Scene 13:

The mansion was alive with movement. Servants hurried down the marble halls, their arms full of flowers, silk ribbons, and trays of gleaming cutlery. The echo of hurried footsteps mixed with the faint strains of a harp being tuned somewhere in the distance. The air smelled faintly of roses and honey cakes.

Serelith had never seen the household so busy. Every corridor she turned down, someone was either dusting, polishing, or carrying something twice their size. All for her birthday. She lingered at the balcony rail, watching as the chandeliers in the grand hall were lowered for the candles to be replaced.

It had taken days to prepare, and now, on the final night, the work had paid off.

Tharald stood in his study earlier that evening, adjusting his coat in the mirror. His color had returned—he looked healthy again, though the lines around his eyes seemed deeper. He had personally sent invitations to every noble family in the capital. “A sixth birthday,” he’d told her that morning, “should be remembered for a lifetime.”

By nightfall, the grand hall was a sea of light. Nobles in shimmering fabrics mingled under the chandeliers, the hum of conversation rising and falling. Servants weaved through the crowd with silver trays, offering crystal goblets and slices of sugared fruit.

Serelith stood beside Tharald, her hand curled into his. She was dressed in soft cream silk, her hair pinned back with tiny pearls. Guests stepped forward one by one, bowing, offering gifts wrapped in lacquered boxes and embroidered cloths. Compliments flowed easily—

“Such a polite young lady.”

“She’s grown so graceful already.”

Celene stood a few steps away, wearing pale pink satin, her small hands clutching a doll. Her smile was polite, but her eyes darted toward Serelith each time another person praised her. Marlena, from across the room, wore the same expression—thin-lipped, eyes calculating.

In the midst of the laughter and music, a small movement at the edge of the crowd caught Serelith’s attention. A girl, no older than herself, stepped forward quietly. She wore a simple blue dress, her hair braided neatly, no jewels in sight. In her hands was a small folded card, edges pressed flat from careful handling.

She didn’t approach from the front. Instead, she moved around the crowd and, almost shyly, slid the card onto the gift table, as if hoping no one would notice.

But someone did.

An older boy, perhaps twelve, glanced down at the plain card and let out a scoffing laugh. “What is this? Bland and cheap. Did you draw it yourself?” His voice was loud enough to draw a few glances.

The girl froze, her hand still hovering over the table.

Serelith stepped forward before the boy could say more. Her voice was calm, but her gaze sharp. “She brought me a gift. That’s all that matters.”

The boy hesitated, then muttered something under his breath and walked off.

Serelith picked up the card herself, turning to the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Lilah,” she said softly.

Serelith smiled. “Thank you, Lilah.” She placed the card carefully on the top of the other gifts, in full view.

The girl’s shoulders relaxed, and she gave the smallest of nods before stepping back into the crowd.

The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of music, chatter, and cake. The towering confection had six tiers, each layer adorned with sugared flowers. Celene clapped when the candles were lit, though her eyes still flicked toward Serelith when applause broke out.

Eventually, the guests began to leave, cloaks draped over their shoulders, murmuring polite farewells. The great doors closed, leaving only the family and a few lingering servants in the quiet hall.

Serelith found herself standing near the gift table, staring at the little card. For reasons she couldn’t name, her throat felt tight.

She didn’t notice Tharald come up behind her until his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“You did well tonight,” he murmured. “You were kind. That’s worth more than all these gifts.”

Her voice wavered. “Grandpa… promise you’ll be here next year too.”

He hesitated, just for a heartbeat, then knelt so they were eye level. “Promise me something instead.”

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll be a good girl. No matter what happens, no matter who tries to hurt you—you won’t hurt anyone.”

Her lip trembled. “I promise.”

Tharald smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, and pulled her into a tight embrace. She didn’t know then that he was holding her as if it might be the last time.