The meeting had drained her more than she had anticipated. Alorha had expected the discussions, the questions, even the quiet scrutiny from the advisors across the table — but she had not quite anticipated the constant effort it took to hold herself steady through it all. By the time she returned to her chambers her shoulders felt faintly tight from holding such careful posture, and her thoughts still buzzed with fragments of conversations about supply routes, border valleys, and winter preparations. She sat for a moment at the small table near the window, letting the familiar quiet of the room settle around her again while she tried to untangle the restless knot of thoughts in her mind.

Sage returned shortly after with the tray from the kitchens. The smell of salted pork and warm vegetables drifted across the room, reminding her rather abruptly that she had not eaten since that small breakfast earlier. She glanced up when he spoke, his quiet comment drawing a soft, tired breath from her. Impressed them. The word made her pause longer than she expected. She hoped that was true. Throughout the meeting she had felt as though she were balancing carefully on a narrow edge — trying to speak enough to appear capable without rambling, trying to ask questions without revealing too much uncertainty. The idea that she might have managed it well enough eased something small in her chest.

“Thank you,” she said gently, both for the food and the reassurance. She moved toward the table and sat, smoothing the sleeve of her gown almost absently as she began to eat. The meal was simple but warm, and the first few bites steadied her more than she realized they would. For a few moments the room returned to a calm rhythm — quiet chewing, the soft clink of cutlery against the plate, the distant murmur of activity somewhere deeper in the palace halls.

The knock at the door broke that calm like a stone through glass.

Alorha glanced up immediately, expecting perhaps a maid or messenger. She watched as Sage moved to answer it, the veil slipping into place over his face with the same quiet efficiency she had already come to recognize. From where she sat she could see only part of the doorway, but the tone of the voice that followed made her stomach tighten instinctively. The man sounded less like someone requesting entry and more like someone giving an order.

She was already beginning to set her fork down when the sharp crack of a slap split the air.

For a moment she didn’t quite process what she had heard. The sound was so sudden and violent that it seemed almost out of place inside the quiet room. But then Sage stumbled backward, and she saw the thin line of blood beginning to run down from his cheek where the woman’s ring had caught him.

Something inside her went very still.

The pair swept into the room without invitation as though nothing unusual had happened. The woman began introducing herself with practiced elegance, naming both herself and her husband while speaking in that smooth, political tone Alorha had already heard several times that morning. It was the voice of someone eager to secure favor quickly, eager to establish themselves close to the crown before others could. The husband had already shoved Sage aside against the wall, his grip tight around the young man’s arm in a way that was far too familiar with control. Alorha did not rise immediately.

Instead she placed her fork down carefully beside the plate, the quiet clink sounding oddly loud in the room. She folded her hands together on the table and regarded the two nobles in silence for a long moment while they finished speaking. Her expression was not angry — not outwardly. If anything, it had grown colder in a way she rarely allowed. When the woman finally finished her introduction, clearly expecting polite acknowledgment, Alorha stood.

The movement was slow and deliberate. She stepped away from the table, pale blue skirts shifting softly as she crossed the room. Her eyes did not leave the couple as she approached them, though her awareness remained keenly fixed on the way the man still held Sage pinned near the wall. When she spoke, her voice was calm.

“Leave.” The word was quiet but absolute.

For a heartbeat the pair simply stared at her, clearly not expecting that response. The woman blinked once as if she had misheard. “Your Majesty, we only wished to—”

“I said leave.” The second interruption came just as steady, though now the faintest edge of steel had entered her tone. Alorha’s gaze moved briefly to the man’s hand gripping Sage’s arm, and something in her expression hardened further. “You struck someone in my chambers and entered without permission while I was eating. That is not how one introduces themselves to their queen. He said I was eating. Return later." The silence that followed stretched uncomfortably.

The husband released Sage at once, clearly recognizing that the situation had shifted beyond the polite social maneuver they had expected. The woman’s mouth tightened slightly, but neither of them dared argue further.

“Now,” Alorha added quietly.

That was enough. Without another word the pair withdrew, the door closing behind them with a firm click that echoed faintly in the large room.

The moment they were gone, the cold composure slipped from her face as quickly as it had appeared.

She crossed the remaining distance to Sage immediately, her attention dropping to the thin line of blood still trailing down from his cheek. Up close she could see the red mark already beginning to rise where the slap had landed. Her expression shifted from controlled anger to something softer — concern edged with quiet fury on his behalf.

“I'm sorry that happened,” she said, her voice gentler now but still tight with restrained emotion. She reached for a clean cloth from the nearby washstand and dampened it quickly before holding it out to him. “Are you alright?”

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the door as though making certain it remained firmly shut before returning to him again. The sight of someone being struck in her own chambers — casually, like it meant nothing — left an unpleasant weight settling heavily in her chest. This was her space. No one came in unless she invited them in.

“They won’t be doing that again,” she added quietly, more to herself than anything else. Then she softened slightly, nodding toward the chair near the table. “Sit down for a moment if you need to. We still have time before the next meeting.”

Alorha remained where she stood for a moment after the door slammed shut, the sharp crack of it still echoing faintly through the quiet of the room. Her heart hadn’t slowed nearly as quickly as she would have liked, and though her face stayed composed, her mind was racing in tight, uneasy circles. The entire interaction had happened so quickly that she was only now beginning to process it properly—who they had been, why they had come, and more importantly, whether she had just made a mistake she didn’t yet understand. The nobles had introduced themselves, but the names had slipped past her in the tension of the moment. That alone made a flicker of anxiety settle in her chest. She should have known them. She should have remembered. If they were one of the families the previous queen favored, then sending them away so abruptly might carry consequences she hadn’t even begun to consider yet.

Still, every time her thoughts tried to drift toward the political damage she might have caused, they circled back stubbornly to Sage instead. Her gaze moved to him where he had been pressed against the wall only moments earlier, and the memory of the woman’s hand striking his face replayed in her mind with uncomfortable clarity. The casualness of it bothered her more than anything else. There had been no hesitation, no sense that she had done something shocking or out of line. It had been done the way someone might brush aside an inconvenience. Alorha had grown up understanding that nobles could be cruel when they chose to be, but seeing it so plainly—and directed at someone standing only a few steps away from her—left an unpleasant weight settling in her stomach.

She crossed the small distance between them and held out the damp cloth without much ceremony, her movements quiet and controlled despite the tension she still felt lingering under her skin. When he took it and told her he was alright, she only gave a small nod, though she didn’t entirely believe it. The scrape along his cheek and the bruise forming at his wrist were obvious enough, but it wasn’t just the injuries that bothered her. It was the way he spoke about it. Not the first time it’s happened. The words had been said so easily that they barely sounded like a complaint at all.That was what truly unsettled her.

She stayed nearby while he moved to the mirror, watching without interrupting as he cleaned the blood away and examined the damage with a quiet sort of practicality. The movements were efficient, practiced. When he reached for the makeup, the realization settled more firmly in her thoughts that this was routine for him. Not unusual. Not surprising. Something he expected to deal with often enough that covering it had simply become another part of his day.

Alorha’s fingers curled slightly against the sleeve of her dress as she watched.

Her mind kept circling back to a single, uncomfortable question she didn’t yet know how to answer: was this normal here? Not just for him, but for everyone working in the palace. She'd barely been here twenty-four hours, and most of what she had seen of palace life so far had been carefully controlled meetings, polite servants, and rehearsed formalities. No one had struck anyone in front of her before - never. No one had walked into her chambers and treated one of the people working for her as though he were little more than furniture in the room. If that was common, if that was simply how things were done here, then she had stepped into a system far harsher than she had fully realized.

When Sage finished covering the marks and returned to the bed, letting himself fall back with a tired sigh, Alorha finally moved to sit down near the window. The light spilling through the glass was soft, the quiet of the room slowly settling again around them, but her thoughts refused to calm quite as easily. She found herself staring absently at the floor while her mind continued running ahead of the moment.

Who had that couple been, exactly? Had they expected a warmer reception? Had the previous queen welcomed them in situations like that? If they had been one of the favored families, then there was a very real chance she had just insulted people with influence she didn’t yet understand. The court was a tangled web of alliances and rivalries she was still learning to navigate, and the last thing she needed was to begin creating enemies before she even knew where the lines were drawn.

Yet even as the worry pressed in on her, another thought followed closely behind it, stubborn and impossible to ignore. If sending them away had been a mistake, she still wasn’t sure she would have handled it differently.

Her gaze drifted back toward the bed just as Sage opened his eyes and looked over at her. When he thanked her, the quiet sincerity in his voice caught her slightly off guard. For a moment she simply looked at him, unsure how to respond. The words seemed unnecessary in her mind—of course she had stepped in—but the fact that he felt the need to say them told her something else entirely. "This is my space. No one comes anywhere near here without my permission." She'd finally decided.

It told her that someone stopping that kind of treatment wasn’t something he expected. Alorha exhaled slowly, leaning back into the chair as she considered that.

“You shouldn’t have to thank me,” she said after a moment, her voice softer than before. She didn’t add anything else right away, though the thoughts were still moving rapidly in her mind. The palace suddenly felt far more complicated than it had an hour earlier. There were rules here she didn’t fully understand yet, patterns of behavior she hadn’t noticed until now. "Don't let people treat you like that."

And if people like Sage were being treated that way regularly, then she had a great deal more to learn about what exactly had been happening in these halls before she arrived.

By the time the meeting finally ended, Alorha felt as though she had been sitting under a magnifying glass for hours. The conversation had continued on — routes between kingdoms, escorts, winter roads through the northern passes, the expectations of foreign courts — yet the earlier moment refused to leave her thoughts. Every time someone addressed her, she found herself pausing just slightly before answering, carefully sorting through her words before letting them escape. It made the entire discussion feel heavier than it likely was, as though she were navigating something delicate that everyone else in the room already understood instinctively.

When the council members finally began gathering their scrolls and rising from their seats, she felt an almost guilty rush of relief. A few advisors bowed politely as they passed her on the way out, their expressions composed and unreadable. That neutrality unsettled her more than open criticism might have. It left her wondering what they truly thought — whether the mistake she had made earlier was already forgotten or quietly noted somewhere in their minds. By the time the chamber emptied, she remained seated for a few moments longer, hands resting together on the smooth wooden table, staring absently at the space where the maps had been spread earlier.

She had wanted to do well. Not brilliantly — she had never imagined she would dazzle rooms full of seasoned advisors — but well enough that they might feel confident placing their trust in her. Instead she had revealed, within the first hours of her rule, how much she still didn’t know. The thought lingered uncomfortably as she rose and followed the maid back through the palace corridors, her mind still replaying pieces of the meeting as they walked.

By the time she reached her chambers again, the quiet there felt almost startling. The palace corridors carried a constant undercurrent of voices, footsteps, and distant activity, but inside the room everything seemed calmer, softer. For a moment she simply stood near the window again, looking out across the courtyard as the light outside shifted toward evening. The sky had begun to dim, the stone buildings catching the last pale gold of the sun.

She tried not to think about the council table anymore.

The door opening again pulled her attention away from the window. Sage slipped inside a short while later carrying a tray that smelled so wonderfully warm and rich that her thoughts halted completely for a moment. The scent of roasted meat and herbs drifted through the room, followed by something sweet that made her curiosity spark immediately.

When he set the plates down on the table, she stepped closer almost without thinking. The meal was far larger than the breakfast or lunch she had seen earlier — a proper evening meal, arranged carefully with roasted meat, vegetables, warm bread, and something that looked suspiciously like cake topped with fruit and cream.

Her eyes brightened in a way she couldn’t quite hide.

“Oh,” she murmured softly, the word slipping out before she remembered she was supposed to behave with far more composure than that. But the quiet excitement lingered anyway as she sat down, studying the plates with the kind of honest interest she rarely bothered disguising when she was alone. After a day filled with tense meetings and careful conversation, the simple comfort of warm food felt unexpectedly wonderful.

Sage removed the veil and settled into a chair nearby, clearly relieved to finally sit after spending most of the day standing beside her. When he spoke, his voice carried a hesitant sort of humor.

“Well, you managed to survive day one.”

For a moment she simply blinked at him — and then, despite everything that had happened throughout the afternoon, a small laugh escaped her. It was soft and slightly tired, but genuine.

“I’m not sure that’s the same as doing well,” she admitted, reaching for the bread before pausing again. Her eyes flicked toward him for a moment, thoughtful.

“You should eat too,” she said gently, as though the idea were obvious. “It’s far too much for one person.”

She had already noticed earlier that he rarely seemed to eat when she did, and the thought of sitting there with a full meal while he watched had begun to feel strangely uncomfortable. The memory of how carefully he had accepted the small piece of bread that morning was still fresh in her mind.

Without waiting for him to argue too much about it, she nudged one of the plates slightly closer to his side of the table before turning back to her own meal. The food was warm and perfectly cooked, and the first bite made her shoulders relax almost instantly. After the long day of tension and constant attention from the council, the simple act of eating quietly in her own room felt almost luxurious.

For a few moments she said nothing at all, simply enjoying the meal. The earlier embarrassment from the council meeting still lingered somewhere in the back of her thoughts, but it no longer felt quite as heavy in the calm quiet of the room.

Eventually she glanced up again, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“I think the cake might be my favorite part,” she admitted lightly, the small spark of enthusiasm returning to her voice. “Though that might be because the rest of the day has been considerably less sweet.”

The comment was half joking, though there was truth beneath it. Still, with warm food in front of her and someone else in the room who had also survived the day’s chaos, the evening felt far more manageable than the afternoon had.

For the first time since leaving the council chamber, she felt something close to relaxed.

The quiet laughter that escaped Sage seemed to loosen something in the room, and Alorha felt the faint tightness in her chest ease a little as well. She had not realized how tense she had been holding herself until the moment passed. Even his simple remark about surviving the day being proof of strength lingered with her more than she expected. She did not entirely believe it — surviving something and being good at it felt like very different things — but the thought was gentle enough that she let it sit there without arguing. Instead she focused on the meal, the simple comfort of warm food and calm company far removed from the long table of advisors and sharp-eyed nobles.

She watched him carefully at first when he joined her at the table, though she tried not to make it obvious. The hesitation in his movements was noticeable, the small, habitual glance he cast her way before reaching for anything on the plate. It made something twist quietly in her chest. No one should have to look that uncertain about eating a simple meal. She pretended not to notice at first, simply continuing with her own food, though her attention drifted back to him every now and then. When his restraint eventually gave way to real hunger, the way he tore into the food might have seemed improper in any other setting, but to her it only made her feel quietly glad she had insisted he eat. If anything, it made her slow down a little more herself, making certain there was still plenty left on the table.

By the time the meal finished, a pleasant heaviness settled over her — the comfortable sort that came from a full stomach and the gradual release of a day’s worth of tension. Sage gathered the remaining food away, and she allowed herself a moment to lean back slightly in the chair, watching the candlelight flicker against the walls. It felt strange how peaceful the room could be after the chaos of the day.

Eventually she rose as well, drifting toward the dressing area where the maid had already left things prepared for the evening. Her movements were slower now, unhurried. She slipped out of the formal layers she had worn for the meetings and into something softer and lighter meant for sleep, the fabric loose and comfortable compared to the structured gowns of the day. As she brushed out her own hair, the long strands of light brown falling freely down her back, her thoughts began creeping in again despite her efforts to keep them away.

The council chamber returned to her mind almost immediately. The long table. The maps. The moment she had spoken too quickly and revealed how little she truly understood. She could still hear the faint murmurs that had followed, still feel the weight of their attention pressing down on her. Had she already made herself look foolish? Had they gone back to their chambers tonight discussing the young queen who didn’t understand the most basic matters of travel and diplomacy?

She sighed quietly, setting the brush aside.

Perhaps tomorrow would be better. Perhaps she would learn faster than she feared.

When she stepped back into the main room again, Sage had already settled against the headboard of the bed, long hair loose now as he worked a brush through it with slow, careful strokes. Without the veil and jewelry, and without the stiff posture he held in the presence of others, he looked far less like the figure that stood behind her during council meetings and far more like someone simply trying to unwind after a difficult day.

She lingered for a moment, watching the repetitive motion of the brush through his hair.

Then a small, almost shy smile touched her lips.

“Can I help?” she asked softly as she crossed the room.

It was such a simple request that she almost laughed at herself for asking it so cautiously. But when she reached the bed and sat near him, her fingers were already reaching for the brush. There was something oddly soothing about working through hair like that — something she had always enjoyed even as a girl when braiding ribbons into her cousins’ hair during long afternoons in the gardens.

She gently took over the task, slowly drawing the brush through the long strands with patient care, working out the remaining tangles. The quiet rhythm of it calmed her more than she expected. For a while she said nothing, simply focusing on the motion of it, the soft whisper of the brush and the way the candlelight caught the dark strands.

Eventually, though, curiosity crept in.

Her voice was quiet when she spoke again.

“How did you come here?” she asked after a moment, her fingers still working gently through his hair. “To the palace, I mean.”

She paused slightly, suddenly aware that the question might be heavier than she had intended.

“You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not,” she added quickly, a hint of that familiar self-consciousness slipping into her tone. “I just realized today that I… know very little about how someone comes to work in this sort of position."

The brush slowed slightly as she continued smoothing through the strands, her thoughts still half tangled in the events of the day. The palace had begun to feel larger and more complicated with every hour she spent in it, filled with stories and histories she had never been taught during her sheltered upbringing.

If she was truly meant to live here — to rule here — she suspected she would have to start understanding those stories sooner rather than later.