Seven

They talked for hours, the night slipping by unnoticed.

About anything and everything—the balmy summer air under the oak tree, the overcooked stew from the kitchens, the lonely routines of castle life. He let her speak freely, his responses few but intentional, offering slivers of himself she gathered like precious stones. There was something addictive about the way he listened—fully, without interruption—as though every word she spoke deserved to be remembered.

She didn’t understand the ease she felt around him. Maybe it was the lingering high of finally using her voice, the thrill of hearing it echo back. Or maybe it was because he wasn’t real—not fully. A simple portrait.

And still, he knew. He knew what no one else did. She had told him the truth, after all, and for the first time in her life, it hadn’t been a burden.

It felt like the beginning of something.

Her voice was hoarse by the end of it—croaking and raw from overuse. She had never spoken so much in her life.

At some point, she’d drifted off on the sofa, lulled to sleep by the crackling warmth of the fire and the low, steady cadence of his voice.

She woke to sunlight pressing against her eyelids. Groaning, she shifted her face away from the brightness and slowly sat up, blinking groggily as she turned toward Rovin.

His eyes were closed—still and unmoving—yet he remained standing, as though asleep on his feet.

She stepped closer, drawn to the quiet serenity that settled over his face in the morning light. He was breathtaking. Somehow, the softness of dawn seemed to sharpen him, making his features clearer, more vivid than they had been the day before. It only made his stillness more haunting.

A small mole rested just above his upper lip, another nestled near his left eyelid. A faint scar traced through his right eyebrow—a thin, pale line like a whisper of something forgotten.

She wondered if he’d been just as beautiful in life. Then frowned. If he had ever been alive. He could be dead—this portrait only a lingering echo of who he once was. Had he truly ever existed at all? She wasn’t so sure.

Still, he felt familiar in a way she couldn’t name. The recognition lived in her bones, ancient and instinctive, like a hazy memory that refused to fade.

He stirred, slowly blinking away sleep. She smiled at the dazed softness in his expression.

“Good morning,” she whispered, not wanting to break the quiet hush that blanketed the room.

His gaze met hers, still filled with the same quiet wonder as the night before.

“Good morning,” he murmured, voice as hushed as hers.

“Why were you sleeping standing up?” she asked, tilting her head.

His smile was faint, tinged with something wistful. “I can’t move much. Everything’s a little… murky. Like wading through fog. It takes effort.”

She frowned. “That sounds incredibly uncomfortable.” She moved a little closer, concern etched on her face. “Is there any way to make it better?”

He let out a soft laugh, almost self-deprecating. “Not unless you somehow paint me into a different kind of portrait.”

Her eyes lit up, an idea forming. “Like what? Something besides oil? A watercolor, maybe?”

His expression fell, shuttering instantly. “I was joking,” he said quickly. “You can’t change me.”

“But what if I use my powers—” she started, hope rising.

He shook his head, sharper now. “There’s always a cost to using your powers.” His eyes locked onto hers, steady and intense. “You know that. Lighting a flame is simple. The most you’ll feel is a flicker of fatigue. But anything beyond that…”

He trailed off, his gaze lingering on her lips before lifting to meet her eyes once more, a quiet warning in his stare.

“Changing an entire painting into something else? That comes with a cost,” he warned, his tone unyielding. “Especially if you haven’t learned to control your powers.”

She huffed out a breath, crossing her arms in a mix of defiance and frustration. “I know my limits.”

His lips quirked in a smirk, eyes glinting with a knowing, teasing edge. “Do you?”

She scoffed, her posture stiffening. “Of course I do. I’ve known myself for 18 years. You’ve only known me for a day.”

His gaze sharpened, a quiet intensity building between them. He leaned in just slightly, making her feel the weight of his next words. “I know you, too.”

Her breath caught, her gaze darting to his eyes, searching for something—anything—that could explain the sudden gravity in his voice.

“And you know me, too,” he added, his words slow, deliberate, like he was hers to claim. The quiet insistence in his voice made her pulse quicken, as though he was testing something between them, something unspoken but undeniably present.

She shook her head, trying to push against the unsettling tension that tangled in her chest. “I’ve only known you for a day.”

A quiet sorrow filled his eyes, sobering the tension in the room.

He shifted his weight, the quiet air pressing in. "What are you doing today?"

Her schedule loomed over her: lessons, finding Jan, and meeting Mira. She needed to talk about the fact that she’d used her powers. Yet, despite all of that, a part of her didn’t want to leave the room. Didn’t want to leave him.

“Nothing much,” she said with a shrug, cheeks flushing slightly. “You?” she asked quickly, hoping the shift in conversation would cover her unease. Then, realizing her mistake, she looked back at him, cheeks flushing slightly. “I mean—sorry, forget I said that.”

He chuckled softly. “Nothing much,” he echoed. “Just waiting for a beautiful girl to finish her duties so she can share her day with me.”

A playful grin tugged at her lips. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, her voice light with promise.

“Come back when you can, it doesn’t have to be right away,” he replied softly, his voice carrying a quiet concern. “Make sure to visit the infirmary.”

She frowned, brow furrowing in confusion. “The infirmary?”

His gaze softened. “Your voice is sore, right? They should have something there to soothe it.”

Her heart warmed at the unexpected thoughtfulness, a gentle flutter filling her chest. She smiled, dipping her head in gratitude. “Thank you,” she murmured.

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes lingering on him before she turned to leave, feeling the weight of his words settle in her thoughts.

“But come back soon,” he said quietly, “before you forget about me.”

She peeked back, a grin tugging at her lips.

“I will,” she promised.