The Firefly’s Burden-Chapter 63: Overwhelmed

The Firefly’s Burden-Chapter 63: Overwhelmed

The Solar doors shut behind us, and the silence hit harder than the horn blast that had opened session.
Too quiet. Too sharp. My ears rang with leftover words —
Queens bow to no one
— ricocheting around my skull like they belonged there. My mother’s voice, molten and undeniable, still clung to my skin like the scent of cedar smoke.
Except it wasn’t the line about bowing that gutted me. Not even the searing press of her hand on my brow, not the gold sigil that still thrummed down my spine. It was two words she’d dropped like they meant nothing.
My third-born’s blood will suffice.
Third. Born.
I only had one sister. One. Selene. The perfect heir. The golden first-born. Which meant… what? A missing ghost sibling no one had bothered to mention? Or was it just my mother slipping in court poetry, some veiled insult I wasn’t fluent enough to parse?
I’d nearly broken skin worrying my sleeve seam raw during the oath, and now my thoughts wouldn’t stop chewing on the threads. Third-born. Third-born. The words kept pulsing in the backs of my eyes like a migraine.
Cassie’s hand brushed mine, subtle, grounding. Her citrus-vanilla scent cut through the cedar and clove still choking the chamber air.
One pinky-hook at a time,
her touch said, steady as a tether.
I inhaled, but it wasn’t steady. Everything smelled wrong — firestone dust still hanging in my nose, the iron tang of blood from the oath, the faint sweetness of Cassie’s perfume braided through it. Roran and Kael flanked us like shadows with spines, silent and sharp, their scents layered heavy: saltsteel and dawnfire. Too close. Too much.
Because they weren’t just guards anymore. They were mine. Oath-bound, blood-bound, no escape. I’d felt the magic lock in like a collar around my ribs, their lives bent toward mine, toward ours, and saints, it nearly made me sick with the weight of it. They didn’t even blink wrong now without the bond whispering they were accountable to me.
And somehow that was supposed to make me feel safer.
Instead, it made me feel like I was carrying four lives on my back instead of just one crown.
Cassie leaned closer as we passed under the fractured amber dome, her voice low enough that only I could hear: “You look like you’re going to hurl on the firestone.”
“I might,” I muttered. My throat was too tight, my brain too loud. “Congratulations, Duchess of Starveil, patron saint of dry heaving in public.”
Her laugh was lemon-sharp, wicked, exactly what I needed. I almost smiled. Almost.
But then my mother’s words surged back, louder this time, like the Solar itself was still echoing them in my head:
Queens bow to no one. My third-born’s blood will suffice.
Saints, I couldn’t hold that question in forever. I’d have to ask Selene before it burned me alive.
Selene was waiting just outside the Solar’s doors, staff in hand, braids catching the fractured light like threads of sunlight someone had tied together on purpose. She looked every inch the heir apparent, calm and sure, and saints, I wanted to crawl under her composure and steal a piece of it for myself.
Her gaze swept over me first, then Cassie, then the guards at our heels. “You don’t live at Emberhall anymore,” she said softly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Your staff are waiting at Silverrow. At Ravenrest.”
It was meant as reassurance. It landed like a blade.
My lungs forgot how to do their job. Emberhall had been… crowded, suffocating, political—but familiar. A nest of stones and rules I knew how to dodge. Now? I had a lake house on a private island in Silverrow Lake and an estate called Starveil Manor, not just a mansion in some mortal neighborhood. An actual demesne, hundreds—maybe thousands—of miles away from my mother’s seat even though, in Dominveil, it sat “right next door.” Fae lands fold and stretch like breathing silk; a thirty-minute drive in Ravenrest Heights becomes a horizon of forests, rivers and sky when you step through a Summer gate. Even with the Veil humming under my skin, I couldn’t map it. I only knew it moved when I moved, like a giant creature adjusting to my pulse.
Silverrow flashed in my head—the lazy summers, the cool lap of lakewater, fireflies clinging to reeds. My mother’s cool voice saying, “Fresh air will clear your head, Mira. Don’t fight me on this.” I thought she’d just been exiling me. Turns out she’d been planting me in soil that was mine without telling me. On that island there were hot springs hidden under moss-hung arches, water that steamed like breath in winter. I’d promised Cassie I’d take her there, to show her it wasn’t just a story, to make love to her there. Saints, how was I supposed to keep a promise like that when I didn’t even know which door to open first?
And Starveil. The endless dinners, the echoing halls under a sky that always smelled of duskfire. “Family residences,” she’d called them. Not once had she said
yours.
Now they were.
Cassie leaned into me just enough that I felt her steady lemon-vanilla press against my spiraling. “We skipped starter apartments, Firefly,” she murmured. “No cramped rental, no ramen nights. Straight to gilded responsibility.”
I snorted, except it came out cracked. “Oh, saints, I’m going to have to learn what a levy is. And where it comes from. And who the hell to give it to. And we don’t even have furniture that’s ours, Cass. Half those rooms are mausoleums with throw pillows.”
She grinned, wicked and kind at once. “So we steal some furniture shopping trips between being duchess and consort. Priorities.”
Her humor was supposed to calm me. It didn’t. Or it did, but only enough to let the panic settle deeper in my ribs instead of clawing at my throat. The world still felt too big, too close, like the Veil itself was leaning in to listen.
Selene tilted her head, studying me with those amber-gold eyes that always saw more than I wanted. “You’ll adapt,” she said gently. “You were raised for this, Mira.”
The words should’ve steadied me. Instead, they snapped the tether on the thought I’d been trying not to let loose. My mouth moved before I could stop it.
“Selene,” I said, too low, too sharp. “When Mother called me third-born today—”
Her staff stopped mid-tap against the stone. She went still. Too still.
I rushed on, because silence made my skin itch. “What did she mean? You’re first. I’m second. That’s it. There’s no third. Unless… unless there was.” My throat burned. “Was there?”
For the first time I could remember, my sister’s mask faltered. Just a crack, but enough. Her lips parted, eyes widening like I’d dropped a knife in her lap.
“Mira,” she said slowly, careful as if the walls were listening, “I don’t know. I’ve never…” She trailed off, shook her head once. “If there was another, Mother has never told me.”
“But she said it in front of the whole Solar. Not a mistake. Not a slip. You know she doesn’t do anything without a reason.” My voice went thin, the seam of my sleeve twisting under my nails until the stitches bit. “So why hide it from us?”
Selene’s hand hovered like she might touch me, then dropped. “Then it was meant to stay hidden. And if it was meant to stay hidden…” Her gaze sharpened, a warning cloaked in warmth. “Do not ask her. Not yet. If she didn’t tell us, it is because the truth is dangerous.”
The words slid down my spine like cold water.
Dangerous.
Cassie’s hand squeezed mine tight, grounding me again before the spiral ate me alive. “Firefly,” she whispered, citrus cutting through the cedar-smoke memory, “don’t chase this right now. Not when you’ve got new houses and a duchy breathing down your neck.”
“I can’t un-hear it,” I hissed back, too fast, too loud.
“I know.” Her thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, soft as a promise. “But you don’t have to solve it today.”
My chest ached. Selene’s steady eyes held mine until I looked away first. She knew I wouldn’t let it go. She also knew I’d choke on it if I tried to push too soon.
Third-born. Duchess. Queen. My names stacked like bricks until I couldn’t breathe.
And saints help me—I had to move into those houses and pretend like I knew how to be all of them.
Starveil looked like a lie.
From the street, it was just another Ravenrest Heights palace: manicured hedges, wrought-iron gates, a driveway curling like a ribbon. Neighbors’ estates flanked it on either side, Emberhall rising just beyond the line of ash trees. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was only wealth. A little more stone. A little more glass.
But the second we stepped out of the car, the air changed.
Not the sticky kind of Infernalight heat that clung to asphalt and made roses sag. This heat had teeth. It hummed in my ribs, pressed against my skin, a shimmer of duskfire that whispered Summer Court.
And the manor
leaned
toward us.
Not just to me—the one whose blood named it—but to Cassie.
The front doors unlatched themselves with a sigh, air cooling as if the house thought she might burn. A shimmer of gold licked across the marble floor and stopped at her shoes like a welcome mat conjured just for her.
For one sharp, cold heartbeat, my chest locked up. Saints, I hadn’t thought—what if the house didn’t listen to her? Emberhall had tolerated Cassie, shielded her when she was under its roof, but it had never bent for her. I’d always had to press, to
push
the stone and fire into listening when it came to Cassie’s safety. Not much, but enough to leave me tired after, like wrestling with wards that weren’t meant for me.
But here—Starveil answered her like she was born to it.
The sunlight shifted, narrowing so it wouldn’t glare in her eyes. The floor warmed where her steps fell. Even the air smelled brighter, citrus cutting through the duskfire.
I hadn’t lifted a finger.
Relief punched out of me so hard I almost stumbled. My shoulders sagged before I realized I’d been holding them stiff. Saints, it was like Emberhall responding to Selene, to Seara—effortless, instinctive. I wouldn’t have to force this land to accept Cassie. It
already did.
Cassie looked around, slow and deliberate, and then grinned. “It likes me.”
I wanted to tell her she had no idea. That this was more than liking—it was recognition, belonging,
claiming.
But the words tangled in my throat, sharp with the kind of awe I didn’t want her to see.
Instead, I forced a smirk. “Of course it does. It’s smarter than Emberhall.”
Her laugh slid lemon-sweet through the air, and saints, I clung to it. She tilted her head toward the open doors, eyes dancing. “Well? Are you going to show me inside, Duchess, or are we just going to stand here making goo-goo eyes at the house?”
The word
Duchess
landed like a slap and a kiss all at once. My sleeve seam twisted between my fingers until the threads bit, the only way to keep my lungs moving.
Because this wasn’t just a house anymore. It wasn’t Emberhall with my mother’s shadow looming over every wall. This was Starveil. And it wasn’t answering to her.
It was answering to me. To us.
The doors yawned wider as if the manor itself wanted us in, and then the staff were there.
Not a full retinue—skeleton crew, half the uniforms a little too crisp with starch, the other half showing seams where they’d been patched. But they bowed as one when we crossed the threshold, voices rising like a chorus.
“Your Highness.”
“Your Grace.”
“Your Majesty.”
The words rolled over each other, none of them matching, a tide of honorifics so thick I couldn’t breathe through them. Too many. Too heavy.
Emberhall had been worse in some ways, all those courtiers pretending reverence because my mother’s shadow stretched long enough to smother them. But here—here the bows weren’t borrowed. They were mine.
And saints, they felt wrong.
Cassie stiffened at my side. I felt the hitch in her breath before I heard it, citrus-bright scent sharpening like lemon rind under a knife. The house had bent for her outside, easy and instinctive, but staff bowing to her—calling her
Your Majesty
—that was different.
“Welcome home, Your Grace,” one of the stewards intoned, head bowed so low I could see the silver threads in his hair trembling with the effort.
My sleeve seam twisted tighter under my nails until the bite made me focus.
If Zyrella were here, she’d be smirking already, tucking every slip of the tongue into her arsenal. Mira Firebrand doesn’t even know what she’s called in her own halls. Mira can’t control her staff. Mira isn’t fit to rule.
Not today. Not ever again.
“Enough.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, slicing through the bows. Dozens of heads jerked up. “Pick one.”
The steward blinked, startled. “Your—”
I cut him off with a raised hand. “Not for me. For
all
of you. My mother’s court lets itself play fast and loose, but this is Starveil. If you can’t decide whether I’m Grace, Highness, or Majesty, someone else will decide for you. And they’ll use it to cut me.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Cassie slid me a sidelong glance, eyes glinting like cut glass. Her pinky brushed mine, a grounding tether. “Bossy suits you,” she murmured under her breath.
“Shut up,” I hissed back, but the corner of my mouth twitched anyway.
One of the younger footmen—barely older than me, freckles across his nose—cleared his throat. “Your Grace… it’s traditional for a Duchess of the Summer Court.”
“Then that’s what it is.” My voice didn’t shake, even though my stomach did. “
Your Grace.
For me. For her.” I tilted my head toward Cassie. “Uniform. Clear. Understood?”
The bow that followed was quieter, but sharper. In unison this time.
“Understood, Your Grace.”
And saints, the words still felt wrong—but at least they matched.
The foyer swallowed me whole. Marble floors veined in duskfire gold, ceilings so high they blurred, chandeliers dripping crystal like frozen rain. Not Emberhall’s cavernous vastness, not the kind of place built to host a Solar in session — but saints, it was enough to make every mortal skyscraper I’d ever seen look cheap.
“Your Grace,” the steward murmured, bowing low. His voice was smooth, practiced, too careful. Behind him, staff lined the hall — cooks, cleaners, groundskeepers, all dipping low the second I glanced their way. A chorus of
Your Grace. Your Grace. Your Grace.
It hit my chest like hail.
Emberhall had been suffocating, yes, but at least it was my mother’s suffocation. This was mine.
Cassie’s fingers brushed the back of my hand, a secret tether against the static roaring in my head. “Breathe, Firefly,” she whispered, lemon and vanilla curling through the marble chill. “You’re not being eaten. Yet.”
The steward gestured forward. “If it pleases you, a tour.”
It didn’t. It terrified me. But Cassie’s grin dared me to say no, so I nodded.
We passed under an archway carved with phoenix wings and into the great hall. Emberveil light slanted through glamoured windows, catching motes that danced in the air like embers suspended midfall. A long table dominated the room — polished emberwood, place settings for twenty, high-backed chairs etched with starbursts. Not Emberhall’s endless banquet table meant for hundreds, but large enough that I felt the weight of it press between my ribs.
Cassie trailed her fingers along a chair, raising a brow. “So… family dinners, or are you going to start auditioning vassals for supper theater?”
My laugh cracked sharp. “Both. Probably at once.”
The steward cleared his throat. “The kitchens are provisioned. Skeleton staff, for now, but appointments will be needed if Your Grace wishes to receive at proper scale.”
Appointments. As if I knew how to hire anyone. My sleeve seam twisted tight under my nails. I nodded anyway.
The kitchens smelled of copper pots, fresh herbs, and fire wards baked into the stone. Cassie paused in the doorway, eyes softening. “It actually feels warm in here. Cozy.”
And I felt it — the space bending to her, softening heat, adjusting light. Not me forcing it. Not me shoving will into stone like at Emberhall. The house was doing it
for her.
Relief punched through me so hard my knees nearly buckled. Saints. She wouldn’t live here like a tolerated guest. She’d be answered. Welcomed. As if she had magic of her own.
I didn’t say it out loud. Cassie didn’t notice. She just smiled faintly and tugged me toward the stairs.
Up we went — bannisters curling like frozen fire, staircases that seemed taller than they should be but carried us without effort. The second floor sprawled into a warren of chambers: master suites with emberwood bedframes, balconies overlooking both Ravenrest Heights
and
—when the light bent wrong—the wild duskfire fields of Summer.
Cassie stepped onto one balcony, hair catching fractured light. The manor leaned into her like she belonged.
“Alright,” she said, soft but sure. “We’ll have to see Silverrow before we decide which is home. But this?” She twirled slowly, arms spread. “This isn’t a house, Firefly. It’s… alive. It wants us here.”
I swallowed hard. My chest hurt. I nodded like I believed it too.
The library came next, vast but not palace-vast: shelves in neat emberwood rows, ladders curling upward, mortal textbooks stacked beside gilt-bound grimoires. Cassie’s eyes lit. “You’re never going to get me out of here.”
I muttered, “I might lock you in here, then at least you’ll stop correcting my homework.”
Her laugh bounced against shelves that hummed as if amused.
We crossed into a gallery of portraits: Firebrand ancestors, brushstrokes that followed my movements with faint glimmers of light. My throat tightened. I wasn’t on these walls. Not yet.
And finally, the gardens. Out one set of doors: Ravenrest roses trimmed within an inch of their lives. Out another, just one step sideways: the Summer wild — ember-bloom, starlight grass, fireflies glowing like lanterns. The seam between them blurred until my eyes ached.
Cassie stared at it all, wonder and disbelief mixing sharp on her face. “So… which place is home, and which is retreat?”
I shook my head, throat burning. “We’ll decide after Silverrow. Together.”
She smiled like she’d already decided.
And all the while, staff bowed at every corner.
Your Grace. Your Grace. Your Grace.
The title followed me like a shadow I couldn’t shake.
The hall back toward the foyer felt longer than the tour itself, like the walls had stretched while we were gone. Every portrait of long-dead Starveil lords stared down at me, waiting to see if I’d trip over my own new title. The chandelier still dripped frozen light, the marble still gleamed like someone had polished it with starlight itself—but now every hallway coughed up staff that bowed too low and called me
Your Grace
like the word had teeth.
One by one, they peeled off from their duties as we passed, as if the manor itself had whispered my steps to them.
“Your Grace, the kitchens are still running on half-staff,” a steward with ink-stained hands stammered, holding a clipboard I didn’t have the heart to look at. “Would you like me to begin the hiring process for a full culinary wing?”
“Your Grace, the guest suites in the east wing remain unused. Should they be refreshed in case of… dignitaries?” a maid added, clutching a linen bundle so tight her knuckles whitened.
“Your Grace, the perimeter wards haven’t been renewed since the last solstice—”
Words piled faster than I could breathe. Kitchens. Guests. Glyph wards. My sleeve seam twisted so hard under my nails I felt the stitches bite. Saints, they weren’t ing to Seara anymore. Not Sylvaris. Not Drennath.
Me.
Us.
Every question rolled straight downhill into our laps now, no detours, no buffers.
Cassie walked close enough that our shoulders brushed, citrus and vanilla steady in my nose. “Translation,” she murmured, wicked grin tugging at her mouth, “we need to hire people. And neither of us has the faintest clue how.”
I snorted. “Oh good. So we’re screwed equally.”
A servant actually flinched at the word
screwed.
My stomach lurched.
Cassie tilted her head, whisper-teasing, “Still not used to everyone bowing and calling you
Your Grace?
”
“I’m still not used to the fact it’s not a joke,” I muttered. “Half the time it feels like if I say the wrong thing, the manor itself is going to throw me out a window.”
She smirked. “Good thing you married someone who looks excellent in freefall.”
I snorted again, too sharp, and it cracked out of me like a cough. Saints.
Behind us, Roran and Kael prowled like hunting dogs, murmuring about “sight lines” and “blind angles.” Roran dragged his hand along a wall sconce like it owed him money; Kael crouched to check a hinge like it might assassinate us. They were relentless, compelled by the blood oath to stay too close, too constant.
Cassie’s eyes tracked them, then cut back to me, smirking. “We’re never going to get privacy again.”
I tried for a laugh. It came out cracked. “Are we duchesses or prisoners?”
“Both,” she said, sharp grin flashing.
And then—for once—the shadows weren’t breathing down our necks. Roran and Kael had peeled off to inspect a side stairwell, muttering about blind spots and wards. No clinking boots behind us. No shadows too close.
Cassie noticed instantly. Her hand caught mine, tugging me toward a darker recess under the staircase. “We’re taking this,” she whispered.
“Cass—” I barely got the word out before her mouth was on mine, citrus-bright and insistent. Heat flared low and sharp, my fingers clutching at her blazer like I might drown without the texture of it under my nails.
Her tongue traced mine, her body pressing flush against me, and the hall vanished. Just us. Just this. Saints, I wanted to climb inside her heartbeat and never leave.
Her hand slid lower, under my shirt, warm against my stomach. Lower still, teasing the edge of my waistband—
And then a crash split the air.
We jolted apart like guilty teenagers, breath ragged. A maid stood frozen at the mouth of the alcove, tray overturned at her feet, porcelain in shards, tea soaking into the rug. Her face went white, her bow so deep her forehead nearly hit the marble.
“Your Grace—I’m so sorry—I didn’t—”
Cassie pressed her face into my shoulder, groaning. “Saints, kill me now.”
My heart slammed. The poor girl looked like she’d walked in on a crime scene. I raised my hands fast, sleeve seam unraveling under my nails. “No, stop. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. It’s me, not you. Please don’t—just—don’t look like that. You’re fine.”
She stayed bent, trembling. Not moving. Saints, she wouldn’t leave. Not unless I told her to. Not unless I dismissed her.
The realization made my chest lock up like a vice.
“Dismissed,” I croaked, voice breaking. “Please. Just… go.”
She bobbed another frantic bow and scurried off, skirts swishing, nearly tripping over the shards. Silence flooded back in her wake.
And then bootsteps.
Roran rounded the corner first, Kael right after, both blades already half-drawn, eyes scanning for threats. When they saw us—flushed, rumpled, Cassie still pressed against me—they didn’t need a crime scene. They knew exactly what had gone down.
Roran’s mouth quirked, dry as dust. “Do we need to start clearing stairwells before we sweep them now?”
Kael smirked sharper. “Or just stand guard at your bedroom door and save you the trouble?”
Cassie groaned louder, burying her face in her palms. “Insufferable. Both of you.”
Heat rushed to my face, hotter than any fire I’d ever thrown. “You two breathe a word—”
Roran lifted his brows. “We wouldn’t dare, Your Majesty.”
Kael’s grin made it worse. “Unless you keep making it this easy.”
Cassie groaned again muttering, “Saints help us, Firefly. If we ever want to have sex again, it’s probably going to have to be in front of them.”
I didn’t even argue. Just groaned louder. “Don’t tempt me—then everyone can see just how much you are mine.”
The walk back toward the foyer felt like it stretched twice as long as the tour. By the time we stepped beneath the chandelier again, my head was buzzing, sleeve seam shredded halfway from how hard I’d been twisting it.
Waiting at the foot of the stairs was the Seneschal. Althene Veynar. All steel posture and polished precision, silver hair bound back so tightly it had to ache, ember-bright eyes gleaming behind thin spectacles. They bowed, the kind of bow that said
everything is already on fire and I’m here to tell you how much water you don’t have.
“Your Graces,” Althene said smoothly. “Now that the duchy is in your hands, certain matters must be addressed at once.”
My stomach dropped.
“The manor cannot function on a skeleton crew. Department heads must be appointed—housekeeping, kitchens, stables, wards, finance. Until you fill these posts, every petition and request will continue arriving directly at your feet.”
To demonstrate, an aide stepped forward with an armful of scrolls and deposited them on a side table. The thump echoed like a verdict.
“Glow Court petitions have already begun arriving. Grievances, land requests, trade matters. They cannot go unanswered.”
Cassie’s ring pulsed faintly against mine, her voice brushing through like flint-snap citrus.
Firefly, breathe. You’re spiraling.
Spiraling?
My thoughts scattered.
We haven’t even unpacked socks and apparently I’m now judge, jury, and cosmic complaint box.
Althene didn’t slow. “Furthermore, Marquis Sylvaris and Marchioness Drennath request an audience with you tomorrow morning. They expect to discuss Starveil’s revenues, vassals, and future direction. Their cooperation will be essential.”
The word
revenues
lodged in my throat like a knife.
Cassie’s fingers squeezed mine tight, grounding me, though her jaw was set hard. I could feel her tension through the ring too:
They’re already circling us. We can’t look weak.
Althene inclined their head. “Your Captains will oversee security, of course. But the other departments remain without leaders. Until you appoint them, even scullions will interrupt your meals to ask which broom to use.”
Cassie let out a small groan, not even trying to hide it. “So basically, we’re running the world’s largest unpaid internship until we hire actual adults.”
I snorted, too sharp. Saints, my head hurt.
Althene ignored her. “Interviews must begin immediately. Priority should be given to a Seneschal in my stead, a Chamberlain for finances, and personal attendants appropriate to your station. Daughters of noble houses will be put forward for the latter.”
I didn’t so much as blink. Attendants were expected. Necessary. I’d had them since childhood, whether I wanted them or not. But beside me, Cassie stiffened like someone had shoved a sword down the back of her dress.
Her voice buzzed into my ring, sharp as citrus.
Attendants? Absolutely not.
Cass,
I shot back,
it’s normal. It’s politics. If we refuse, they’ll call it weakness.
It’s invasive.
It’s survival.
Cassie’s mouth flattened, but she didn’t argue out loud. Just let her hand squeeze mine until my bones ached.
Althene folded their hands neatly. “All appointments must be formally announced before the Solar. Blood oaths will need to be considered where appropriate.”
That pulled the breath straight out of me. Blood oaths. Saints, Roran and Kael were already bound so tightly to us I could barely breathe without them breathing with me. And now we were expected to decide who else bled for us?
The chandelier hummed louder overhead, the marble too bright, my lungs too tight.
Cassie leaned in, voice low but firm enough for Althene to hear. “We’ll review the lists. Interviews begin tomorrow.”
Althene bowed, crisp and final. “As you command, Your Graces.”
The weight of the scrolls on the table felt like it was crushing my ribs.
Cassie’s citrus cut through again, muttered into my hair. “Three days until school, and apparently we’re spending them in job interviews.”
I groaned. “We’re going to die of paperwork before the Shroud even gets a chance.”
Roran’s boots scuffed the marble as he reappeared from a side corridor, Kael shadowing him. Both of them smirking like they knew exactly how frayed we were.
“Cheer up, Your Majesties,” Roran drawled. “At least security’s already handled.”
Kael’s grin was sharper. “For now.”
I buried my face in Cassie’s shoulder. Saints help me.
The silence stretched a breath too long after Althene swept away, and that’s when my stomach betrayed me.
It growled. Loud. Loud enough the echo carried under the chandelier and at least three staff members along the wall froze, pretending desperately that they hadn’t heard.
Heat flooded my face. Cassie smirked, sharp and merciless. “Subtle, Firefly.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, sleeve seam twisting so tight I heard a thread snap. Saints, I was supposed to be a duchess now, and my body decided to announce me like a starving raccoon.
I cleared my throat, aiming for dignity and missing by a league. “Could… could someone arrange something for lunch? To take with us?”
A steward bowed instantly, relief flooding his face like I’d just pardoned him from the gallows. “Of course, Your Grace. Provisions will be prepared at once.”
Cassie arched a brow. “Take with us?”
“Silverrow,” I said, too fast. “We’ll be there half the day, and if anyone asks me about scullions or glyph wards again on an empty stomach I’m setting something on fire.”
That earned me a quiet laugh, but her hand brushed mine, grounding.
We turned toward the front doors, the long stretch of marble suddenly feeling more like a gangplank than a foyer. Through the glass I could already see the waiting car — black, gleaming, the kind of thing that purred money and screamed target all at once.
Cassie’s smile tilted rueful. “Remember when we used to just… drive? Windows down, music up, no shadows breathing down our necks?”
My throat tightened. I did remember. Saints, I missed it so much it ached. The anonymity, the control of having my own hands on the wheel.
“Yeah,” I said softly, watching Roran and Kael peel out of the side hall like bookends, already assessing the door angles, already calculating exits. “Except now we’re duchesses. Which apparently means we don’t get to drive. Or pick our routes. Or sneeze without an escort.”
Cassie squeezed my hand, citrus and vanilla brushing warm through the static. “Guess we’ll just have to get used to being chauffeured like royalty.”
“Because we are,” I muttered, rolling the seam between my nails until it frayed.
The steward reappeared with a tray already laden — sealed flasks, wrapped sandwiches, fruit that gleamed like it had been polished. Staff bowed in perfect unison as it was loaded into the car, too many eyes, too many bows.
I forced myself to stand straighter, even as my stomach growled again. Saints, I was going to survive being duchess, queen, consort, and student all at once — but only barely, and only if I got lunch first.

Chapter 63: Overwhelmed