadn’t torn them both apart. As if everything was just fine.
He choked on the air, taking a half-step back like he’d been struck.”
Cassius yawned, stretching as he finished his coffee, handing the empty cup off to one of the maids with a quiet "thank you" and a tired rub of his eyes. It’d been about two weeks since S’ryce left for her court and Cira took off with Ysayle. And in these in-between moments—quiet, lonely, oddly heavy—he always found himself wandering toward the Archive of Viaţă.
That is, until he heard muffled voices whispering behind him.
He turned, blinking, just as a solid blur of limbs and chaos slammed into him.
They hit the ground hard.
“Well~ It’s been a while, Cassie.”
Cassius froze. He knew that voice. Even before he could look up.
“Zyfos?” he blinked, breath caught in his throat. “What in the hells are you doing all the way out here?”
The satyr—slimmer, taller, his curls longer and horns now accented with a glinting stud—grinned down at him, already pulling him to his feet.
“Oh, you know~ Had to come see my bestie. After all, I haven’t gotten a letter since the wedding,” Zyfos teased with an exaggerated pout.
Cassius snorted despite himself, lips tugging into a grin—his old grin, the kind that hadn’t surfaced in a while. “I see… I would've thought you all had forgotten about me, to be honest.”
Zyfos squinted at him. “Oh please! You're a king, dude. How the fuck would we forget someone as horrifying as you?”
Cassius laughed. Right. He had been keeping tabs on them—quietly, dutifully, watching over their stories in the archives like a ghost peeking through windows. But not once had he written. Not once had he reached out. Why? Even he wasn’t sure.
“So~ where you off to this fine morning?” Zyfos asked, falling into step beside him as Cassius tugged his robe a little tighter around his waist.
“Court. Daily rounds in the archives,” he replied. “You can tag along, as long as you don’t antagonize the members. They’re... very touchy.”
“Oh, right! You’re like the soul judge now. Keeper of All Knowledge and People’s Fates~” Zyfos sing-songed, clearly amused with himself.
Cassius smirked and pushed open the door to his chambers.
Zyfos stopped cold, jaw slack. “Holy shit. This is your room?”
Cassius chuckled, walking toward his wardrobe. “Mm. Bit much, isn’t it? I still miss our cozy little dorms. This place echoes.”
Zyfos snickered, hands on his hips as he peered around the room. “Just a tad. I fear if I were to sing in here I might cause an avalanche.”
Cassius cackled, genuinely, as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. “Considering how old this palace is, you might actually be right.”
He pulled his hair back and tied it with a ribbon, glancing over at Zyfos. “So… what’ve you been up to since graduation? Anything interesting? Still with Flonghry?”
Zyfos lit up like a lantern, flashing a manic grin. “Nothing too exciting. Been traveling mostly. And yes, actually—we’re engaged now.”
Cassius stopped mid-button. His eyes widened and sparkled as a delighted grin spread across his face.
“Wait, seriously?! That’s fucking amazing, dude!”
Zyfos chuckled and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Yeah, it is. There’s the Cass I remember.”
Cassius rolled his eyes fondly as he opened the door that led to a spiral staircase. “Please~ I’m still the same Cass. Just busier.”
They descended carefully, the stairwell bathed in soft shadows. “How’s everyone else? I haven’t really had time to reach out.”
“Mm, the few I’ve kept up with seem alright,” Zyfos said, thoughtfully. “Iris and Alistar, though? Haven’t heard much. They’ve been off the grid, super busy, I guess.”
Cassius gave a polite nod to one of the Archive members as they entered the sprawling library—dim and massive, with candlelight flickering against shelves that stretched into eternity. Books and tiny fairies drifted through the air like leaves on a breeze, whispers of magic humming all around them.
Zyfos looked like a kid in a candy store. “So this is where everyone’s records are… where the books write their lives?”
“Mmhm,” Cassius murmured, reaching up to grab a small, floating book. He flipped through it with a soft, unreadable expression before a quiet smile tugged at his lips.
So… Cira was telling her the story now, huh?
Zyfos tilted his head, trying to peer over his shoulder. “Whose book is that?”
Cassius flinched slightly, but recovered with a casual tone, letting the book drift back up into the air. “Just a little girl I’ve been monitoring.”
He turned and gestured for Zyfos to follow, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the thick quiet of the Archive.
“This way~”
"Selene...? What are you doing here in Grasigna?" Veylan asked, disbelief evident in his voice as he cleared his throat and hung up his coat. "Not that it matters," he added quickly, regaining his composure with practiced ease. "Just... I’ve never known your family to leave Drakmire’s walls."
He moved with smooth indifference, taking a seat beside Oddfellow on the elegant couch. One leg crossed over the other, his arm stretched behind Oddfellow’s head, casually possessive. Oddfellow glanced over, catching the subtle tremor in Veylan’s fingers and the slight tension in his jaw. He bit back a smirk. Cool and collected? Maybe to everyone else. But Oddfellow knew better.
Selene gave a hum as Savina poured her a cup of tea, then did the same for Veylan. He accepted it with hands that barely shook, the porcelain clinking just enough to betray him.
"While that’s true," Selene said at last, "I grew up with Savina. She just invited me for dinner—to get me out of that horrid palace." Her voice was syrup-sweet, the kind of sweetness that made your teeth ache.
Veylan blinked, his gaze narrowing.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4001wZcRCB
Right. Horrid.
"You know you don’t have to stay there, right?" he said, voice cool and flat. "It’s not some noble duty or anything."
The room tensed.
He remembered it all too clearly. That last conversation—when he'd let the truth spill from his lips like blood. When he’d told her what he felt, what he wanted. And she had laughed. Mocked him. Scolded him, like a misbehaving child, for daring to say something so pathetic.
He had thought they were healing.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLY4dtishYI
He had thought she cared.
But she’d ripped him open instead.
And now, here she was, uninvited and smug, pressing salt into wounds that had barely begun to scar.
Selene scoffed. "I know. But it’s a free roof over my head," she said, lifting her teacup with a smirk.
Veylan’s eye twitched.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZw4NKEVlpx
Freeloading off his parents.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbu23hWhB5M
Of course she was.
"A woman’s got to do what she’s got to do," she added, tone flippant, too proud of herself by half.
He felt his blood begin to boil, slow and hot. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he stood with a forced smile and brushed invisible lint from his coat.
"Excuse me. I’m going out for a smoke. I feel this conversation is... unworthy of my attention."
The coldness in his voice sliced through the room like a blade. Selene’s look of disgust followed him all the way to the balcony.
When the doors didn’t shut behind him, he knew Oddfellow had followed.
Veylan lit a cigar with practiced hands, leaned against the stone railing, and stared out at the dim skyline of Grasigna. The stars were pale tonight. Distant.
"What in the hells is she doing here?" he muttered, the end of the cigar glowing red as he took a long drag.
Oddfellow shrugged, leaning beside him. His voice was calm, almost amused. "Not sure. I thought you two were close, though. Didn’t expect that kind of hostility."
Veylan exhaled a plume of smoke, watching it curl into the night.
"We were. Or I thought we were," he said bitterly. "Until she insulted me before I left."
Oddfellow turned toward him now, curiosity piqued. "Is that why you joined the council?"
Veylan flicked the ash over the edge of the balcony, the ember fading.
"Partly," he said simply.
Oddfellow hummed a soft, knowing sound and returned his gaze to the sky.
But Veylan didn’t.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ81cYx1dv52
Veylan’s eyes were still locked on him.
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“What’s Veylan’s relationship with that man? I’ve seen him around quite a lot,” Selene asked idly, her voice laced with mild curiosity as she stroked Savina’s brunette curls. The other woman lay draped across her lap like a pampered cat, the image of relaxed decadence.
Savina purred softly, tilting her head as she watched the pair on the balcony—Veylan and the man, talking and smoking like they had all the time in the world.
“I believe they went to school together,” she murmured. “But I don’t think there’s much more to it than that.”
Selene hummed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as her gaze lingered on the two men. The warmth of the tea in her hand was starting to go cold.
Sarnan, the banshee-bunny, passed by with a bottle of whiskey in hand, moving with his usual bounce.
“Sarnan~ be a dear and pour me one as well,” Savina cooed, lifting her head slightly.
Sarnan grinned and obliged, handing her a glass before flopping down beside them with a tired sigh.
“They are quite the odd pair, though,” Savina mused, taking a slow sip. “And that Oddfellow... he unsettles me. There’s something off about him. Can’t quite place it.”
“He’s creepy is what he is,” Sarnan chimed in, nose wrinkling. “I swear I saw a bug crawling on him once. Came in all soaked and dripping wet, no mask—just that hood covering half his face. But even that couldn’t hide the fact that something wasn’t right.”
Selene cringed delicately. “Gross.”
“Fitting name, I suppose,” Sarnan muttered. “Oddfellow.”
“And their friendship too,” Selene added with a quiet scoff. “Did you know that Veylan can’t stand—”
Her words cut off abruptly.
She looked up.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw5Qdom5wk9
Back toward the balcony.
Her breath caught.
Selene’s heart stuttered in her chest. A strange heat flared in her stomach. Her blood began to boil, and she didn’t know why.
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Veylan couldn’t quite remember how the conversation had veered so far off course. The opium laced into his cigar was blurring the edges of everything—his thoughts, the skyline, the sound of Oddfellow’s soft laughter.
What had he said to make Oddfellow laugh like that? He couldn’t recall. The high was creeping in thick now, cotton-wrapping his brain in pleasant haze.
“Ody~,” Veylan cooed, voice soft, syrupy. The nickname was one only he used. A relic from their school days, one that still made Oddfellow’s shoulders twitch every time he heard it.
Oddfellow glanced over—and then stilled.
Veylan had drifted closer, too close. He hovered in front of him, red eyes glowing faintly in the night, watching him like he was trying to see through the mask and into his soul.
His fingers reached up, tracing the edge of Oddfellow’s mask with slow reverence. There was no resistance. Oddfellow didn’t flinch or pull away. He never did. He was used to this—used to Veylan like this. High, flirtatious, arrogant.
And, truth be told, Oddfellow adored it.
Veylan leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the mask. Just a whisper of touch over where Oddfellow’s mouth would be. His eyes fluttered closed, as if the gesture meant more than it should. Maybe it did.
Oddfellow chuckled. “I think you’ve had enough opium for the night, Vey~.”
Veylan sighed and leaned back, nodding. “Mmm… you’re right,” he murmured. He had had enough. Too much, maybe. It was becoming too easy to depend on it. To numb. To forget.
Oddfellow gently tucked a strand of hair behind Veylan’s ear with a fond smile. “Let’s go home, yes?”
“Please,” Veylan groaned. “I can’t stand being here.”
Oddfellow laughed, putting out the still-burning cigar with a graceful flick of his fingers before gesturing toward the doors. They stepped back inside, but Veylan’s attention instantly flicked across the room—locking on Selene.
She was staring. Frozen. Her expression carved from disbelief, her eyes wide, her face flushed with red-hot fury.
Veylan smirked, standing straighter, letting her see.
Oddfellow, calm as ever, addressed the room with polite detachment. “Apologies, but something’s come up. It seems Veylan forgot to feed the animals at home,” he said smoothly. “We’ll be taking our leave for the night.”
Selene’s jaw tightened. That fury simmered hotter.
Savina pouted dramatically. “Before dinner? How disappointing~” She flicked her wrist, smile, sharp. “I understand, though. Give your precious pets some love for me.”
Sarnan raised his glass, ears twitching with mischief. “See you back at the council, Vey.”
Veylan gave a brief nod and turned on his heel, following Oddfellow out into the night—his mind spinning with smoke, silence, and the sweet satisfaction of leaving Selene to stew in the wake of what she thought she saw.
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“As you were saying, Selene dear?” Savina murmured, voice thick with sleep as they both watched the pair vanish beyond the manor gates. Selene blinked, clearly startled, and looked down at Savina.
“Oh—I don’t quite remember what I was saying… apologies,” she sighed, fingers drifting absently through Savina’s curls.
Sarnan leaned back against the settee, sipping from his whiskey glass, eyes still on the door. “I really ought to visit Drakmire again. I’m sure my grandparents are missing me right about now,” he said with a soft chuckle, ears twitching as he spoke.
Selene raised a curious brow, setting her empty teacup down on the tray. “I didn’t realize you had family in Drakmire~”
Sarnan shrugged, his smile faint. “The Laurent family may be the last of the Banshees, sure—but my family? We’re the last line from Drakmire.” He snorted, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “Soon enough, both our lines will be dust, and the Banshee bloodline will be extinct.”
Selene didn’t argue. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Her own lineage had been exiled from their ancestral kingdom long ago—Drakmire was their only haven left. Sarnan and Savina had both been born there. Raised in the cold stone halls, carved by whispers and ghosts.
“I see… if you’d like, you could travel with me when I return home,” Selene offered gently.
Savina let out a soft, content purr, still curled in her lap and drifting deeper into sleep. Sarnan gave a noncommittal shrug as he downed the last of his whiskey.
“I might,” he mused, standing with a stretch. He reached down and ruffled Savina’s hair fondly. “Anyway, I should get going. I’ve got more paperwork waiting at the office—and it seems your lap-pillow here is out cold. Would you mind tending to her?”
Selene beamed, brushing a lock of hair from Savina’s cheek. “Of course, hun. I’ve got her. You go finish your work.”
Sarnan dipped his head, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Selene’s hand before grabbing his coat and slipping quietly out into the night.
The silence that followed was sudden and heavy.
Selene gently lifted Savina into her arms and carried her to her room, laying her down carefully and tucking the blanket around her. Then, without much thought, she crawled into the bed beside her, curling up like they used to do in their school days—sneaking out for stargazing and staying up far too late with books and whispered gossip.
But tonight, her thoughts weren’t on stars or fairytales.
They were on him.
Selene stared at the ornate ceiling, trying to steady her breath, but the question kept repeating like a curse: What the fuck did I just see?
Had Veylan… switched teams?
And for his creepy schoolmate, of all people? That unsettling thing in the white plague mask? What about that was attractive?
Her jaw clenched.
She’d been sitting right there. Right there—with a perfect view, wearing the dress that clung to her like honey. A rack, curves, charm, beauty—and he had walked right past her. Right into his arms.
She scowled, face burning as the thought sank deeper. What the hell was she even thinking?
Sure, she was hot—she knew that. But she had no right to expect him to be attracted to her anymore. Not after everything.
And she certainly wasn’t interested in him. That callous, self-absorbed, pretentious bastard. Not even a little.
...Right?
She curled in on herself, scowl etched into her lips, her thoughts too loud to ignore.
No. She didn’t like him.
She loathed him.
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