I couldn't sleep. My body felt tired, but my mind wouldn't quiet. No matter how long I kept my eyes closed, how many times I rolled over, how tightly I curled into the pillow, the thoughts wouldn't stop. They just kept spinning — quiet but endless. Threading into each other like tangled string.
I tried not to think. But I still did. And so I gave up. The covers were too warm anyway. The sheets clung to my arms like breathless whispers. My hair stuck to my neck, my thoughts to the roof of my mouth. The weight of the day — of everything I had felt and refused to feel — sat at the base of my throat. It wasn't scary. Just... full. Too full.
I didn't want to cry again. I didn't want to wake anyone. Not Caelum. Not the servants. Not even the breeze. So I sat up slowly. The room was silver with moonlight, everything softened at the edges. I noticed then that Caelum hadn't changed me into my nightrobe after dinner. I was still wearing the pale tunic and soft overalls from earlier, though the collar had become a little lopsided. It made things easier.
I slipped from bed without a sound and padded over to the corner stool, where my boots sat neatly side-by-side. I sat down and began tying them as best I could. The laces didn't loop right at first. I fumbled. My fingers weren't made for knots in the dark. But I managed. Crooked, but tied.
The hall outside was empty. The door creaked a little, but not loud enough to echo. Everyone had likely gone to sleep by now. The servants were probably tucked into their wing, the knights spread throughout the Capital on patrol. No one guarded my room. Not because they didn't care, but because the palace was safe.
The corridor outside was painted in shadows and silver. No lamps were lit, but the moonlight streamed through the windows like quiet music. It touched the floor tiles, reflected in the glass, and made the walls shimmer in places where polished stone had not yet cooled.
I walked slowly, careful not to let my boots tap too loudly. The hallway felt different at night — not frightening, exactly, just unfamiliar. Like a sleeping animal. Like something alive and dreaming. When I reached the stairs, I hesitated. They looked taller than usual. Steeper. Darker.
I crouched down and gripped the railing with both hands. Then, on all fours, I began crawling down — one stair at a time, like I used to in the Orphanage when the upper rooms flooded and we had to sleep in the common hall. It was slow, but safer. No one would see me. No one would laugh. And I didn't fall.
The Grand Hall was quieter than the rest of the palace. It held no windows directly. The walls were tall and heavy with echo. The ceiling stretched up beyond what the moonlight could reach, and the great chandelier above was a shadowy crown of sleeping crystal.
I paused. For a moment, I thought about going back. But I didn't. I crossed the dark stone slowly, keeping close to the wall, until I found the wide double doors that led to the back garden. I pushed gently. And the outside air slipped in — cool and clean, smelling faintly of rose leaves and wet soil.
The garden was sleeping too. The trees barely moved. The grass held dew like tiny stars. Flowers folded in on themselves, leaves curled tight like sleeping animals. And above — the sky. The moon was full tonight. Its light poured like water, silvering the garden paths, bathing the stone gazebo in shimmer, touching the tops of trees with cold fire.
I stepped out onto the path, boots crunching faintly on pebbles. I walked toward the cherry tree — the one closest to the edge of the maze. Its leaves didn't rustle. Its branches didn't tremble. It stood silent and tall, draped in faint blossoms.
I hadn't even reached it when a voice drifted from above. "You're out late, little master."
I looked up, startled. There, perched on one of the thicker branches like a prince of the wind, was Lloyd. He leaned against the trunk, one leg dangling, one knee drawn up, his silver hair glowing in the moonlight like molten ice. His amethyst eyes reflected stars. He looked like he belonged there. Like he'd been carved from moonlight and placed gently into the tree by the hand of an old god.
"Lloyd…" I whispered.
He tilted his head. "Should I not have spoken?"
I shook my head. "No. I'm glad you did."
He jumped down in one smooth motion, landing without a sound. His cloak fluttered behind him like a shadow. He knelt in front of me and studied my face. "Couldn't sleep?"
I hesitated. Then shook my head again.
His gaze softened. "Would you like to talk about it?"
I lowered my eyes. "Only if… if you promise."
"Promise what?"
"That it'll be a secret."
Lloyd placed a hand over his heart. "Wolves are loyal. I give you my vow."
I hesitated, then stepped forward. He lifted me easily into his arms, holding me with care—not like I was fragile, but like I was precious. He walked with me slowly through the garden. No destination. Just movement. I buried my face against his shoulder and whispered into the space between us.
"Something's wrong with me." He didn't answer right away. So I kept going. "I'm not like other kids."
His hand rubbed slow circles on my back. "They talk and laugh and play. They don't think like I do. They don't remember everything. They don't plan what face to wear when someone enters the room. They don't watch the hallway for footsteps. They don't try to feel… only to realize they're pretending."
I paused, voice low. "They don't wonder if the love they're given is real… or just a mistake."
Lloyd stopped walking. He sat on the edge of the stone fountain, setting me on his lap. "Do you believe Caelum loves you?" he asked gently.
I hesitated. "I… don't know."
"Why?"
I looked down at my hands. "Because I don't know who he thinks I am."
"And who are you?"
I didn't have an answer. Lloyd reached out and lifted my chin, guiding my gaze back to his. "There is nothing wrong with being different," he said. "There is nothing broken in noticing more than others. In feeling things in quiet ways. You are not empty, Elarion. You are watchful. You are careful. You survived."
My chest trembled. "But what if I'm… too strange?"
"You are not strange," he said softly. "You are awake in a world that taught you to stay asleep. That makes you strong. Not broken."
I blinked hard, trying not to cry. "But I wear masks. I lie. I smile when I don't feel anything. I say thank you when I'm not sure I understand why I'm being given anything at all."
"That is not lying," Lloyd said. "That is coping."
He wrapped his arms around me again. "Do you think wolves bark every time they're hurt? No. We bleed in silence. We wait. We learn which steps make noise and which do not. We guard our hearts behind our teeth. But when we love… we love completely."
I leaned against him. "Even if I'm like this?"
"Especially because you are like this."
We stayed there a long time. Under the moon. Under the stars. Wrapped in silence, spoken and unspoken. When he finally carried me back to my room, I didn't ask him to stay. He set me down in bed, tucked me in, and touched my forehead with the back of his hand. "You are not alone," he whispered. "Even when you feel like it."
Then he left. And I fell slept.