Court of Watching Eyes
By morning—if such a word could be used in Noctyrrh—the court already knew.
Lumi felt it the instant she stepped into the grand gallery beside Blake. Conversations softened but did not stop. Eyes followed them with open interest now, no longer pretending discretion. Whispers slid across marble floors and climbed pillars like ivy.
The lie had taken root.
She kept her posture relaxed, her hand resting lightly at Blake's arm where it would be noticed. The contact still felt wrong in a way she could not define—not painful, not forced, but significant. The truth inside her remained quiet, watchful.
At twenty-two, Lumi had learned how to be observed. At court, visibility was a kind of violence.
Blake moved through it as if born to it.
He inclined his head to nobles without slowing, accepted bows without acknowledgment, and guided Lumi subtly through clusters of courtiers as though she had always belonged at his side. Every motion was deliberate, every touch calculated to be seen.
"You're doing well," he murmured without looking at her.
She smiled faintly. "You say that like I'm balancing on a blade."
"You are."
That, at least, was honest.
They reached the central rotunda, where the court gathered most densely beneath a domed ceiling of living shadowglass. The nobles there did not retreat. Instead, they closed in, curiosity sharpened by suspicion.
A young lord stepped forward first, his expression carefully pleasant. "Your Highness," he said, bowing. "We had heard rumors, but I see now they were understated."
Blake's arm tightened almost imperceptibly at Lumi's waist. "Rumors tend to be," he replied.
The lord's gaze slid to Lumi. "Truth Bearer. It must be… enlightening to stand so close to power."
Lumi felt the lie before he finished speaking.
He is probing.
Pain flickered behind her eyes—mild, controlled. She returned his gaze evenly. "Power reveals itself quickly to those who look honestly."
Not a lie.
The lord flushed, uncertain, and withdrew.
One by one, others followed—some with veiled hostility, others with forced politeness. Each interaction tugged at Lumi's curse, small pricks of pain accumulating behind her eyes like an oncoming storm.
Blake felt it.
When her steps faltered slightly, he drew her closer, his voice low. "We'll leave soon."
"Not yet," she whispered. "If I retreat now, they'll think I broke."
His jaw tightened. "You don't need to prove anything."
"Yes," she said softly. "I do."
They stopped before a group of high-ranking nobles—dangerous ones. The air thickened instantly.
Lady Vaelthorne stood among them, her smile sharp as cut crystal. "Prince Crowe," she said, inclining her head. "You move quickly these days."
"Time is precious," Blake replied coolly.
"Indeed." Her gaze lingered on Lumi. "I wonder how precious truth is to you, child."
The pain struck harder this time.
She is testing you.
Lumi steadied her breathing. "Truth is neither precious nor cruel," she said. "It simply is."
Lady Vaelthorne's eyes gleamed. "Then perhaps you will indulge us. Tell us—does the prince truly care for you?"
The rotunda went silent.
Blake stiffened beside her.
The truth surged violently, clawing for release. Lumi tasted blood instantly, metallic and sharp. This was no careful dance—this was a demand.
She could answer honestly and shatter the lie.
Or lie outright and collapse.
Instead, she turned toward Blake.
She let herself look at him.
She saw the exhaustion he hid behind command, the fear he never voiced, the way his presence steadied her curse rather than inflaming it. She saw a man bound to darkness who still chose restraint.
Her voice was calm when she spoke.
"The prince cares for Noctyrrh," Lumi said. "And Noctyrrh requires my presence."
The pain flared—but held.
A half-truth.
The court exhaled, disappointed.
Lady Vaelthorne's smile thinned. "How… dutiful."
Blake moved then, decisive. He lifted Lumi's hand and pressed a brief, unmistakable kiss to her knuckles.
Gasps rippled outward.
"My consort owes no one explanations," he said coldly. "Least of all those who mistake curiosity for entitlement."
The Dreadsword hummed at his side, a warning note.
No one challenged him.
As they walked away, Blake did not release her hand until they reached a quiet corridor. Only then did he turn to her, his expression taut.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said.
She wiped the blood at the corner of her mouth with her thumb. "Neither should you."
His gaze dropped to the smear of red. Something dark and conflicted passed through his eyes.
"This court will keep pushing," Blake said. "They will try to make you break."
Lumi met his gaze steadily, despite the ache pulsing behind her eyes. "Then they will learn what truth costs."
For a moment, Blake said nothing.
Then he reached out—not for show this time—and brushed his thumb gently against her jaw, wiping away the blood she had missed.
The touch sent a quiet shiver through her.
"Next time," he said softly, "I won't let it go that far."
Lumi wasn't sure whether that was a promise…
Or a vow.