Tales of Neglected ones

The soft hush of evening wrapped around Duke Virellia's manor like a velvet cloak. Warm light spilled from wall sconces, flickering across pale marble floors and casting golden hues across every polished surface. Servants moved quietly in the distance, the rustle of their uniforms barely breaking the silence. There was no rush. No raised voices. Only the quiet settling in before a night of formalities and watching eyes.

Sylas stood near the main corridor, just outside the drawing hall. His reflection followed him in the polished window glass—a dark silhouette framed by the last strands of sunset. His attire had been laid out by the steward that morning: a well-fitted charcoal waistcoat over a soft grey shirt, silver buttons glinting faintly under the lamplight. Slim black trousers and polished boots completed the ensemble. Nothing flamboyant, nothing bold—just elegant and still, like him.

He didn't usually care much about how he looked. Clothes had always been functional. But tonight… tonight felt a little different. Not because of the gathering or the nobles or the house politics. Just because of the moment.

He adjusted the cuffs slowly. His hands didn't shake, but he could feel the tension in his shoulders, not from fear—just from unfamiliarity. He wasn't used to being seen like this.

A soft sound broke the quiet behind him.

He turned slightly, and there she was.

Seraphina walked into the corridor as if guided by the evening light itself. Her dress was a soft peach, its fabric flowing gently as she moved, delicate ribbons tied just behind her shoulders. Her hair had been curled loosely, tucked back with a set of ivory pins, and a single moon-lily sat just above her ear, its white petals glowing faintly against her golden hair.

She wasn't wearing jewelry or makeup. She didn't need either.

Sylas blinked once, surprised by the small shift in how she carried herself. Not more mature—not distant—but composed in her own way. Like someone trying to rise to the occasion… and managing it.

Seraphina saw him and slowed to a stop, her eyes lingering on him for a moment.

"You look… different," she said softly. "But in a good way."

Sylas tilted his head. "Different how?"

She stepped closer, her eyes scanning his outfit. "You look like someone who knows exactly what he's doing. Sharp. Like one of those enchanted blades they display in the Hall of Honor."

He smiled faintly. "Dangerous and over-decorated?"

She grinned. "No. Clean. Focused. Like you'd cut through a room without making a sound."

He glanced at her dress again. "And you look… cute."

Her eyes narrowed. "Only cute?"

He considered. "Graceful. Warm. The kind of cute people remember days later, even if they don't know why."

Seraphina seemed to pause at that. The compliment wasn't forced, and it wasn't casual either. Just steady and real, like everything else about him.

"I almost tripped coming down the stairs," she admitted after a second. "I'm not used to dresses like this."

"You wear it well."

She smiled again, but this time it was quieter. Softer.

There was a long silence between them. Not awkward. Just unspoken understanding.

"You've grown a little," she said after a moment.

Sylas raised a brow. "Taller?"

"No. Not like that. You… seem more like yourself. Less like you're trying to fade into the walls."

He let out a slow breath. "Maybe. Things have been quieter lately."

"Because of me?" she asked, only half-joking.

He looked at her. "Partly. You remind me that I'm allowed to exist."

That stopped her. She blinked, not quite knowing what to say.

"Thanks," she said softly.

He didn't need her to say more. He offered his arm.

"Shall we go be stared at?"

She laughed, a quiet, warm sound. "I suppose we must."

She took his arm, her hand light but familiar, like this wasn't the first time they'd walked this way—even though it was.

"You know," she said as they moved toward the front steps, "you match this place better than I thought you would."

"And you make it feel less cold," he replied without missing a beat.

The two of them walked through the manor's main hall, steps matching without effort. Her soft peach gown and flower-pinned curls brightened the hallways. His quiet presence, all sharp lines and calm demeanor, steadied them both.

Outside, the carriage waited. Twin lanterns flickered to life, casting light on the cobbled driveway.

Sylas opened the door for her without thinking, helping her up with a hand under hers. She settled onto the seat and looked back at him with a small smile, then watched him take his place across from her. Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

"You really don't like these events, do you?" she asked eventually, watching his eyes rather than his expression.

"They're noisy," he admitted. "And full of things unsaid. I don't like guessing."

"I'll help, then. You can read books, and I'll read people."

He smiled again—quietly, as always. "Deal."

The carriage began to move. Through the small window, the city opened up in front of them, its lights just starting to bloom across rooftops and towers.

Seraphina looked outside for a long while, then turned back to him.

"We match," she said quietly. "Not just in colors. I mean… the way you look and the way I look. It fits somehow."

He nodded. "Sharp and soft. Balance."

"Do you think people will notice?"

Sylas looked out the window beside her, watching the lights pass. "Maybe. But we'll notice first. That's enough."

End of chapter