Tales of Neglected ones

Sylas pov

The snow had arrived quietly that morning — not as a storm, but a calm, steady drift that blanketed the courtyards and garden paths of the Virellian estate. By evening, the world outside had turned white and still, lit by lanterns that glowed faintly like stars caught on earth.

Inside the estate, the halls had been warmed with soft light and seasonal décor. Servants moved briskly but silently, placing arrangements of winter roses, adjusting banners, and preparing the ballroom for the gathering to come.

Far from the sound of music and laughter that would soon follow, Sylas stood in his room, buttoning the high collar of a charcoal-gray coat. The fabric was heavier than he was used to, lined with silver thread that caught the firelight gently. Tailored. Elegant. Not flashy.

He examined his reflection. It didn't feel like a costume. Just… different. Like someone he hadn't been in a long time.

A knock came, soft but firm.

He opened the door to find Lord Virellia standing outside, already dressed in his formal attire — deep violet layered with a long black cloak, fastened by a brooch bearing the Virellian crest. His silver hair was neatly pulled back, his posture as calm and steady as always.

"You look the part," the Duke said.

Sylas stepped aside, letting him in. "You prepared this weeks ago."

Virellia offered a slight smile. "I tend to plan ahead."

The door clicked shut behind them. For a moment, neither spoke. The room was lit only by the glow of the hearth and a single lantern on the desk.

Then the Duke's tone shifted — softer, slower.

"There's something I wanted to speak with you about," he said. "Before the music and ceremony begin."

Sylas turned to face him fully. "I'm listening."

"The royal family has been watching the Eight more closely," Virellia said. "Too closely, for my liking."

He moved to the window, gazing out at the snow-covered courtyard.

"They talk of unity. Of streamlining leadership across the realm. But beneath the polished words, the message is clear — they believe the great families have too much freedom."

Sylas nodded once, his tone even. "And yours especially."

"Especially mine," Virellia said with a faint breath of amusement. "I've declined more invitations to the capital than I've accepted. I don't smile when I'm supposed to. And I rarely offer praise for poor decisions."

He turned back toward Sylas.

"Tonight's ball is hosted here, but their eyes will be present. Maybe not directly. But through words. Through questions. Through those who speak with too much interest."

Sylas understood. "They'll be measuring."

"Yes. Who stands beside who. Who speaks with whom. And most of all—" the Duke paused, "—who stays silent."

Sylas considered that. "You're not asking me to speak for you."

"No," Virellia said. "You have your own voice. I'm asking you to be cautious with it. You're not a shadow anymore, Sylas. People will notice who you are standing beside."

The words weren't a burden. They were an acknowledgment.

"I'll be careful," Sylas said simply.

"And if anyone asks too many questions about your place here…" the Duke let the silence finish the sentence.

"I'll say as little as I can without being rude."

Virellia smiled faintly. "Perfect."

He turned to leave, then paused with his hand on the door. "You've adapted here. More than I expected, honestly. You've found your rhythm. But tonight may feel different. Keep your balance, and trust your instincts."

Sylas nodded. "And Seraphina?"

"She'll be expected to smile. And not say too much," the Duke replied. "That's exhausting. If she looks toward you… be steady."

"I will be," Sylas said.

The Duke's voice softened before he left. "Thank you."

---

The door closed behind him.

For a few quiet moments, Sylas remained still in the firelight, adjusting his cuffs, grounding himself.

He didn't feel anxious.

He simply understood what was at stake.

Not his reputation — but his place. And Seraphina's comfort. That was enough.

---

Later, just before the hour of entrance, he found her in the hallway near the eastern windows. She stood quietly, hands clasped in front of her, her gown soft silver and pale blue, her braid pinned carefully with a single blue gem. No crown. No unnecessary gold.

Just grace.

When she noticed him, she didn't smile — but her shoulders relaxed.

"You came early," she said.

"I didn't want to walk into a hall full of strangers alone."

Her eyes flicked toward him. "You won't be alone."

They stood together for a moment in silence, watching the snow drift softly through the tall windows.

Then she said, "There will be people who speak to you for reasons they won't say."

"I know," Sylas replied gently.

"And some who look past you because they don't know what to make of you."

"That's fine too."

Seraphina turned toward him. "Don't worry about saying the right thing."

"I won't."

She nodded once, satisfied.

And then, more quietly: "Thank you. For being here."

Sylas looked at her — not with a smile, but with warmth.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else."

---

Outside, the bells began to chime. The doors of the grand hall were opening.

The evening had begun.

End of chapter