A few days had passed since the incident.
Louis woke early.
It was deliberate. Sleep had come light these past days, and staying in bed felt more like avoidance than rest. He simply opened his eyes and knew there was no point in staying in bed. Today had arrived whether he was ready for it or not.
He sat up, dressed without ceremony, and fastened his cloak. By the time his hand rested on the door handle, the thought surfaced unbidden.
"Today's the day."
The words sounded strange spoken aloud. He pushed the door open.
As he stepped into the corridor, something else struck him—how little he actually had. No luggage. No packed belongings. Everything he wore, everything he carried, had been provided by the palace.
It wasn't discomfort that settled in him. Just awareness.
I don't really own anything yet.
He stopped a passing maid and asked where the summoned were to gather. She pointed him toward the inner gardens, bowing slightly before hurrying off.
The garden was already occupied when he arrived.
Most of the summoned were there, scattered in loose groups. Some spoke quietly, others waited alone. Kirian stood near the front of the group, posture straight, speaking quietly with one of the imperial officers. He looked every part the figure the Empire wanted him to become.
Louis watched for a moment longer than he meant to.
Then his eyes shifted—and the absence struck him.
Belisara wasn't there.
The thought came late, sharp and unwelcome. He hadn't thanked her. Hadn't said goodbye. She had helped him test the limits of his skill, pushed him when he wouldn't push himself, and now—
Too late.
Louis took it in with a glance—and then frowned.
Before he could dwell on it, movement drew his attention.
They weren't being led toward carriages.
Instead, the group was escorted toward a tower standing at the edge of the palace grounds—tall, narrow, and marked with sigils etched deep into its stone. The air around it felt dense, charged.
Inside, the space opened into a wide chamber.
Teleportation circles covered the floor, complex and layered. Light bent strangely along the stone walls, faint sigils carved into the floor already humming with restrained power.
The summoned gathered quickly, their numbers thinning as officials began sorting them into batches.
Louis stepped inside with the others and scanned the room out of habit.
That was when he noticed her.
Natasha was already there.
She stood near the edge of the chamber, hands folded loosely at her side, posture composed, expression unreadable. If he hadn't been looking, he might have missed her entirely.
He hadn't seen her since the incident in the hall.
Attention was drawn elsewhere as the summoned were separated into batches, names called out with practiced efficiency. Louis noticed Kirian's group being directed forward first.
Of course, he thought.
One batch vanished. Then another.
When his group was called, Louis stepped onto the circle and waited.
Nothing happened.
The sigils beneath his feet remained dormant. No light. No distortion.
Only then did Natasha move, as though she had been waiting for the moment to settle.
Footsteps echoed through the chamber—unhurried, familiar.
Louis turned.
She moved with her usual calm, stopping a few steps away from him before stepping onto the circle as well. She didn't look at him. Didn't speak. Just stood there, hands folded, expression unreadable.
Louis stared at her, caught off guard.
Realising they would have a better chance to talk later, he pulled his thoughts inward.
She offered no greeting.
Neither did he.
The circle activated.
The sensation of displacement took over, then slowly faded. Solid ground returned beneath Louis' feet.
They emerged into a wide stone courtyard enclosed by pale walls and banners bearing the sigil of the dukedom. The air felt different from the imperial capital—thinner somehow, quieter, as though authority here was more contained, more personal. Several figures were already waiting for them.
At their center stood the Duke.
He was flanked by nobles and ministers whose names Louis did not recognize, their attire formal but restrained, eyes sharp with appraisal rather than awe. The Duke welcomed them with practiced ease, offering measured words of acknowledgment rather than celebration. This was not the Imperial Palace, and they were no longer guests of the throne.
After a brief address—formalities, expectations, and assurances that arrangements had been prepared—the Duke excused himself. His departure was unceremonious, deliberate, as though his presence alone had fulfilled its purpose.
Stewards stepped forward immediately after.
They were informed of their destinations and given directions with quiet efficiency. Carriages waited beyond the courtyard, already arranged and separated by assignment. Luggage—what little they possessed—had been handled ahead of time, leaving no room for delay.
There was no lingering.
Groups were guided toward different carriages, each bound for the same domain. The transition was swift enough that Louis barely had time to take in the surroundings before movement carried him forward again.
The journey had begun.
The carriage moved in steady silence.
Louis sat with his back against the cushioned seat, eyes closed, hands resting loosely on his lap. The faint creak of wood and the rhythmic roll of wheels were the only signs that they were still moving forward. Time had passed—how much, he wasn't sure—but the quiet had settled into something heavy rather than awkward.
Across from him, Natasha sat with one leg crossed over the other, a glass held lightly between her fingers. The liquid inside barely rippled despite the carriage's motion. Her gaze wandered—over the carved interior, the curtained window, then back to him—measured, unreadable.
Louis kept his eyes shut, but his thoughts refused to stay still.
The hall returned to him uninvited.
Her standing there.
Her silence afterward.
The way the weight of Noah's request had been redirected—placed squarely on her shoulders.
Was she displeased?
The thought surfaced quietly, then lingered longer than he expected. He wondered if she had resented being pushed forward, if she had wanted him—or anyone—to speak in her stead. Or worse, if she had felt cornered.
He dismissed it almost immediately.
You're thinking too much.
Yet the realization came just as quickly, and far more unsettling.
He cared.
Not in a way he could easily define, but enough that her opinion mattered—enough that the silence now felt heavier because it was hers. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have spared a second thought for what someone else believed of him. He knew that. He had lived that way.
But this was different.
Louis exhaled softly and opened his eyes.
Natasha was already looking at him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he broke the silence, his voice low, measured.
"I didn't think you'd be coming."
Natasha raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Why wouldn't I?" she said. "Do you intend to end our partnership here?"
The question was calm, almost casual, but it landed with weight.
Louis hesitated, then shook his head. "No. That's not what I meant."
She took a small sip from her glass, eyes never leaving him. She didn't press him. She didn't need to.
He continued, choosing his words more carefully this time. "After what Sarah said in the hall… the way she spoke about you. About how you make your own decisions." He paused. "I thought you might decide not to follow me. Not as my tutor. Not after that."
Natasha lowered the glass.
For a moment, she simply regarded him—assessing, measuring, as if weighing whether the explanation deserved an answer at all.
"Seraphel spoke out of concern," she said at last. "For them. Not authority."
Her tone was even, but there was something firm beneath it.
For a moment, Louis wondered if she meant them — or herself.
He dismissed the thought almost as soon as it surfaced.
"I chose to stand where I stood," she went on. "And I chose to come here."
The carriage rolled on, the silence returning—but this time, it was different. Less uncertain.
Louis nodded slowly. "I see."
"No," Natasha corrected softly. "You're starting to."
She leaned back against her seat, gaze drifting briefly to the curtained window before returning to him.
"Our arrangement hasn't changed," she said. "As long as you continue walking the path you've chosen, I'll remain where I am."
Then, after a beat, she added, "Unless you intend to dismiss me."
Louis met her eyes.
"I don't."
That answer came without hesitation.
A faint curve touched her lips—not quite a smile, but something close enough to unsettle him more than one would have.
"Good," she said simply.
The carriage continued forward, carrying them deeper into territory neither of them had yet named—but both clearly understood they were already committed to.