There was no need for a carriage between the palace and home. It wasn’t a particularly short walk, but it was always a pleasant one in this weather. The heat of day had eased into the cool of summer night, kissed by the sound of crickets singing a hushed and lonely song. The people who walked this late were far too busy with work to pay Simon any mind as he passed by. Guards at the gates of the palace only nodded and allowed him quick and easy passage out.

Simon had always liked the way the city looked at night. The shops were mostly closed now, but families still lit up the windows of their homes. The mountains to the west could hardly be seen at night, but the stars were so bright that there seemed to be two cities reflecting one another back from above and below.

The streets were lined with fragrant flowers, filling the cool and dewy air with their sweet scent. How pleasant it would be to experience this quiet and this calm all the time. No uncomfortable dinners, no constant looks from people who wanted and expected too much.

The archives paid well. If he just kept working for another few years, Simon would be able to escape this place and surely no one would follow. Isador had a place here. Dorian had a duty. Mari would not miss him. Maybe if his father was still around, he might be a bit more hesitant about the appeal of disappearing, but all the man had left him was an impossible role and a home. And a yearning he was never going to be able to satisfy.

At least there would always be Gris and Chalice.

Simon turned off the main road, down a smooth brick pathway. These streets were not decorated or well lit, with only the window lights guiding the way, but it was a path that Simon had traveled so many times that he could have done it completely blind.

The house Simon approached wasn’t large or ostentatious, but it was more of a home than the palace ever could be. Every light inside still remained lit and the lantern on the porch flickered. The fluttering wings of moths cast strange shadows upon the front door as Simon turned the knob. “Gris? Chalice?”

A soft groan sounded from a chair near the entryway. An ancient, tanned woman with leathery skin and silver hair sat, “Grigori?” she asked, brows furrowed. The sound of his father’s name was more familiar in her raspy voice than his own.

Simon sighed, offering a gentle smile. “Good evening, auntie. I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

She waved him off dismissively, shifting back in her armchair. By the time Simon had taken off his shoes, she was snoring softly. Her lips were pale and parted. She had looked better the last time Simon saw her. She had still called him by his father’s name, but she’d held a bit more light in her eyes.

A massive, muscular figure rounded the corner. Their clothes were tight on their frame, their pitch dark hair cropped close to their scalp. “You’re late.” Their voice was quiet and gravelly.

Simon nodded, stepping forward past the old woman’s chair. “The family wanted me for dinner again.” He didn’t need to say anything else. Gris would understand. When the royal family called, they wouldn’t be ignored. He followed them through the comfortable warm glow of the living area and out the rear door, onto a quiet porch. The yard was a bit overgrown, but it was filled with sweet flowers and the soft twinkling lights of the lightning bugs. Seated in a lounge chair rested a woman with long legs, dressed in casual trousers and a blouse. Her dark eyes landed on Simon and she smiled.

“Let me guess? His Highness or the archivist?” she asked.

Simon took the next seat, reaching toward the table between them. It had already been set with three cups and a pitcher of wine, already half empty. “Isador. The family is really pushing for me to marry in.”

”You need to stop accepting their invitations, Simon.” The woman turned, taking her own cup. Chalice’s smile was such a fickle thing. So quickly it had turned into a twisted disgruntled look.

Gris sat on the edge of the seat where Chalice reclined, rolling their shoulders. They didn’t speak, just reaching to pour a glass for themself.

Simon didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that Chalice was wrong, but what was he meant to do about that?

”The more they give you, the more they’re going to expect in return.”

The wine was bitter on Simon’s tongue and the taste lingered there even after he swallowed it down. “I suppose I’ll just have to marry Isador, then,” he said with a dry laugh.

”Don’t joke like that,” Gris said, their voice flat and harsh.

There was no winning with them sometimes. Simon’s father at least would have thought that was funny. But he wasn’t here. Only his friends were left, and none of them had quite inherited his humor. “I mean, if it’s between him and Dorian,” Simon said, trailing off.

Chalice sat up straight, crossing her arms over her chest. “Listen to me. You are not marrying into that family. You’re not going to end up like us.” The sound of her glass clacking against the table as she set it down was sharp. “You have other options. I know Isador is your friend or whatever, but you need to focus.”

”He’s not my friend.” Simon wasn’t certain how true that was even as he said it. Chalice and Gris only responded with silence. He sighed. “Listen. I’m only a year out from having enough money to leave. I don’t want to get on their bad side in that time.”

”You may well end up there regardless in that time,” Gris said. “Inaction is as unacceptable as acting improperly.”

”I can’t save more money than I already am.”

Chalice reached up, pushing thick curls away from her face. “I know, I know. You’re close.” She paused, staring into her glass. “I’m sorry we keep pushing you. I know you’re doing your best. We just worry.”

Chalice and Gris were not his parents. Simon’s father had not asked them to take on that role. Simon had not asked that of them. And yet here they sat, far too concerned over him. Though Simon supposed they both had plenty to worry over with him being so close to the palace.

Gris reached to their left shoulder, rubbing at the place where it ended and their arm had once been.

”I only have a year. I can keep them placated for now. It’s Isa and Dorian that I need to satisfy and I know how to do that.”

Chalice nodded. “Keep out of sight of Winnie and Reginald as much as you can.” She poured another glass of wine for Simon, passing it toward him.

Simon stared down at the drink. “I will.”

”And that Knight girl… is she still lurking around?”

Simon grimaced.

”Keep away from her. I know your dads were close, but something isn’t right with her.”

Of course Chalice would think that.

”I will.” Simon’s glass was empty again within a minute. “Is auntie doing well?”

Gris nodded. “She’s declining the same as always. It won’t be too long.”

“She seems happy with you at least. I’m glad you have her here.”

”Chalice does most of the work. I wouldn’t be able to care for her without her.” Gris placed a gentle hand on Chalice’s shoulder. She didn’t jump or pull away this time. That was new.

”It’s the least I can do.” Chalice’s voice was softer now.

Simon rose from his seat. “I should leave the two of you to it,” he said, glancing between them. He bit his lip, glancing toward the now empty pitcher of wine. It had not been a long visit, but he couldn’t help but feel he had overstayed his welcome here.

”Let me walk you out,” Gris said, waving him toward the door.

”Thank you for everything,” Simon murmured before following. He knew the moment he saw the look on Gris’s chiseled face that this was going to be a lecture. “Gris…”

They shook their head. “Just be careful. Chalice doesn’t mean to nag you, but with what happened to her…”

To her. Plenty had happened to Gris, too, but they had never breathed a word of complaint about it. Of the three of them, Simon had been the least bothered by the royal family, and yet he was the one they fussed over the most. “I know.” He hung his head low. It would be for the best if he didn’t linger on the subject too long. “And you and her are…?”

”Doing fine. Take care of yourself. Be safe going home.” A hand squeezed his shoulder, and Simon nodded, moving toward the door to retrieve his shoes. Gris had retreated as quickly as they had ushered Simon inside. Simon raised a hand to wave toward Gris’s mother before stepping back outside.

Cheeks now warmed by wine, he made his way back to the main road. It was a short walk home, but he allowed the night to linger, taking careful steps and deep breaths of the cool air. Fewer lights were on now, but there were more than enough stars to guide him home.

Chalice was right, of course. It would be better if he left quickly and didn’t involve himself with the royal family more than he already had. Knowing it would be for the best didn’t make the situation any easier to avoid. Refusing the family when he was offered their kindness wasn’t an option, and Isador was always going to be kind.

The family had wanted him for far too long to just let go. If Isador was anyone else, maybe Simon would question how much of his earnest interest in him was genuine and how much was pressure from his parents to find a way to marry him into their lineage. With all of the other siblings courting or married, it was his turn, but… it had never mattered if Isador married. He wasn’t anywhere near the line for the throne. It only mattered that they got Simon.

It was Dorian that concerned him.

Even engaged, the way the man’s eyes still scraped over him whenever they were in the same room was too much. That, too, was far outside the desires of his parents to have the former Head Archivist’s son in their fold. It was something genuine and disconcerting.

Simon was grateful that the only other things that infiltrated his personal space on this walk home were lightning bugs and crickets. So long as he was away from the palace, no one would press too close or look at him with too much heat in their eyes. Sure, the people in town knew him, but they didn’t bother him. Not like Isador. Not like Dorian.

Up ahead, Simon eyed the hill at the far edge of the neighborhood. He had spent so much time in the little house on the side of it when he was younger, laughing and playing and reading off little facts from his books to Aria. It had been in less disrepair back then.

The light in the upstairs window was on. Aria was still awake.

He could go see her. Even if she was cagey in the archives, surely things would be different in her own home, where they had so many shared memories.

Simon kept walking.

His feet propelled him forward until he reached the little lavender house at the end of the block and his fingers grasped the cold brass of the doorknob.

Aria would approach him herself when she was ready. There was no need to try to force a closeness that was not there anymore.