The heavy oak door of the Queen's study closed behind Sylvia and Clara with a soft, resonant thud. The sound seemed to seal Valerie within her world of duty, leaving the two women standing in the sudden quiet of the corridor. They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, their footsteps—Sylvia's light and almost silent, Clara's in sturdier boots—echoing lightly on the polished stone. Soon, they emerged onto a moon-kissed path that wound through one of the castle's quieter rose gardens.
The cool night air, a welcome change from the stuffy study, was rich with the scent of late blooms, sharper now, more defined than in the heat of day. A silver crescent moon hung suspended in the inky sky, casting long, dancing shadows that played tricks on the eye.
Clara, ever observant, was the first to break the silence. The moonlight caught the silver threads woven into her dark hair as she tilted her head, her gaze—usually alight with arcane curiosity or thoughtful analysis—fixed intently on Sylvia's hand. It rested near the pocket of her dark silk gown.
"That little velvet box in your pocket, Sylvia," Clara said, her voice a low murmur that barely disturbed the stillness of the night. "I saw you reach for it earlier, when we were with her. What made you hesitate?"
Sylvia's fingers instinctively tightened over the slight bulge beneath the fabric. Inside, she knew, was the small, exquisitely carved locket of moonstone—a stone Valerie had always admired for its subtle, shifting light. A gift she had agonized over for weeks.
"It just… didn't feel like the right moment," Sylvia admitted, her own voice equally low, as if the roses themselves might be listening. She looked towards the distant, faintly lit windows of the castle keep where Valerie toiled. "She seemed so preoccupied, so weary beneath it all. Another gift, however personal, might have felt like another obligation."
Clara plucked a deep crimson rose from a nearby bush. In the dim light, it appeared almost black. She twirled it idly between her fingers.
"So," she mused, a knowing, almost challenging lilt in her voice, softened by the hushed surroundings, "when is the right moment, Sylvia? For the gift, or for… more?"
Sylvia let out a soft sigh, the sound barely a breath against the night. Her gaze remained fixed on those distant windows.
"Perhaps tomorrow," she murmured. "After the initial flurry of the birthday has truly passed. She needs her rest tonight, not another emotional upheaval, however well-intentioned."
"Tomorrow," Clara repeated, her tone unreadable as she stared at the dark flower in her hand. She stopped walking then, turning to face Sylvia fully. Her face was a play of shadow and moonlight. "And you believe she'll welcome such a confession? That she'll… reciprocate?" There was no malice in the question, only a stark honesty, made more intense by the intimacy of the night.
Sylvia finally met her gaze. A flicker of vulnerability, rarely seen, crossed her usually composed features, more visible now without the harsh light of day to hide behind.
"I… I hope so, Clara," she whispered. "I have to hope."
A fleeting, wistful smile touched Clara's lips, a brief illumination in the gloom.
"If she doesn't…" Clara began, her voice dropping, becoming more serious, the playful challenge gone, lost in the nocturnal quiet, "or if you find you cannot bring yourself to speak… then you know our agreement." She paused, letting the weight of their old pact settle between them. "I will ask her."
Sylvia nodded slowly, the movement barely perceptible in the dim light. It was an old understanding, forged in hushed tones years ago, under a similar night sky, born from their shared, unspoken adoration for their Queen.
"You had first claim, Sylvia," Clara continued, her voice softening with an old affection, a sound that seemed to blend with the gentle rustle of leaves in a faint night breeze. "You've known her longest. You and she… you both saved me, all those years ago when I was just a lost, frightened girl with too much untamed magic spilling from my fingertips. I owe you that courtesy. That chance."
Clara paused again, her gaze sweeping over Sylvia before she looked towards the imposing, dark silhouette of the Tower of Mages, where a few of its high windows glowed like distant, watchful stars.
"And think of it, Sylvia," she said, her voice regaining a sharper edge, though still quiet, cutting through the stillness. "If she did choose you… a Duchess of your standing. What would people think?" Clara's eyes found Sylvia's again. "Heirs are expected of your line, alliances considered. The court would buzz for a decade. Tongues would wag about the propriety, about Eldoria's future, your family's legacy."
Clara then turned back slightly, a wry, almost melancholic twist to her lips as the moonlight glinted in her eyes.
"But me?" she said, a touch of self-deprecation in her tone. "I am a Mage. Powerful, yes, but unbound by such tedious expectations. I could be her shadow, her secret solace, if she wished it." Her gaze drifted off for a moment. "I can appear and disappear as the currents of magic dictate, go where I please. If the Queen were to favor a Tower Mage… well," a small, almost bitter laugh escaped her, "mages are eccentric, are they not? Who would truly question it beyond a few raised eyebrows, easily dismissed? No one truly interested what a mage does in her private hours, as long as the wards hold and the kingdom is safe. I have no family name to uphold, no lands to pass on."
With a final, lingering look, a look that held a universe of unspoken things, Clara turned and walked away. Her vibrant blue robes, appearing almost black in the dimness, seemed to melt into the deeper shadows of the garden path, leaving Sylvia alone with the roses and her tumbling thoughts.
Sylvia watched her go, a complex mix of emotions churning within her: gratitude for Clara's understanding, a pang of guilt for her own hesitation, and the familiar, dull ache of her long-held love. She understood Clara's impatience; she felt it herself, a constant companion in quiet moments like these. Her hand went to her pocket, her fingers closing around the cool velvet of the gift box.
"Our love?" she whispered to the uncaring roses, their forms now just dark, velvety shapes against the moonlit foliage. The words were barely audible, even to herself. "Valerie carries the weight of Eldoria on her shoulders. Her every waking moment is dedicated to her crown, her people." A profound sadness settled over her, as heavy and clinging as the night dew gathering on the petals. "Does she even have room left in her heart, in her life, for a love like ours? For any love that isn't for her kingdom?"
The moon continued its silent, indifferent arc across the heavens, casting elongated, shifting shadows across the garden. Sylvia felt a chill creep into her bones, a chill that had little to do with the gentle night breeze. It was a premonition she couldn't name, a sense that 'tomorrow' might bring more than she could ever bargain for. The quiet of the castle night, usually a comfort, suddenly felt oppressive, charged with an unspoken, dangerous tension.