When I woke, the light had changed. It was still soft—filtered through gauzy curtains and layered shadows—but it felt different than morning. Thicker, somehow. Like the sun had moved across the sky while I slept and now sat lower, just behind the west-facing windows.
The sheets under me were warm. The pillow smelled faintly of rosemary and clean linen. Someone had tucked the blanket up to my chest. My arms felt loose. My fingers unstiff. My chest… still. Not tight. Not aching. Just still. It was the kind of sleep I didn't know I needed. The kind that left no dreams. The kind where your body does the healing without asking permission first.
I blinked once. Then again. The ceiling didn't look like the one from the orphanage. There were no water stains. No wooden beams. No dust-mottled cobwebs in the corner. It was smooth, painted in pale pearl and touched with the glow of afternoon light.
And then I noticed something else. I wasn't alone. There was a man standing near the balcony. Not close enough to startle me. Not looming. Just… waiting. Leaning, gently, against the doorframe with his arms crossed loosely. He was looking out over the Capital, but I could tell by the angle of his head, by the stillness in his breath, that he already knew I had woken.
He turned at once, slow and sure, like the moment he'd been waiting for had arrived quietly. I pushed myself up, careful not to wrinkle the covers too much.
The man walked toward me with a kind of grace I didn't expect from someone so tall. Each step was balanced. Even. Like walking wasn't just movement—it was intention. He stopped a few feet from the edge of the bed and lowered his head slightly, placing a hand gently over his heart in a gesture I hadn't seen before. Not a noble's bow. Not a knight's salute. Something… older. More rooted.
Then he spoke. "My name is Lloyd." His voice was like wind through distant trees. Even. Melodic. Not too deep. Not cold. Every word felt like it had been chosen, polished, and placed gently in the air—not out of fear or habit, but respect.
I stared at him for a moment. He didn't seem like anyone I had met before. His hair was silver, short and layered, with just enough wave to make it shimmer in the light from the window. His eyes were amethyst—not violet, not pale purple, but deep, like polished crystal. They didn't glow. They didn't flash. But they held things.
Things I couldn't name. Not memories. Not secrets. More like... presence.
"Are you a knight?" I asked softly.
He shook his head once. "No," he said. "Not in title."
Before I could ask more, the door opened behind him. Caelum stepped in. He didn't stride or speak loudly. He entered like someone returning home. He closed the door softly behind him and walked straight to the bed, not even glancing at Lloyd until he was beside me.
He sat on the edge of the mattress. Not heavy. Not rushed. Like he wanted me to know he was there before I had to ask. He rested a hand lightly on the blanket beside my leg and smiled. "Good afternoon, little star," he said. "Did you rest well?"
I nodded.
He looked over his shoulder at Lloyd. "Thank you for watching him," he said.
Lloyd bowed slightly again. "It was no trouble."
I looked at Caelum. Then at Lloyd. Then at Caelum again. I was quiet for a moment. But I had noticed something—something I hadn't meant to notice. Something subtle, but different.
"Your Sigilmark," I said.
Caelum turned his head slightly, confused for half a breath. Then he smiled. "Very perceptive," he murmured.
I leaned forward a little. "Yesterday it was silver. Today it's… white."
Caelum's hand touched his neck absently, like he forgot it was visible. The mark was still there, nestled just behind his ear and along the curve of his neck. But the color had changed—from the metallic sheen I saw in the carriage to something softer. White, yes, but not empty. Not dull. It shimmered faintly like moonlight reflected on snow.
He looked at me again, this time more fully. "Would you like to know why?"
I nodded.
"Then I'll tell you." He reached out slowly, resting a hand on mine atop the blanket.
"Lloyd," he said, "is my familiar."
I tilted my head. "I don't know what that means."
Caelum nodded, as if he expected that. "In the Imperial bloodline," he explained, "we all form a bond when we come of age. A sacred bond with a magical being. That bond leaves a mark—a Sigilmark—on our body. It represents the connection between us and the creature we are tied to."
I blinked slowly. "You mean… like magic?"
"Yes," Caelum said. "But more than that. It is life-magic. Soul-magic."
He looked at Lloyd. "Lloyd is a silver wolf. And my familiar."
I turned back to the man near the window. He looked human. Entirely. But now that I was staring, I could see the edge of something else. Not fur. Not fangs. But something in his eyes—some shimmer beneath the iris. Some stillness that belonged to creatures who watch, not just see.
I whispered, "He's not from here."
Lloyd inclined his head gently. "I was born from spirit-magic. I am not of human kind, though I have taken a shape familiar to it."
Caelum continued. "Most members of the Imperial Family receive one Sigilmark when they come of age. But there are… exceptions."
I blinked again. "What kind of exceptions?"
Caelum smiled. "Well," he said, "your mother was one."
I looked up quickly. "My… mother?"
Caelum nodded, his voice warm. "She wasn't born into the family. But she carried power so strong and rare that when she married our father and, when she came of age… she formed two familiar bonds."
My lips parted. "She had two?"
"Indeed," Caelum said. "One was of wind. The other of spirit. Both left marks. Both protected her."
He hesitated for a moment, then added—"And the Empress—our sister-in-law, your aunt by title—also formed two bonds."
I swallowed softly. "What happens if… if you're not from the family?"
"Then you must marry into it," Caelum said, "before your coming of age, if you are to receive a Sigilmark."
He looked down at his hand on mine. "Except…" he added softly, "there are stories. Rare ones. About children who form bonds before they are of age. Before they even understand what it means. Children who don't need permission to be chosen. Children… who are already bound. In ways no law can predict."
My hand twitched slightly. His gaze met mine. "I don't say this to confuse you," he said. "Only so you know what may come. Your mother was unlike anyone else. And though we do not know your full story yet, I suspect there is more to you than even you know."
I looked down at the blanket. I didn't know what to feel. A piece of me wanted to ask everything. Another piece wanted to curl into the quiet and just think. But what I felt most… was that same hum from before. That warmth. That pulse.
And when I looked back at Lloyd—his silver hair, his ancient gaze—I felt it again. That something had changed. That something had already started. And maybe… I was no longer alone in the world in a way that went beyond people.
Lloyd stepped forward and knelt slightly, lowering his head to my eye level. "If ever you are afraid," he said, "and you cannot speak it, call my name in your thoughts. I will hear."
I stared at him, wide-eyed. "You can do that?"
He didn't smile. But he blinked, slowly. "I am your kin, by extension of his bond. And I do not serve with conditions. I serve because I choose to. I watched you sleep. You are not ordinary."
The words didn't scare me. But they settled heavy in my chest. Like something was beginning. And I didn't know what. But I nodded. And whispered—"Thank you." And for the first time… Lloyd smiled.