Chapter 13 – Whispered Vow
One not sealed by crowns.
“Forgiven.”
“It was him,” he said hoarsely. “My father”
Slowly.
Her fingers tightened at her side.
One frame remained intact.
But by *choice.*
The guards at her door stood tense. “She slipped past us an hour ago.”
Her mother’s.
She didn’t answer.
No guards. No lanterns. Just echoes of the past.
“I was there too,” he whispered. “I remember holding your hand. I couldn’t save you.”
That evening, she helped him ease back into bed.
She looked up.
She believed it.
Now wasn’t the time.
“Stay”
His hand shook.
“She’s alone?” he asked sharply.
His hand found hers.
He found her just as she returned-eyes hollow, fingers blackened with soot.
She wrote instead: *I hate what was done. But I don’t hate you.*
*Her* lullaby.
“Move her here. Post guards. She doesn’t leave this level without me.”
Then signed, without turning: *Don’t lock me away because you’re afraid of what I am.”
Her eyes shimmered-but she didn’t move.
By dusk, Cyr sat alone in the council chamber, the music box turning slowly in his lap.
But no words came.
He flinched.
Cyr stood-legs trembling in their braces, but upright.
When Cyr entered, she was already seated by the window.
The ink had faded, but the name burned brighter than fire.
And offered the bandages again.
Inside: a proper bed, bookshelves, soft lighting.
“No,” Cyr said quickly. “She won’t.”
And touched her fingers longer than necessary.
That broke the silence.
Later that night, Varek confronted Cyr in the war room.
Varek hesitated. “Will she agree?”
He stepped toward her.
“I need to say it,” he said. “I need you to *hear* it.”
And sat down.
Then leaned close.
She hesitated.
And below it, an insignia carved into the wall-Ulmir steel over Starshade sun.
“Where were you?” he asked.
His legs cramped. His heart thudded out of sync.
Her breath hitched. A scream built in her throat-but she swallowed it whole.
A vow was made.
Outside the Citadel, storm clouds churned.
Her murderer.
This was where the Starshade line ended-if the official records were to be believed.
Eileen watched him, unreadable.
“I thought he died protecting the palace. I thought…”
“I’m sorry”
“Eileen,” he whispered.
She turned to leave.
She sat back, her voice already frayed, but her gaze steady.
She touched his chest, over the spot where his heart pounded.
Tears clung to his lashes.
He stared down at her.
She handed him the letter.
The south wing was sealed with soot-blackened chains.
Then climbed onto the blanket beside him, facing the opposite direction.
He read it.
*You did.*
“I swear, I’ll never let them hurt you again.”
And whispered-barely audible-one word.
She squeezed his fingers.
His breath caught.
“I’m sorry I forgot. Sorry I failed. Sorry you had to live in silence because of people who wore my crest.”
She nodded.
Then slowly, she crossed the room and knelt before him.
“I didn’t know.”
“What did you find?”
He closed his eyes.
Then behind a cracked tapestry, she found a chest.
And for the first time in her life-
“You spoke again,” he whispered. “For *me.”
”
The southern banners marched closer each night.
Cyr awoke in a cold sweat.
“You should hate me”
But inside, two souls-once fractured by fire-lay inches apart.
She touched the grooves.
But as she turned to leave, his hand caught her sleeve.
2/6
Strapping on his braces, he forced himself upright, teeth grinding with every step as he crossed the corridor and descended the stairs.
She nodded once.
She wasn’t in her room.
She reached up-cupped his face gently.
The handwriting matched the scrolls she’d sorted just days ago in the archives.
Neither spoke.
Inside: scorched letters, orders from sixteen years ago. Some stamped with the royal seal. Others… signed by General Ulmir himself.
And in that quiet space between breath and memory…
His fingers curled over hers.
Her hands trembled.
Cyr’s father.
“I swear to you,” he rasped, “I didn’t know.*”
Silently, he whispered:
He didn’t wait.
Then read it again.
She staggered back.
“Yes, sire.”
She ran her fingers across the charred wallpaper, past portraits half-burned, eyes
seared out.
Eileen slipped through the broken servant passage before dawn, cloak drawn tight, her breath silvering in the cold.
