Chapter 62: Expectations

Chapter 62: Expectations It was another morning, and the family was gathered once more at the table. The atmosphere was calm, only the occasional clink of cutlery breaking the silence—until Henndar spoke. "Aramith, do you have any plans for the day?" The question was casual, but it served a purpose—to see if any of them had already made plans before he imposed one. Before Aramith could respond, Kesha set her teacup down with a quiet clink. "How predictable," she murmured, voice carrying a trace of amusement. "I imagine he’ll be wasting away in a quiet corner, staring at the sky or a book, brooding as always. Though, I will be accompanying him." Henndar barely spared her a glance. "I asked Aramith." Kesha’s lips curved. "And I am merely stating the obvious." Aramith exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he reached for his cup. Henndar placed a sleek space bracelet onto the table. "Since there are no pressing plans, I’ve arranged an outing. It’s been a while since you went out, so I prepared for the three of you. I thought you could take some time to look around the city and familiarize yourselves with it.. This bracelet holds enough gold to cover whatever you may need. Use it wisely." Kesha’s gaze flickered to the bracelet. Then, after a beat, she let out a soft hum. "So thoughtful," she mused. Her fingers traced the rim of her cup before she turned her attention to Aramith, her expression softening. "To think your father would arrange a date for us. Nevertheless, I will spoil him very much." Aramith’s fork paused over his plate. He stared at her blankly. "It’s not a date." Kethra and Henndar exchanged knowing glances, faintly amused by the interaction. But just as the moment was settling, Mozrael spoke. "I won’t be going." The shift was immediate. Kesha’s smile remained, but her gaze on Mozrael turned sharper—still polite, still composed, but now devoid of warmth. Henndar raised a brow. "And why is that?" Mozrael didn’t hesitate. "Lia is still unconscious. I’d rather stay by her side." Kesha’s fingers stilled against the table. Then, she let out a quiet sigh. "I suppose that’s understandable," she said, her tone even. Then, she turned back to Aramith, her smile returning. "Then it’ll just be us, won’t it?" "That’s not happening either," Aramith said flatly, setting his cup down. Kesha blinked, then chuckled. "How cruel." Her words were playful, but Mozrael flinched. Did I ruin this? She quickly shook her head, trying to push the thought away. The table fell quiet again. Mozrael lowered her gaze. She didn’t want to look up. Didn’t want to see them waiting for her answer. Didn’t want to see the expectation in their eyes. Then, Aramith’s voice broke the silence. "...I get it." Mozrael tensed slightly. "I know you’re worried about her," he continued, voice quieter now. "I—I haven’t even gone to see her yet. I keep thinking about it, but..." He trailed off, fingers tightening slightly around his cup. "You’re there for her. And here I am, stepping out to clear my head instead." Mozrael’s stomach twisted. He felt guilty? He thought she was staying by Lia’s side just because she was worried. Kethra, who had been watching him carefully, finally spoke. "Don’t overthink it, Aramith." He glanced up. "Lia wouldn’t want you to sit there punishing yourself," Kethra said simply. "And Mozrael wouldn’t either." Aramith didn’t respond. Mozrael swallowed. She wasn’t trying to make him feel worse. She wasn’t trying to make anyone feel anything. But now... Now it felt like her refusal was making things heavier. "...Fine," she murmured. Her voice was barely above a whisper. Aramith glanced at her. Kesha, however, gave a satisfied nod, not overly excited, just approving. "A sensible choice." Then, she turned back to Aramith, her usual gentle tone returning. "Now, let’s prepare. We wouldn’t want to keep you waiting, would we?" "Still eating," Aramith muttered. Kesha sighed as if she had expected this response. Henndar merely took another sip of his drink. And Kethra, after watching Mozrael for a moment longer, simply looked away. The day had begun—albeit one starting with unspoken weight. Mozrael sat on the edge of her bed, still dressed in her bathrobes, her hands resting limply in her lap. Her blue eyes were fixed on the floor—cold and smooth, just like the silence that filled the room. She hadn’t moved in a while. Is it wrong... to go out and seem like I’m enjoying myself? When Lia is still lying unconscious? That thought had looped in her mind all morning, like a curtain she kept pulling shut. A shield. A reason. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t the full truth. Being around Kesha still felt unnatural. Being around Aramith felt even more suffocating. She didn’t know how to act—didn’t know if she was supposed to be around when she was of no help. So instead, she hid behind quiet excuses and overly casual choices. Her gaze shifted toward the two dresses she’d laid out earlier: a plain black one with long sleeves and a dark blue one that faded at the hem. Simple. Forgettable. That was the point. At least I’m going. That should be enough. Still... it had been Henndar who arranged this outing, so if he thought she should go, maybe... just maybe... it was okay to try. Mozrael stood, the floor’s chill biting into the soles of her feet, making her flinch. Her hand drifted toward the black dress, ready to just wear it and be done—when a sudden knock broke the silence. She froze. Then the door opened. A servant stepped in, eyes downcast and carrying something draped in soft cloth. A faint glint of lilac silk peeked from beneath the fabric. "Pardon me," the servant began, bowing slightly. "Lady Kesha said to deliver this to you. She said... if left alone, you will probably wear black." Mozrael’s head snapped toward the bed, eyes narrowing slightly at her own choices. She flushed, subtle and quick, then looked back at the servant, unsure whether to be offended or... oddly seen. The servant gently unfolded the fabric, revealing a dress of silver lilac silk, its long sleeves catching the light in soft waves. Along with it lay a delicate blue peony hairpin, a silver choker, and a pair of teardrop-shaped earrings—each detail quiet, but expensive in taste. "She also said... if you don’t come out of this room looking fabulous, she’ll kill me." Mozrael blinked. "She said that?" The servant nodded, deadpan. "Exact words." Mozrael crossed her arms, lips pressed together. "I never asked for this." "Lady Kesha insisted," the servant replied firmly, stepping closer. "And said to tell you... the earrings are her favorite, and she thinks they’d suit you too." The weight of it all sat heavy. Mozrael glanced once more at her casual dresses, their plainness suddenly too loud. Her reluctance held for another few seconds—until she finally exhaled and reached for the silk dress. When the door finally opened, Kesha was already standing there—perfectly dressed, like a snowstorm carved into elegance. Her white dress hugged her figure in soft layers, knee-high boots gleaming with silver trim. Her snowflake earrings caught the corridor light, matching the expensive choker around her throat and the ring on her finger, where tiny snowflakes danced inside the crystal. She took one look at Mozrael and nodded slowly, her red lips curving slightly in approval. "Hm. Not bad, I have good taste." Mozrael raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. "But not enough," Kesha added, eyes narrowing. "You’re wearing my earrings and still walking around without even a hint of color on your lips?" Mozrael immediately stepped back. "I agreed to the dress. That’s already—" "No." Kesha placed her hands on her hips. "At least some tint. Just a bit—your lips are too pale. You’ll blend in with the snow and vanish, and that’ll be my fault." "No." "Come on." "No." "Mozrael." "No." Kesha was already uncapping the tiny lip tint, eyes sharp with determination. "Either I do it, or I really do it." Mozrael groaned. "That doesn’t even make sense." Kesha advanced. It was that stubborn glint in her eyes, the way she refused to back down, that triggered the thought—Lia’s the same. Mozrael had lost count of how many times she’d said no to Lia, only to end up agreeing five minutes later, hair full of braids or wrapped in too many scarves because "you’ll catch a cold and I’m not arguing with you about it." The thought caught her off guard. Her lips twitched. A small, unplanned laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Kesha paused. "What?" Mozrael shook her head, a soft breath of a smile still lingering. "Nothing. Just... fine. Do what you want." Kesha blinked once, then grinned like she’d just won a war. "Thank you." And just like that, Mozrael stilled... and let Kesha step closer. Kesha’s hands moved fast, efficient and practiced. She dabbed a soft tint on her lips, added the faintest shimmer near her eyes, and brushed back one loose strand behind the peony pin. It wasn’t too much. But it made a difference. And for once, Mozrael didn’t mind. Kesha took a step back, eyes narrowing critically as she admired her work. "There. Now you don’t look like a ghost dragged from a library." Mozrael gave her a half-hearted glare but didn’t argue. The truth was... she didn’t feel bad. Still awkward? Definitely. But the silk wasn’t as suffocating as she expected, and the hairpin gave her a strange sense of quiet strength. The two girls stepped into the hall. Just ahead, Aramith stepped out of his room, fastening the final clasp of his tailored coat—a deep obsidian black with subtle undertones of midnight blue that shimmered in the light like shifting ink. The high collar bore the royal insignia of a Vermillion Bird with outstretched wings stitched in muted silver thread, while the fitted sleeves ended in elegant cuffs marked with fine embroidery—barely noticeable, yet sharp to the trained eye. The rich violet of his vest gleamed faintly as he adjusted it, the silver buttons catching the candlelight in the hall. Beneath it, he wore a simple black shirt—its collar closed with a dark pin. A silver-lined belt secured the coat at his waist, its buckle engraved with an abstract pattern. His boots, polished but not flashy, echoed softly with every step he took on the marble floor. His hair was tied back neatly, letting the faint glow of his purple eyes show more clearly beneath his fringe. Without a sword or crown, he still looked every bit like a prince. Then he looked up. And froze. His footsteps halted. His gaze flickered over both figures before finally settling on Mozrael. Time hung between them. He blinked. Once. Then twice. Kesha smirked. Mozrael looked away, suddenly all too aware of the earrings, the shimmer, the silk dress clinging to her like borrowed confidence. "What?" she muttered, flustered. Aramith’s eyes lingered a second longer before he cleared his throat. "Nothing. Just didn’t expect... that." "That," Kesha echoed, stepping forward, "is called effort. Something you’re clearly not used to acknowledging." "I did say she looked nice," Aramith muttered. "You said nothing," Mozrael pointed out. "I thought..." "Not how compliments work," Kesha said flatly, brushing past him. "Next time, say it before she starts doubting herself." Mozrael stared after her, stunned. Aramith gave a tiny, defeated shrug. "She’s not wrong." Kesha raised an eyebrow, still expecting more. "Are you going to stand there like you saw a ghost, or are you going to say something?" Aramith blinked again, quickly masking his expression, though a bit of warmth lingered behind his composed stare. "I just didn’t expect you to dress up," he said, directing the comment at Mozrael. "I didn’t," she replied flatly. "This was Kesha’s idea." "Correction," Kesha added, smug. "This was Kesha’s intervention." He didn’t say anything more, but as they walked together down the corridor, Mozrael could feel it—the occasional glance from him, quiet and unreadable. She didn’t dare look back. Outside, a carriage waited by the palace steps—its frame polished, the horses gleaming under the morning light. The royal insignia was subtle but unmistakable. Attendants stood nearby, prepared to open the doors. But someone else stood at the foot of the carriage: Henndar. He turned as they approached—and paused. His gaze lingered first on Aramith, then Kesha. But when it settled on Mozrael, something shifted. Not surprise, not approval in the loud sense. Just something... quietly pleased. "You all look ready," Henndar said, tone calm but certain. Then, after a beat, he added to Mozrael, "Silver lilac suits you." She blinked, surprised by the remark—but couldn’t help the subtle lift at the corner of her lips. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Enjoy yourselves. You don’t have to return quickly," he continued, stepping aside with a light nod. "It’s not every day the three of you get to be... young." And with that, he waved them off, turning to speak to one of the guards as the footman opened the door. The three climbed into the carriage, the door closing behind them with a soft click, wheels turning as they pulled away from the palace. Henndar waved them off.