The dining hall was alive with morning light.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, softened by sheer curtains, bathing the room in a pale, steady glow. The space felt composed and deliberate— every surface polished, every chair perfectly aligned, as if disorder itself was unwelcome here.
Miralen entered alongside Verbena.
The moment Lady Evander noticed her, she rose from her seat.
A soft smile appeared on her face as she crossed the room toward Miralen. The dark blue fabric of her gown brushed lightly against the floor— royal, smooth, and immaculately kept.
Her hair was pinned with precision, not a single strand out of place. Even her makeup was restrained, elegant, as though meant to enhance rather than conceal.
She stopped before Miralen and lifted her hands, gently cupping her face.
Miralen stiffened— only slightly— but did not pull away.
Lady Evander smiled at her, warm and relieved.
"There you are, Delayna," she said softly. "I've been waiting for you. You always wake early... but today you slept in. Is something wrong, dear?"
Her voice carried concern, practiced yet sincere.
"Yeah," Miralen replied calmly, returning the smile. "I just overslept today."
The words came easily. The feeling did not.
Relief softened Lady Evander's expression. She lowered her hands and took Miralen's instead.
"That's good," she said. "Come now. Eat your breakfast."
She released her and returned to the dining table, taking her seat.
Miralen followed quietly and sat down, with Verbena beside her. Servants moved in silence, placing dishes one by one onto the table with careful precision.
"Delayna," Lady Evander spoke again, her tone gentle but observant. "You've been so quiet lately. Ever since you returned... you barely speak. Is something troubling you, dear?"
Verbena glanced at Miralen. "Mom's right," she added softly.
Miralen looked at Verbena first— then at the woman now called her mother.
"It's nothing, Mom," she said evenly. "I'm fine. You don't need to worry."
Inside her, thoughts collided— questions without answers, memories that weren't hers— but she kept her expression composed.
Lady Evander sighed quietly. "If you say so. Still... you always came to us whenever something bothered you. If you wish to talk later, you know where to find us."
Miralen nodded.
The servants finished serving. Miralen looked down at her plate— roast chicken, pudding, and a cup of tea placed neatly beside it.
She wasn't hungry.
She ate anyway.
The silence lingered until Verbena broke it.
"Sister," she said, her voice hopeful. "Will you come with me to the palace this afternoon?"
Miralen paused, then nodded. "Okay."
Good, she thought. This will help me understand this place... and the power behind it.
Verbena's eyes lit up. "Thank you," she said brightly. "This is the first time you've agreed to go with me– ever since you returned."
There it was again.
That word Returned.
It settled heavily in Miralen's mind, spoken so casually, as though it needed no explanation.
She lowered her gaze to her plate, the unease quietly tightening in her chest.
Soon, the sound of footsteps approached.
They were measured— unhurried, deliberate. Certain.
Miralen felt them before she saw the man they belonged to.
The servants straightened instinctively. The air in the dining hall tightened, subtle but unmistakable. Then the door at the far end opened.
A man entered.
He wore a dark frock coat tailored to perfection, the fabric heavy with formality. Beneath it, a crisp white shirt. One glove was tucked neatly into his hand, the other left bare— as though something was being concealed rather than forgotten. His boots were polished, spotless.
He did not look around.
His gaze went straight to the table— to Lady Evander.
"Inara," he said calmly.
The name carried familiarity, but also authority, carefully wrapped in care.
Inara looked up at once. Her shoulders eased slightly as she rose from her seat, her composed smile returning.
"You're early," she said, her tone warm, restrained.
"I finished my work sooner than expected," he replied.
His eyes shifted then— to Miralen.
They paused there. Not cold. Not warm. Assessing. Observing.
"So," he said after a moment, "you're awake."
Miralen lifted her gaze to meet his. She did not look away.
"Yes, Father."
The word felt heavier than Mother ever had.
He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the answer, then turned back to Inara.
"She looks well," he said. "Much better than before."
Before.
Miralen's fingers curled slowly around her cutlery.
Inara smiled, relieved. "She slept in today. I was worried at first."
He gave a small nod. "Rest is good for her– especially now."
He moved to the table and took his seat at the head, folding his hands neatly before him. The servants stepped forward at once, pouring tea into his cup without needing instruction.
Only then did he glance at Verbena.
"You're going to the palace this afternoon," he said. It was not a question.
Verbena nodded quickly. "Yes, Father. Sister is coming with me as well."
That earned Miralen another look— longer than the last.
"I see," he said slowly. "That's good. It's time she began accompanying you again."
Again.
Miralen forced herself to remain still.
Inara returned to her seat beside him, her expression composed, watchful. "I thought the same," she said softly.
"She shouldn't stay hidden forever."
Hidden.
Miralen lowered her gaze to her plate.
The words layered themselves in her mind— returned, before, again, hidden— each pressing quietly, insistently.
Her father lifted his teacup and took a measured sip. "Eat properly, Delayna," he said without looking at her. "You'll need your strength later."
"Yes, Father," Miralen replied.
And then she understood something with unsettling clarity.
This man did not look at her as someone fragile.
He looked at her as someone who had already failed once— and had been given another chance.
That realization frightened her more than anything else ever could.
(The end of chapter 13)