Silver collected Celeste from the fountain several minutes later.
She had named six bug-pigeons, apologised to one for startling it, and was trying to explain to Bartleby that Button was clearly the leader because he had “a very managerial walk.”
Bartleby looked deeply invested.
Silver did not.
“Commander,” Silver said smoothly, “if you’re quite finished establishing diplomatic relations with the fountain wildlife, shall we?”
Celeste jumped up at once. “Oh! Yes. Sorry. Goodbye, Harold. Goodbye, Button. Goodbye, Mrs Button, if that is your preferred title.”
The bug-pigeons scattered.
Bartleby gave Silver one last unreadable look, then bowed politely to Celeste. “Take care of yourself, Miss Astallan.”
“I’ll try,” Celeste said brightly. “Though I have been told I’m not very good at that.”
Silver sighed. “At least you’re self-aware.”
They left the council building together.
Outside, the Royal Quarter spread before them in polished curves and golden light. This time, Celeste found herself taking everything in properly.
The crystal chandeliers hanging beneath glass awnings.
The brass streetlamps shaped like lilies.
The clean pavement.
The enormous shopfront windows dressed in velvet ribbons and painted signs that pretended very hard to be humble.
A bakery sat on the corner, all warm light and fake rustic charm—flour sacks arranged artfully by the door, wooden crates full of perfect apples, little chalkboards with curly handwriting. It looked like somewhere a farmer might sell fresh bread if the farmer owned three estates, a townhouse, and a legal team.
Celeste pressed her paws to the window.
“Oh stars,” she breathed. “Look at those pastries.”
Silver glanced over with mild disinterest. “Yes. Pastries. Terrifying creatures.”
“That one has little sugared roses on it.”
“How bold of it.”
“And that one has gold leaf. Why would anyone eat gold? Isn’t that expensive? Does it taste good? Or is it more of a symbolic thing? Actually, if you eat gold leaf, does it still count as wealth transfer or just very fancy digestion?”
Silver’s eyes glazed over.
Celeste continued walking beside him, words tumbling out as the Royal Quarter offered fresh horrors and wonders every three steps.
“There are so many chandeliers. Outside. That seems risky. What if birds nest in them? Do nobles employ chandelier birds? Is that a job? Oh, and that shop has tiny hats for tiny dogs. That one is wearing a cape. Do pureblood dogs have separate nobility, or is that just fashion? Sorry, I know I’m asking a lot. It’s just all very—”
“Celeste,” Silver said.
She looked at him instantly. “Yes?”
He smiled without looking at her.
“Inside voice.”
Celeste blinked.
Then nodded solemnly.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Right. Sorry.”
She mimed zipping her mouth shut.
Silver breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
At last.
Silence.
Blessed, beautiful silence.
He could almost hear himself think again.
His mind drifted away from her, from the assignment, from his mother’s threat, from the ridiculous tree he was apparently meant to inhabit like some tragic forest ornament. He sorted through possibilities instead. Angles. Leverage. Escape routes. How quickly he could turn this punishment into theatre, and theatre into advantage.
Then a voice cut across the pavement like a thrown knife.
“Arcturus.”
Silver stopped.
His eyes went wide for half a second.
Then wider.
Celeste, who had been very carefully not talking, turned her head.
A noblewoman stormed toward them across the polished street. She was a leopard pureblood in a tailored emerald coat, beautiful in a sharp-edged way, with gold rings on her fingers and fury in every step.
Beside her walked a younger Scottish Fold girl, also pureblood, smaller, rounder, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her ears were low. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked like she had spent the morning crying and hated that anyone could tell.
The leopard stopped directly in front of Silver.
“Arcturus,” she said again. “A word.”
Silver’s mask of charm dropped.
Not slipped.
Dropped.
For one unguarded instant, he looked almost young.
Then the smile returned too quickly.
“Lady Virelle,” he said, smooth as polished glass. “Miss Morven. What an unexpected delight.”
“Don’t,” the leopard snapped.
Celeste looked between them.
Then took one small step backward.
Possibly this was private.
Possibly she should leave.
Possibly if she stayed very quiet, she could become furniture.
Silver’s gaze flicked toward Celeste. “Commander, perhaps you might—”
“No,” Virelle said sharply. “Let her stay. She should know the calibre of man she’s been handed.”
Silver’s smile thinned. “Careful.”
“Careful?” Virelle laughed, cold and humourless. “That is rich, coming from you.”
Morven flinched at the sound.
Silver noticed.
His expression softened by a fraction. “Morven—”
The Scottish Fold looked up at him, wounded beyond anger. “Was any of it true?”
Silver inhaled.
Ah.
That question.
The awful little blade no charm could entirely dull.
“Morven,” he said gently, “we had a pleasant arrangement.”
Her face crumpled. “Arrangement?”
Virelle’s eyes flashed. “She loved you, Silver.”
Silver’s jaw tightened. “I did not ask her to.”
Morven made a small sound.
Celeste’s stomach twisted.
Virelle stepped closer. “No. You just smiled at her. Danced with her. Took her to private rooms and said just enough that she imagined the rest. Stars, I knew what you were. I knew exactly what I was getting into.”
Her voice broke into something angrier.
“But she didn’t.”
Silver’s expression hardened. “Morven is not a child.”
“She was untouched,” Virelle hissed. “And she thought that meant something to you.”
“It did,” Silver said.
Morven looked at him, hopeful for one terrible second.
Silver continued, quieter, “Just not what she wanted it to mean.”
The hope died.
Celeste’s paws curled against her skirt.
Silver’s charm tried to reassert itself, light and clever and practised.
“Come now,” he said, offering a rueful smile. “We are all adults here. Feelings got rather tangled, clearly, but no one was forced into anything. If apologies are owed for confusion—”
“Confusion?” Virelle snapped. “Is that what you call it?”
“I call it regrettable.”
“You call everything regrettable once it becomes inconvenient.”
Silver’s eyes narrowed. “You are making a scene.”
“Good.”
People were watching now.
Servants slowing.
Nobles pretending not to listen.
A droid at the corner turning its head.
Virelle noticed too.
Her chin lifted.
“Perhaps I should report it properly,” she said. “Like Seraphina did.”
The change in Silver was immediate.
His eyes went cold.
Not irritated.
Not embarrassed.
Cold.
Low.
Venomous.
When he spoke, his voice had lost every trace of warmth.
“Do not say that name as if you understand it.”
Morven recoiled.
Virelle held her ground, but her pupils tightened.
Silver stepped closer, just enough to make the air feel smaller.
“I made that mistake once,” he said softly. “Once. I trusted the idea that affection and malice could not wear the same face. I trusted that intimacy would not be sharpened into a knife and held to my throat for political sport.”
His smile returned.
It was horrible.
“I will not make that mistake twice.”
Celeste went still.
Silver lifted his arcbracer and flicked two fingers.
Both women’s arcbracers chimed.
Virelle looked down.
Morven did too.
Their faces changed as files appeared.
Dates.
Times.
Locations.
Private-room access logs.
Message chains.
Consent confirmations.
Footage markers.
Each one labelled, catalogued, cross-referenced.
Every encounter recorded.
Every point of permission marked.
Morven stared as if he had slapped her.
“You filmed us?”
Silver’s expression did not move. “I documented us.”
Virelle’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You bastard.”
Silver’s gaze stayed steady. “No hidden angles. No distribution. No public copy unless proceedings require one. But if either of you intends to suggest coercion, force, impairment, or misconduct, you will find me prepared.”
Morven’s eyes filled again. “I trusted you. You read my thesis,” she whispered. “You stayed up all night helping me prepare for the academy board.”
For the first time, something in Silver’s face faltered.
Only slightly.
Only for her.
“I know,” he said.
His voice gentled, but the gentleness did not make it kind.
“And I am sorry you mistook my attention for devotion. Truly. You are sweet, Morven. Kinder than most people in this quarter deserve. But I was never going to marry you. I was never going to belong to you. And whatever you thought we were…”
He paused.
“…you did not mean that much to me.”
Morven’s breath caught.
Virelle moved at once, stepping between them as if shielding her with her own body.
“You manipulative bastard,” she said, each word shaking.
Silver gave her a small bow. “I have been called worse by better.”
Virelle’s hand twitched like she wanted to strike him.
For one razor-thin second, restraint almost won.
Then she slapped him.
Hard.
The sound cracked across the polished street.
Silver’s head turned with the force of it.
The Royal Quarter went silent.
Celeste’s ears shot straight up.
A royal enforcement drone descended immediately from somewhere above the awnings, eye-lens flashing red.
“PUBLIC ASSAULT DETECTED,” it announced. “FINE ISSUED. TWO THOUSEND AND FIFTY ASTREANS.”
Virelle did not look away from Silver.
“Put it on House accounts,” she said coldly.
The drone chirped.
“ACCOUNT ACCEPTED. HOUSE VIRELLE CHARGED.”
Silver slowly turned his face back toward her, one cheek already blooming pink beneath the fur.
Virelle smiled.
It was small.
Sharp.
Satisfied.
“Worth it.”
Then she turned to Celeste.
For the first time, her anger shifted into something almost like pity.
“Stay away from him,” she said. “For your own good.”
She put an arm around Morven and led her away.
Morven did not look back.
Virelle did.
Once.
Like she hoped the look would cut.
Silver watched them go.
The Royal Quarter noise returned around them in careful layers. Footsteps. Distant carriage mana wheels. A fountain. Someone laughing too loudly in a shop doorway, trying to prove nothing had happened.
Celeste looked at Silver.
His eyes were still venomous.
Cold.
Fixed on nothing.
For a moment, he did not seem to remember she was there.
Then he blinked.
The charm slid back into place so neatly it was almost frightening.
He brushed two fingers lightly over his cheek and gave a theatrical sigh.
“Well,” he said, dusting an imaginary speck from his sleeve, “that was excessive.”
Celeste didn’t answer.
Because she had promised.
Because he had said inside voice.
Because she wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was.
Silver seemed relieved by that.
“Honestly, people are so dramatic before lunch.” He started walking again. “Let’s make the route back to your tree as short as possible, shall we? I’d rather avoid Act Two.”
Celeste nodded quickly and fell into step beside him.
Her mouth stayed shut.
Silver glanced down at her after a moment.
A faint smile touched his lips.
“Look at that,” he said. “Still quiet. I’m glad you remembered.”
Celeste smiled back, small and pleased, because he sounded happy.
Because she had done what he asked.
Because she had not yet realised it was another insult.
Silver faced forward again, hands in his pockets, his expression bright and effortless.
And together they walked out through a district that smelled of roses, sugar, and rot carefully hidden beneath polish.
