Tales of Neglected ones

Sylas pov

The study was quiet, touched with the soft light of late afternoon. Pale gold beams spilled through the tall windows, pooling over the stone floor and glinting faintly off the rows of books and potion flasks lining the walls.

Sylas sat at a long table, measuring crushed herbs into a bowl with steady hands. The scent of lavender and ironroot filled the room—clean, familiar.

A quiet knock came at the open door. He glanced up, unsurprised to see Lord Virellia entering, his presence dignified yet unassuming.

"You're working again," the Duke said with a light smile, stepping inside.

"I find it keeps the mind steady," Sylas replied, setting the pestle aside.

Lord Virellia approached the window, looking out over the snow-dusted courtyard. "Tomorrow is the Winter Ball. I expect you've heard."

"I have," Sylas said gently.

The Duke turned, his expression thoughtful. "You weren't planning to attend."

Sylas didn't deny it. "It didn't seem like I'd be needed."

"You're not," the Duke said. "But I'd like you there."

Sylas looked at him, quiet for a moment. "If it's important to you… I'll come."

A faint smile touched the Duke's face. "It's not a command, Sylas. I'm not your master. But you're part of this house now. People will be curious—some more than others."

Sylas nodded slowly. "I'll manage."

"There's another reason," Lord Virellia added, more gently now. "Seraphina will be attending. It would be easier for her with someone nearby who… understands how to listen."

At that, Sylas's gaze softened slightly. "She'll have to speak with nobles?"

"Yes," the Duke said. "More than she'd like."

"I'll stay close," Sylas said without hesitation.

The Duke gave a slight nod. "Thank you."

He turned toward the door, then paused. "I had something prepared for you to wear. It'll be sent to your room."

Sylas nodded again. "I appreciate that."

Before leaving, Lord Virellia added quietly, "You don't have to impress anyone. Just be yourself."

And then he was gone.

---

Not long after, Sylas stepped out into the corridor. The halls were peaceful this time of day—faint murmurs from distant chambers, the muffled sound of logs being stacked in the hearth.

He found Seraphina standing near the windows of the east wing, watching soft flakes of snow fall across the distant trees. Her hands were clasped behind her back, posture relaxed.

"You'll be at the ball," she said as he approached, not turning her head.

He stood beside her, voice calm. "Yes. Your father asked me."

"I hoped he would."

Sylas looked out the window with her, quiet for a moment. "I've never been to something like this."

"It's not as grand as people say," she replied. "Just music, dancing, and a lot of smiling."

He glanced at her. "You don't enjoy it?"

"I don't mind it," she said. "But most of it is pretending."

Sylas gave a small nod. "I'm not very good at that."

She looked up at him. "You don't have to pretend. Just be steady. People notice that more than you think."

A short pause followed.

"I'm glad you're coming," Seraphina added, more softly now.

Sylas turned slightly toward her. "So am I."

A knock drew their attention—one of the house staff approached, carefully holding a dark box wrapped in cloth.

"Your attire, my lord," the servant said respectfully, handing it to Sylas.

He thanked him quietly and accepted it.

Seraphina didn't ask to see it. She only gave a faint smile. "I think it'll suit you."

He looked at the box, then at her. "I'll try not to embarrass you."

"You won't," she said, without hesitation.

The two stood quietly for a few more moments, watching the snow.

And for once, Sylas felt no reason to move.

---

Let me know if you'd like the next scene to be:

Sylas getting ready for the ball,

their arrival together,

or the full ballroom scene with nobles, soft music, and quiet conversation.

End of chapter