Page 73 of The Crown's Awakening
"I will keep looking," he says. "She will not sleep in Asharin's rooms until her identity is confirmed."
"Oh?"
“Yes.” He glances briefly toward the far side of the chamber. “When she was here, Asharin had the rooms she stayed in and then a separate space. One I created for her.” A pause. “I had her painted. It brings me solace now during her absence.”
Nox considers that. "I do love art," she says. "May I see?"
He studies her briefly, then turns and leads her through the chamber.
The walls are covered in murals. Asharin depicted again and again, from angles that suggest observation rather than imagination. Expressions that could not all have been witnessed. The repetition building something that feels less like tribute and more like containment.
She stops in front of one near the far wall, Asharin caught mid-turn, her expression carrying something between surprise and recognition. Whoever rendered it had understood the particular quality of her attention, the way it arrived before her words did.
"I always knew you were fond of her," she say softly, remembering that she is Brinette. "I was not aware that you knew her so well," Nox says.
"Better than she knows," he replies.
Nox turns slightly, her attention returning to him, and the interest that takes hold is quieter than amusement and more considered in its nature. What stands before her is no longer simply a curiosity.
CHAPTER 24
An Uncivil Dinner
Dinner is announced before the sky has fully darkened, the last of the pale light still lingering along the windows as I am led into a room that feels both formal and entirely uncontained at once.
The moment I enter, attention shifts.
Voices soften, then turn toward me with practiced warmth that feels less like welcome and more like careful inspection disguised as courtesy. Aunts I do not know and cousins I have never seen remark on how well I look, how strong I appear, how fortunate it is that I have arrived when I have. Hands brush my arm in passing, questions following close behind about the child I carry, about how I feel, about what I have been eating, about what I should be eating instead.
Advice comes easily, layered over itself until it becomes difficult to follow. I answer where I must, and endure the rest.
A wave of nausea rises without warning, low at first and then sharper, turning my stomach in a way that forces my breath to slow as I steady myself where I stand. It passes quickly enoughthat no one seems to notice, though I remain aware of the faint unease it leaves behind. It has been like this since yesterday, brief but persistent, and I remember Hyverin’s voice as he spoke of it with quiet certainty, as though it were nothing more than another phase to be endured. Early months, he had said. The body adjusting. Nothing to be concerned about.
I tell myself the same.
Before I take my seat, I catch sight of Nyara through the open archway leading toward the courtyard. She is already dressed for the evening, her presence carrying a brightness that feels entirely her own. A carriage waits for her, lanterns casting warm light across the courtyard as she prepares to leave for the theater.
Everything else recedes.
I step from the table and cross to her.
“You look happy,” I say.
She turns at once, her smile immediate and real. “I am.”
There is something different in her, something lighter, as though whatever waits for her beyond these walls belongs to her in a way this place never could.
“Any news of Colsar or Junis?” I ask quietly. I know the answer before she speaks.
She shakes her head. “No news of either.” There is no concern in her tone when she continues. “But I do not need news of Junis. It is the undead that would fear him long before he fears them.”
She laughs softly, as though the thought itself is enough.
I look at her, still uncertain what that means, what it is he can do, then let it go as she steps toward the carriage.
“You will be there?” she asks.
“Yes. Aunt Petunis is taking me.”
