Chapter eight
The moon rose higher over Aetherra, casting silver light across the palace as the soft strains of music from the inner courtyards drifted into Selene's window. The entire castle was alive in preparation for the King's grand birthday celebration, but Selene had no interest in long tables and noble chatter. Her mind was elsewhere searching for silver eyes in a faceless crowd.
"Tell me again why this is a good idea?" Aralyn whispered, her arms crossed as she stood by Selene's wardrobe.
"Because I need to know who he is," Selene replied simply, cinching a dark cloak over her dress. "I need to know why he felt so… familiar."
Aralyn exchanged a skeptical glance with Lyra, who was perched on the window ledge, brushing her midnight curls behind one ear.
"This is reckless," Lyra muttered, though her eyes sparkled. "I like it."
"Thank you," Selene grinned. "Finally, someone with taste."
"We're going to get caught," Aralyn said, but she was already rummaging through the chest at the foot of Selene's bed, pulling out a plain festival mask. "Wear this. If someone recognizes you, pretend you're a wandering noble's daughter."
"Done," Selene said, slipping the mask over her face. "And you'll cover for me?"
"Of course," Lyra answered, tugging Selene's cloak forward and inspecting it. "You'll sneak out through the eastern gate near the old garden. The guards rotate on the hour,there's a small window between changes."
"You've done this before," Selene teased.
Lyra winked. "We all have secrets, cousin."
A soft knock came, and Mara's voice filtered through the door. "Selene? Are you asleep?"
The three girls froze.
"I swear to the stars…" Selene whispered as she dove under the bed.
Aralyn cleared her throat loudly. "She's already asleep, Mara. She's… um… fasting. In silence."
A pause.
"Fasting?" Mara said suspiciously. "Since when does she fast?"
"New palace tradition," Lyra added quickly.
Another pause. Then a reluctant, "Fine. But she better be up before sunrise."
Footsteps faded away.
Selene crawled out from under the bed, brushing dust from her hair.
"Next time," she whispered, "remind me to use the window instead."
"We're trying to be subtle," Aralyn rolled her eyes.
"You're the one who picked a cloak with silver thread," Lyra added.
"Fashion is a form of rebellion," Selene whispered dramatically before ducking out the hidden side door.
The streets of Aetherra's outer city buzzed with festival cheer. Lanterns in the shape of phoenixes floated above the crowd, casting flickering light across the cobbled roads. Street performers danced in glowing ribbons, and children ran through clouds of enchanted bubbles. The air smelled of spiced fruit and cinnamon bread.
Selene wandered past stalls and fire dancers, her heart thudding with hope and a tinge of fear. What if he wasn't here? What if she'd imagined it all?
She turned down a quieter lane, drawn by the flicker of swordlight.
There across the street, standing near a darkened vendor stall was the man with silver eyes.
Her breath caught.
It was him. Cloaked in shadow, face half-lit by lantern glow, he looked exactly as he had the night before. Quiet. Watchful. As if the world around him barely registered.
And beside him stood the silent, grim-looking man from last night,Thorne.
Selene hesitated only a moment before walking straight toward them.
"Back again?" Caelum murmured, not turning his head. His voice was low, unreadable.
Selene crossed her arms. "You don't remember me, do you?"
Thorne tensed slightly beside him.
"I don't make a habit of remembering every girl who picks fights in alleyways," Caelum said, still not facing her.
She stepped in front of him, unbothered. "You're doing that thing again. Pretending to be unbothered. But I can tell. You remember something."
He blinked once, slowly.
"I don't know you."
"But you feel like you should, don't you?"
Thorne started forward, but Caelum lifted a hand without looking. Thorne stopped.
Selene tilted her head. "You're not like the others here. You look like you're waiting for something. Or someone."
"I'm not."
"You're lying," she said simply.
Caelum's gaze finally lifted to meet hers. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
The noise of the festival dulled around them. Just the brush of wind. The flare of torchlight.
Midnight black hair. Silver eyes.
Something ancient stirred behind his gaze but it was gone before it surfaced.
"What's your name?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer.
She narrowed her eyes. "You're annoyingly mysterious."
"You're annoyingly persistent."
She smiled. "I like how you talk."
Caelum almost, almost smiled.
"Time to go, Princess," came a sharp voice behind her.
Selene winced.
Mara stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly. And beside her, looking very unamused, was Drian, her friend who understands her way too much.
"Seriously?" Drian muttered. "The lower city again?"
Selene glanced back at Caelum, one last time.
"I'll see you again," she said softly.
"Not if I can help it," Caelum murmured.
But he didn't stop her.