Dinner that night was quieter than usual. Not in a sad way. Just soft. The kind of quiet that wraps around you like a wool blanket. Safe. Heavy. Warm. The kind of quiet that doesn't need to be filled.
We ate together—me and Caelum—at the long table, but we sat close at one end. I had rice and roasted vegetables with a little bit of fish. He had something more seasoned, but he didn't tease me for my plain plate. He let me eat at my pace.
When I spilled a few grains of rice on the edge of the plate, I glanced up to see if he noticed. He did. But he only smiled and wiped it for me. No words. No correction. Just quiet.
After the plates were cleared and the last of the warm milk was sipped down from my cup, Caelum stood and offered his hand. "Ready for bed, cub?" he asked.
I nodded, even if I didn't feel tired yet. The walk back to my room was slow. I took small steps on purpose. Just to make it last longer. He didn't seem to mind.
When we arrived, my room had already been turned down. The blankets were folded neatly, the sheets warmed by the stones beneath the floor. A small night candle flickered gently on the desk.
I waited by the bed while he opened my closet. He picked a white night robe—the soft one with the embroidery at the collar—and helped me out of my clothes. He worked gently, carefully, his hands never moving too fast or cold.
He untied my braid next. I expected him to call Tilly or Lillian, but he didn't. He sat behind me on the bed, fingers working slowly through the braid, easing out the ribbon, then combing through the strands with his fingers until they fell loose over my shoulders and back.
"You looked handsome today," he said softly. "All red and gold like a rising sun."
I didn't answer, but I felt the warmth behind my ears. Once I was changed and my hair was free, he tucked me in, kissed my forehead, and whispered, "Sleep well, little wolf." Then he left.
But I didn't sleep right away. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, the shapes of moonlight dancing faintly across it like waves.
I waited until the hallway grew silent, until the sounds of the palace quieted to nothing more than faint footfalls far away. Then I lit the candle on my desk.
The little flame danced quietly in the dark, casting a golden glow over the desk and the pile of books I had stacked earlier.
I chose one of the thickest—the one about the founding of the Eirhardt Empire. I liked how the words curved on the page, how the ink was a little darker in some places than others, like the book had been written by hand before being copied.
I read until the lines started to blur. And then I returned to bed. I don't know what time it was when I felt it again. The touch. The one from two nights ago. Light. Feather-soft.
Like a brush of silk against my cheek. Like a hand that didn't weigh anything at all. There was no sound. No voice. Just the faint sense of presence. Familiar, but impossible to name.
Not Caelum. Not Lloyd. Something else. I didn't open my eyes. I didn't move. But I whispered, "I'm still here." And the feeling lingered… just a little longer.
In the morning, I awoke before dawn, as usual. Breakfast was light—some bread with jam, soft-boiled egg, and warm tea with milk. Caelum joined me halfway through. He looked a little tired, like he'd worked late the night before, but he still smiled when he saw me.
"You sleep alright?"
I nodded. I didn't mention the touch. Not because I wanted to keep secrets. But because I didn't know how to explain it.
After breakfast, I changed into a soft shirt and dark trousers. Tilly helped tie my boots while Lillian brushed my hair and pulled the front back into a small braid behind my ears.
"Are you going to the Knight Quarters again?" Gabel asked as he entered the room, already dressed.
I nodded.
"Can we come?"
"Yes."
We walked together through the west halls, past the open windows that looked out toward the training grounds. The sun was still low in the sky, but the air was warmer than it had been days ago.
I liked mornings like this. Quiet, cool, and full of possibility. The Knight Quarters were busy, but not rushed. Men and women trained in pairs, swords clashing in rhythmic strikes, spears sweeping across padded floors, arrows thudding into hay targets with satisfying sounds.
I looked for him. And saw him near the center—Felix. The red-haired knight. The one who carried me that first day. The one who smiled without pretending.
He was leaning against a fence, wiping his forehead with a cloth, armor glinting slightly in the morning light. His sword was sheathed at his side.
I walked up to him slowly, Gabel beside me. He noticed me immediately. "Good morning, little prince," he said, straightening.
"Morning," I replied.
Then I hesitated. And asked—
"Will you please teach me too?"
His brows lifted slightly. "To… fight?"
I nodded. "With a sword."
He crouched a little to look me in the eyes. "Are you sure?"
"I'm not strong yet," I admitted, "but I want to learn."
Felix smiled. "Alright."
He gave me a wooden sword—small, light, but still heavier than I expected. The hilt was worn smooth, the blade dulled from years of use by trainees. "Try swinging it."
I did.
My first swing was too slow. The second was too stiff. But he didn't laugh. He came behind me, adjusted my stance, shifted my elbows, positioned my feet. "Swing from here," he said, tapping my shoulder. "Not just your arms. Let the movement come from your back and hips."
I tried again. Better. Still clumsy. But better. I trained all morning. I didn't realize how quickly time passed. I practiced swings, footwork, and balance. When I grew tired, I sat on the fence near the stables and watched the other knights spar.
Their movements were like a dance. Sharp, controlled, beautiful. I memorized them—every step, every turn, every pause between strikes.
After a while, I wandered to the stables. Dean was there, brushing a mare with a star-shaped mark on her nose. "Want to help?" he asked.
I nodded and held out a piece of apple to one of the horses. She sniffed it, then licked my fingers gently. I smiled. I liked the horses. Their eyes were calm. Their breathing soft. Their presence steady.
I stayed there for a while, feeding, brushing, watching. By the time I returned to the palace, lunch was ready. Caelum was already at the table, a few scrolls stacked beside his plate.
I slid into the seat beside him, and he looked down with a curious tilt of his head. "You've been having fun, haven't you?" he asked with a grin.
I nodded. And began to eat. The afternoon passed in quiet pages. I followed Caelum to his office. The space smelled of leather and old ink, with soft sunlight pouring in from the tall arched window.
He let me sit on the couch beside the fireplace while he worked at his desk. I didn't speak. Just read. I didn't need toys. Books were enough. Especially when I had peace—And someone nearby who made me feel safe. And even when he said nothing—I felt him looking over at me from time to time. Just checking. Just there. And that was enough.