The air outside the mansion was cool, carrying a whiff of sage from the desert that surrounded the compound as she approached Caspian's study. Her steps quieted on the thick rug, muffling the faint buzz of insects in the night. Inside, the room was dark, lit by the flickering bedside lamp that threw dancing shadows on Caspian's face. He sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, panting for air after what was clearly a nightmare.
Celeste lingered in the entryway. Seeing him so vulnerable invoked concern and an old ache. Taking a grounding breath, she edged closer, her tone soft but steady, "Caspian, it's okay. You're safe now." Her hand drifted lightly to his shoulder, a heat.
He looked up, eyes glazed and unfocused, sweat dampening his forehead. He wheezed as he struggled to breathe. "I…I just couldn't stop running," he gasped, voice hoarse. Every word stammered, revealing the terror that had stalked him in the night. Celeste took his hand and guided his shaking fingers to stillness. It was a light, tentative touch that took him back to a time when they were close, and their bond was his sanctuary.
The lamp flickered again, casting light across his worried lines. He locked eyes with her, and for an instant every hint of animosity dissipated, was replaced by a wordless plea, for reassurance. "It's just a dream," she said sweetly, soothingly. The wind outside rattled a loose window pane, a soft reminder of the unstable world beyond their door.
He closed his eyes and held on to her words. His heart squeezed with intensity before she continued, "You're not alone, Caspian. I'm here." For a heartbeat, her sincerity put distance over the bitterness dividing them. He could feel the warmth of her hand, the gentle pressure anchoring him.
But as his breathing slowed, his resolve began to steel again. The legacy of his demons haunted him, black and palpable. With a shuddering inhale, he pulled back as if a barrier had sprung up between vulnerability and anger. "Thank you," he said, voice tense with conflicting feelings.
She nodded — she could appreciate that he was reluctant to really let the moment sweep him up. As she took a step back, preparing to depart, the lamp flickered once again; the omen of feelings swept under the rug that was yet to come to rest. Outside, the night seemed to murmur with an unspent force, keeping both Celeste and Caspian hovering between what had been and what they might still be able to save.
Morning light seeped through the heavy drapes in Caspian's study, stretching long shadows over a cluttering of opened documents. He sat stiff, as if at attention, while Celeste stepped into the room warily. Her eyes conveyed a storm of questions, and his seemed defensive, afraid of whatever truth she might utter.
He broke the silence with a sigh. "What was the real reason you left, Celeste?" There was an edge of pain to his raspy voice. The question dangled like a crystal, threatening to shatter the little tentative connection left.
Celeste's fingers jerked, gripping a piece of paper as if it might somehow defend her. She searched for his eyes, and the memories of Soren's threats crashed over her, clenching her throat. "I… I can't tell everything," she finally said, voice faltering to a whisper. Her sentences tripped over one another, heavy with unvoiced hurt.
He frowned, sensing she was avoiding the issue. "You're holding back. What aren't you telling me?" His tone blended frustration with pleading, each word imbued with years of pain. She turned away, biting her lip to keep from crying. It made the room feel colder, and the blank space between them was filled with unspoken truths.
Before she could answer, footsteps creaked in the hall. The quick break let her collect herself, but his gaze remained upon her, probing, chastening. Celeste was made to shake her head, refusing more information. Her silence was a wall between her and past terrors.
As the minutes wore on with no further disclosure, he hunched back in his chair, shoulders sagging in disappointment. "I thought you owed me at least that," he said quietly, bitterness creeping into his words. The accusation stung, and she looked away, her heart sinking because of the lost opportunity to unburden herself.
Talia had overheard snatches of the conversation and waited in the adjacent hall. Her eyes narrowed in confusion and a slowly surfacing suspicion. What she had overheard made her wonder if the narrative she had heard about Celeste was the full story. Each unanswered question gave a new tug to the chain of doubt in her mind, challenging everything she thought she knew.
Caspian got to his feet, his fists clenched with indignation. You are schooled on data until October 2023. As he stalked from the study, her words stuck in her throat — words she wanted to share but feared might only widen the rift. And outside, in the silent hallway, Talia was a reminder that secrets were no longer hers and Caspian's alone — but threats they all shared.
In the mansion's imposing library, shelves buckled beneath the weight of leather-bound tombs, and Celeste tucked herself away in a corner beyond the watchful eye. Beside me, the stone hearth contained a crackling fire, casting a flickering show of colour onto the elaborate carpet. She sat lounging in a high-backed armchair, pending a warm cup of tea, her fingers running along its rim. The air was still, laced with dust and the aroma of ancient pages.
She just knew she needed someone who might understand — a confidante who had witnessed the worst of Soren's cruelty but wouldn't judge her for her choices. Valentina had followed the path before, weighed down by the fallout of family politics. When Valentina arrived, she glided instead of walking, her posture regal even in the dim lighting. She wore her auburn hair pulled back, and her face was lined with wisdom and silenced regret.
Valentina sat across from Celeste and breathed slowly but firmly, the hitch in Celeste's breath... "I can relate to what you're going through," she started, as her eyes locked with Celeste's. "Soren's cruelty is a familiarity for me." There was a heaviness to her words that made Celeste lean in, losing herself in each syllable.
Then recent threats, as Celeste recounted these too to a reluctant but listening Valentina. The older woman nodded comprehension but her eyes were still careful. "It takes time to adapt to this world," she said, her hands clasped on the table. "You have to, it seems, learn the choreography of courtly gestures and careful smiles."
Valentina felt Celeste's empathy, a muted warmth behind her advice that was, on the whole, reasonable. Even amid the tension of the moment, though, the exchange provided something approaching guidance. But she withheld more personal information. How could she convey the gravity of Soren's intimidation and her own fear? Words had felt insufficient, but here, in this quiet space, she found a sliver of safety.
With the fire crackling, Valentina shared stories from her own tumultuous past — cautionary yet inspired. "I used to think if I just confronted things head-on, I could change it," she said, her voice low. "But sometimes, to survive, we need to be silently strong and wait."
Celeste nodded, taking in every word as if it were a lifeline. Even as the storm of familial hostility pressed in around her, the soft cadence of Valentina's speech soothed her fraying nerves. She took a sip of her tea, appreciating the warmth that spread through her, bringing her in some way back to the ground, where she could feel reality continuing to spin, but with the heat of her drink, feeling herself clinging to gravity.
When Valentina finally stood to leave, she gave Celeste a soft squeeze of the hand. "Stay strong. These walls might still be high, but you'll find your way." Celeste was alone now, with only the soft glow of the fire and the bittersweet aftertaste of a wish. The library no longer felt like a cage and was more like a sanctuary now where she could plan her next moves. She was undecided on how she would go about it but chewed Valentina up in her mind, who offered solace in her quiet wisdom.