I watch Varia leave for her bedroom. Reality creeps in again—I have a full day of nothing ahead of me. No obligations, no visiting Evlorasin. All I want is to finish teaching the valkerax as soon as possible. To end all this anxiety and sadness as soon as possible.

I’ve waited three years. One day is nothing in comparison.

I’ve stalled for Gavik long enough—he should have decoded his own journal by now, and the details of the “Hymn of the Forest.” But if I go to find him in the city, Varia will know. I sigh. What does it matter? If she truly didn’t want us to talk, she’d command me to stay away from him. And she hasn’t.

But first, breakfast.

First, Lucien wants to talk to me. About the valkerax, no doubt.

The walk to Lucien’s apartments isn’t far from Varia’s, but he’s far closer to the king’s chambers, which means the security is tenfold here. Lucien must’ve informed them of my coming, because all of them nod as I pass, opening the doors the moment I approach.

The gilded struts of the room give it away first as a royal chamber. A generous, fluffed goose-down bed with four posters and dark blankets sits in the middle. But it’s the books that catch my eye. They dominate the room—piles of them stacked neatly on the plush carpet, careful towers of them built on the redwood tables, and little blocks formed on stately black chairs and couches. No inch of the room goes without at least a scroll or parchment or a book open on a surface. Lucien must love reading; the Midnight Gifter books were something that brought us closer two weeks ago. Varia loves those books, too. The series is so important to both of their childhoods. I spot gold-embossed versions of every book in the series on his shelf.

In front of me, situated just so that anyone walking in would see it, is a small table and a beautiful ceramic vase. Inside the vase rests a bouquet of black roses, so fresh and vibrant they look like they were picked from the bushes of Y’shennria’s manor just this morning.

“It’s my attempt at a heartfelt apology.” The voice comes from the corner, and I see Lucien stand from a desk. He’s dressed simply—a white dress shirt and black breeches, the morning sun kissing his golden skin awake. “Malachite called it corny.”

The beauty of the roses tugs at me. I reach one finger out to them, then pull back. No—I can’t accept such a gift. Not after what I’ve done to him. I look around for Malachite, but he’s nowhere to be seen. It’s just us.