Tales of Neglected ones

Sylas pov

The halls had gone quiet.

Only the distant shuffle of servants cleaning up the remnants of the grand banquet echoed faintly through the corridors of the palace. The golden chandeliers that once blazed overhead now hung dim, their flames softened into a sleepy glow.

Sylas sat alone on a balcony, legs pulled up, arms resting on his knees. The stone beneath him was cool, but not cold—polished smooth by years of use. Below, the palace gardens stretched out in a maze of hedges and lantern-lit paths, empty now, peaceful.

His eyes drifted upward. The stars tonight were unusually clear.

He should have returned to his quarters by now. But something inside wouldn't let him leave. Something heavy and warm and confusing all at once.

His thoughts kept circling the same place.

Seraphina.

He remembered how she stood among nobles, every inch of her carrying the quiet dignity of someone born to rule—but without arrogance. She greeted each person with a gentle smile, remembered names, offered warmth even to those who offered none in return. And yet, when he stood quietly by the wall, unnoticed by most, she noticed.

He hadn't expected her to call him over.

And certainly not to say what she did.

"He's not a guest. He's my attendant."

Her words had silenced Lucien's veiled condescension before it could grow. Not loudly. Not with confrontation. Just a calm assertion of fact—spoken as if there had never been another possibility.

It shouldn't have meant anything. That's what he kept telling himself.

He was only a boy from nowhere. A quiet figure who drifted behind the glow of her name. He wasn't special. He had no noble blood, no magic title, no strength that mattered in a room filled with swords and status.

And yet…

The way she looked at him—she didn't look through him.

She saw him.

He clenched his hand unconsciously, remembering the strange twist in his chest when she had stepped forward beside him, as if his presence by her side had never been up for debate.

It wasn't protection she offered. It was something far rarer: trust.

Why?

Why did that matter so much?

He tilted his head back, exhaling slowly. The sky above was ink-dark, dotted with faint constellations he didn't recognize. Somewhere in those stars, he searched for clarity. For answers.

But the only voice he heard was his own.

She's… different.

It wasn't just admiration. It wasn't even gratitude, though he owed her more than he could ever repay.

There was something deeper growing—soft, quiet, impossible to name.

He remembered the way she laughed once during training, not the polite kind she gave nobles, but a real one, unguarded, like a sudden burst of spring in the middle of winter. He hadn't known what to do then. Just stood frozen, like the sound itself had caught him off guard.

And tonight… she had defended him again. Not because he asked her to. Because she wanted to.

His heart beat a little faster just remembering it.

It frightened him, in a way.

Not because it was dangerous.

But because he wanted it.

He wanted to keep standing beside her. Not because he had to. Not out of duty. But because with her, for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel invisible. He didn't feel broken.

He felt… seen.

The thought scared him more than anything.

He had told himself never to rely on anyone. Never to want more than survival. Emotions were dangerous things. Attachments, even more so.

But Seraphina made it hard to hold that line.

A soft breeze stirred his hair, brushing strands across his forehead. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the night settle around him.

No one knew he was here.

No one would ask what he was thinking.

And so—for just this one night—he let himself feel it.

Not love. Not yet.

But something close.

A warmth blooming in silence.

A longing wrapped in the quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—he wasn't as alone as he thought.

End of chapter