Alistair's profile was a clean line against the firelight. He spoke quietly to the king once—something low and serious Elissa couldn't catch—but otherwise, he ate in near-silence, eyes occasionally drifting, almost by accident, in her direction.
Once, their gazes met. Only for a heartbeat. His eyes were as unreadable as they'd been that morning. Piercing. Measuring. He looked away first, back to his food, as if she were just one more thing to keep track of.
She couldn't decide if that hurt more or less.
The king asked her —"How are you finding the northern air, Princess?"—and she managed a passable answer about the beauty of the mountains and the cold being…bracing.
He inclined his head, eyes distant, clearly already thinking of other matters. She was, for him, a piece in a much larger game. Nothing more.
When the meal finally ended, Elissa felt more drained than when she'd arrived. Kestrel stood and hooked their arms together again without asking.
"I'll walk you back," Kestrel said. "I need an excuse to escape more talk of envoys."
Elissa didn't protest. They slipped out into the quieter corridor. The torches along the walls flickered softly, throwing shadows that moved like slow water.
"You did well," Kestrel said once they were out of earshot. "You didn't spill anything or faint. Very dignified."
"High standards you have here," Elissa murmured.
Kestrel's smile tilted. "Father doesn't speak much at dinner. It's…not personal. He's like that with everyone."
"I know," Elissa said. "It's fine."
Kestrel glanced sideways at her. "Alistair can be worse," she said. "If you're expecting him to talk like Vane, you'll be disappointed until the end of time."
Elissa's grip tightened on her arm for a second. "He was…quiet this morning too."
Kestrel exhaled through her nose. "He's wound tight. About Hollow. About the ball. About all of it. When he's like that, his face turns into a wall and he forgets people think it's about them."
"So it's not?" The question slipped out before Elissa could stop it.
Kestrel shrugged one shoulder. "Sometimes it is. But today? After what Dante told him about your training? He's mostly furious at the situation. At how little time there is. At how much rests on someone who hasn't been given what she needed." Her gaze softened. "Not with you."
They reached Elissa's door. Martha was already there, waiting, hands folded.
"Which brings me to this," Kestrel said, stopping. "Martha will be sleeping in your room for a while. At least until the ball."
Elissa blinked. "What?"
"In case the training stirs up your magic…or your nightmares," Kestrel said matter-of-factly. "If you wake in the dark and think the balcony sounds welcoming again, Martha will be there to brain you with a pillow and tell you no."
Martha sniffed. "I don't brain. I nudge. Firmly."
"I don't want to bother her," Elissa protested immediately. "She has enough to do. I'm fine. Really."
Kestrel's look was unimpressed. "You froze yourself half to death on a balcony. You're not fine."
Color rushed to Elissa's cheeks. "You knew?"
"Everyone with eyes knew something was off," Kestrel said gently. "Dante saw you. Martha worried. I turned it into a joke because that's how I cope. But no one thought it was nothing."
Elissa suddenly found it very hard to meet either of their eyes. "I didn't mean to cause trouble," she said quietly. "I just…couldn't stay in bed."
"We're not accusing you of treason," Kestrel said. "We just don't want you shattering yourself before the ball. Or walking off a balcony in your sleep."
Martha stepped in, firmer. "I've been a nurse longer than you've been alive, Princess," she said. "I've shared rooms with girls who had nightmares, fevers, magic fits and worse. You won't bother me. I sleep light. And I snore quieter than any of the guards."
That pulled a weak laugh from Elissa despite herself. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Martha said. "And I wouldn't have agreed if I weren't. Do you think I'm afraid to tell them no?"
Kestrel made a face. "She's not."
Elissa hesitated. She thought of waking up alone in the dark, not sure if she was in her bed or on cracked stone. Of not knowing how she got from one place to another. Of nearly freezing on a balcony with only a small white pup for company.
"Just for a few days..." she said, more to herself than them. "Until the ball. Then you can have your room back to yourself."
Martha nodded. "We'll see how you're doing then."
Kestrel squeezed her arm. "Good. It's settled. I'll let you two do your…sleeping ritual. Whatever it is humans do."
"We complain about the cold," Elissa said.
"Then you'll fit right in," Kestrel said, and with a last small smile, she turned and strode back down the corridor.
Inside the room, everything felt softer. The fire was already banked, casting warm, low light over the walls. Martha had laid out a nightdress on the bed, simple and warm.
Between them, they got Elissa out of her gown without fuss. Martha helped her into the nightdress, fingers deft on the ties. While doing so.
Martha talked about a kitten one of the kitchen boys had smuggled in and was trying to hide from the head cook. Elissa told her, in turn, about a girl back home who had once tried to enchant all the palace spoons to sing and failed so badly they just hummed out of key for a week.
"Sounds like my kind of magic," Martha said, chuckling.
By the time Elissa slid under the blankets, the room felt less like a foreign place full of sharp, watching eyes and more like…somewhere she could safely close hers.
Martha set up a small pallet bed near the hearth instead of sleeping far away on the other side of the room.
"Won't you be cold there?" Elissa asked.
"I've slept in worse places than your fancy rug," Martha said. "Go on. Sleep. If you need anything, say my name. I'll hear you."
The pup hopped up onto the bed without waiting for permission and curled firmly against Elissa's feet, as if securing them.
"Traitor," Martha told him affectionately. "You're supposed to guard the door."
He only wagged his tail once and snuggled deeper into the blanket.
Elissa's eyes felt impossibly heavy.
"Goodnight, Martha," she murmured.
"Goodnight, child," Martha said softly. "You're safe. Remember that."
For the first time in days, when Elissa drifted down into sleep, there was a warmth on both sides of her: fur at her feet, a human presence near the fire, the steady echo of magic-spent fatigue humming through her limbs.
The dark came anyway—but softer, less sharp. When the ground started to crack under her in her mind, she heard Martha shift, the pup sigh, and some stubborn part of her held on.
She didn't wake on the balcony.
—
Much later, under a sky thick with cloud, Dante stepped quietly out onto the main balcony that overlooked the inner courtyards.
The wind cut at his coat. He barely felt it. His eyes went first, automatically, to Elissa's balcony.
Empty.
No small figure huddled in the chair. No white pup pacing in fretful circles. Her windows were closed and faintly glowing with firelight.
He closed his eyes just long enough to let a breath leave him.
"Good," he muttered to the night. "Finally."
Across the courtyard, another balcony jutted out—Alistair's. For a moment, Dante caught a glimpse of a figure there too, dark against the gloom. The prince stood still, gaze angled not at the stars, but toward Elissa's wing.
Checking. Making sure.
Dante didn't call out. He didn't need to.
He only stood there a moment more, listening to the quiet castle, the absence of a shuddering girl in the cold, and let himself feel, for the first time in days, a thin edge of relief.
Tonight, at least, she stayed in her bed.