I never touched the sweets.
Not when anyone was looking.
Not in the glass-walled Capitol, where eyes moved like insects—slow, constant, hungry. In that white-and-marble palace, stillness was part of the performance after all. Hands folded, spine straight, face unreadable. My every movement measured in teaspoons and silence.
But the sweets called to me all the same.
Rows of delicate pastries—glazed fruit tarts, chocolate crescents, rosewater macarons—arrived each morning on silver trays for the Chancellor's inner circle. They were symbols, mostly. Frivolity meant power. Leisure meant dominance. But to me, they meant something else entirely.
They meant memory.
Warmth.
Safety.
Things i'd lost long before my first cup of coffee had ever been served.
And today, a honey-soaked berry tart sat alone on the edge of the serving tray like temptation given form.
I reached for it.
i didn't think—just moved.
A sudden snap echoed through the kitchen like a gunshot.
The blow came fast.
Palm, open. Flesh on bone.
My head whipped to the side. The sting bloomed instantly across My cheek, white-hot and sharp as betrayal.
i didn't fall.
But i didn't look up either.
A breath. Two.
Then his voice followed—low, tight, amused.
"You forget what you are."
Commander Rhel Vos stood less than a foot from me, eyes gleaming beneath his regulation-cut steel-gray hair. His posture was perfect. Back straight. Chin high. Always in control. The red sash of Enforcement Command hung from his shoulder like a badge of superiority.
He didn't look at me like the others did.
Not like a pretty oddity.
Not like a tame monster.
He looked at me the way men looked at insects they weren't sure were worth crushing.
"I wasn't—" i started, voice soft.
Another strike. Harder.
This time, my lip split. A thin thread of blood trailed down, warm against my chin.
"You weren't what?" he sneered. "Going to disobey orders? Or just going to steal what doesn't belong to your kind?"
i stared ahead, past him. Not defiant. Not broken. Just... steady.
That made him angrier.
He leaned in close enough for me to smell the bitterness in his breath. "You're only still breathing because Verrick likes the way you pour his coffee. Don't forget that."
Then he left.
No further comment.
No need.
i didn't cry.
Didn't even flinch when the door slammed behind him.
Just stood there, hand still hovering near the tart, blood running from my lip.
Then, with silent footsteps, i crossed the kitchen, opened the lowest cabinet behind the dry stores, and slid it aside. Inside, half-buried beneath paper napkins and disposable cups, sat a forgotten cardboard box of strawberry sugar crisps.
i reached for it like it might vanish if she hesitated.
The first bite sent a jolt down my spine—crispy, sweet, laced with cheap powdered sugar and artificial fruit flavor. It tasted like before.
Before the executions.
Before Thera's sacrifice.
Before the title of "mage" was a death sentence.
i ate three more before the ache in my lip reminded me that i was bleeding. but i didn't care. i licked the sugar off my fingers slowly, almost reverently, and let myself sit on the cold tile floor.
Here, in this tiny moment, i wasn't a pet. Or a symbol. Or a ghost wrapped in velvet smiles.
i was just a girl with a craving.
And the world couldn't take that from her.
By the time the next meeting began, my lip was wiped clean and my hands stood steady again . I carried the silver tray with the practiced grace of a servant who knew her place. No one noticed the redness on My cheek.
Or maybe they did and didn't care.
The meeting room gleamed as always—oval table, mirrored ceiling, reinforced windows offering a god's-eye view of the city below.
Verrick sat at the head. Devran Alis to his right. The generals, ministers, and architects of policy to his left. Murderers in suits. Gentlemen with blood under their nails.
I set the espresso in front of each of them. Not a sound.
"Where's the sweet cream?" someone asked. i had to go back and fetch it.
"She moves like silk," General Vorn commented behind her. "You'd hardly guess she could kill somebody ."
"She wouldn't dare," said another. "Not with that leash on."
I didn't respond.
Didn't glance.
Didn't even blink.
I poured the cream and stepped away like a shadow.
Let them laugh.
Let them lie.
Let them forget that little mage girl who know patience like a childhood friend.
That night, after locking up the café, I returned home, cheeks sticky from the sweet crumbs i had saved in my apron pocket.
I sat alone in the dark, candle flickering near the windowsill. On the table before me was a single tart i'd taken—not stolen, just claimed.
picked it up slowly.
Her lip throbbed.
Her cheek still ached.
But when the sugar touched my tongue again, it all went away, i closed my eyes and smiled.
Just for a second.