✧ Chapter Seven ✧Lines We Cannot Crossfrom Have You Someone to Protect?By ©Amer
After the incident, Caelum had spoken to her in his usual quiet resolve."I'll stay close for now," he'd said, eyes not leaving hers. "Until I'm certain nothing else... strange will occur."
Lhady, seated by the window with the light painting her face in slanted gold, had only nodded at first. Then, after a pause, her lips curved into something soft—not quite a smile, but close."I was going to suggest the same," she murmured, "not because I'm afraid to be alone. But because I feel... unafraid, when you're beside me."
He said nothing to that. But the way his gaze lingered was louder than any reply.
In the days that followed, the bookshop resumed its rhythm—customers came and went, the scent of paper and ink drifted through the rooms—but something had changed. A different kind of silence filled the space. Not the absence of sound, but of certainty.
Even laughter, when it came, seemed hesitant—as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Lhady and Caelum spoke, of course. There were casual words shared over shelved books or morning tea. But the topic of the chest—the weight it carried, the truth it hinted at—remained untouched. Not for lack of wanting, but because something in both of them hesitated. They were no longer only caretakers of a shop. They were, perhaps, caretakers of a fate they had not yet dared name.
They still ate together when time allowed. Walked into town, picked up groceries, laughed over trivial things. On the surface, it was ordinary. But beneath it, lines had been drawn. Quiet, invisible lines neither of them fully understood.
At night, Caelum would often take to the backyard under the stars. He would tell her before he left—just a soft, "I'll be out for a while"—and then vanish into the dark, returning before the first signs of morning. He never spoke of what he did, and she never asked. Perhaps they weren't at a place where such questions were owed.
But in those early hours, while the sky was still violet and gold, the scent of steeped tea would curl into her room. Her favorite blend, always just the right warmth. By the time she stirred from sleep, Caelum would be in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, preparing breakfast.
They never spoke of it—but the ritual had begun to feel like something unspoken between them. Like a home neither of them claimed, but both kept tending.
One morning, just as he was about to say something—his eyes lifting from his cup with that pause that always came before he spoke—a loud slam of the backdoor interrupted them.
"Three days!" came a cheerful voice. "Only three days until my birthday!"
Little Alen burst into the kitchen like a storm with ribboned hair, hands raised like she'd just declared a festival.
Caelum blinked, withdrawing slightly in his seat. Whatever he had planned to say, the moment had slipped away.
"Ohh?" Lhady tilted her head, setting her teacup down. "Is that so? Our little lady's coming-of-age celebration, hmm?" she teased, ruffling the girl's hair. "Well then, what present shall the Great Lhady Amer bestow?"
It was worth noting—Alen wasn't just any child. She was one of the daughters of the influential Elowen family, known for their wealth, eccentricities, and grand taste for social affairs. Her birthday would be a full-town affair, and her ball, no less than a spectacle.
Alen grinned. "Will you promise to grant me any request?"
Lhady laughed. "So long as it doesn't bankrupt me."
"No need to spend a single coin!" Alen declared, then solemnly extended a hand. "But after this handshake, there's no turning back."
Thinking it just a child's whim, Lhady shook her hand, amused. "Alright then. Deal."
"Good!" Alen clasped her hand with ceremony. "You'll be attending my ball… with Caelum."
Lhady's expression froze.
"Wait, I thought—"
"We saw it!" came the simultaneous shriek from the window as Sian and Mira leaned halfway inside. "A deal's a deal! Witnessed by the saints themselves!"
Lhady glanced down, her hand still wrapped in Alen's. Her heart fluttered, not out of fear, but memory.
The last time she attended a ball… the velvet, the glittering music, the disaster that followed. Her chest tightened.
Caelum studied her in silence, mistaking her stillness for reluctance.
Without a word, he stood up and strode toward the backdoor. The screen slammed gently behind him.
Sian leaned over and whispered to Mira, "Did he just walk out on her?"
"She was struggling to ask him," Mira muttered. "Thought she'd bother him. Or maybe… she just didn't want to relive that night."
Lhady exhaled slowly, a hand over her mouth like she was pushing something back down her throat. "It's alright, Alen. I don't have a partner anyway, so—"
She never finished.
A shadow blocked the light by the window.
She turned—then froze.
A tall figure loomed just outside, haloed by the morning sun. In his hand, held with quiet care, was a single violet flower.
Caelum.
Lhady blinked, her breath caught in her throat.
He didn't speak at first. He simply stepped inside, knelt beside her chair, and held the flower just above her hand.
Her cheeks flushed.
"Caelum… what is—?"
Before she could finish, he bent slightly to meet her gaze.
"Would you be my partner at Alen's ball?"
There was a stillness then, like the hush before rain.
Lhady didn't speak. She only nodded—once, twice. It was enough.
Across the room, Mira, Sian, and Alen were wide-eyed. The two older girls slowly clapped in astonished, amused rhythm, while Alen squinted, arms crossed.
"Hmph! Well fine! But you better wait until I grow up so I can marry you instead!" she huffed at Caelum.
The tension shattered into laughter, cheeks flushing in quiet delight.
Sian and Mira, ever perceptive, took that as their cue. They shared a knowing glance and quietly tugged Alen toward the door to give the not-quite-couple some space. But Alen wasn't going without one last word.
"I want a sparkly cake! With fireworks!"
Her voice echoed down the hallway as she vanished from view.
Lhady and Caelum sat again, the table still warm with untouched breakfast. The moment lingered.
They had always understood each other in silence—an unspoken language woven through shared glances and half-finished thoughts. And both, in their own way, had come to understand that there were lines not yet meant to be crossed.
Elsewhere, under a quieter sky...
The walls here were plain. White stone, worn but clean. Morning light pooled at the edges of the window, soft and reluctant. Silas sat upright for the first time in days, a wool blanket folded over his lap, the remnants of bandages tucked neatly beside his untouched tea.
He looked… better.
Not whole, not healed—but better.
The fever had passed, and with it, the worst of the nights that blurred together in visions and names he could not speak aloud. There was still pain. There would always be pain. But he was sitting up. Breathing evenly. Thinking clearly.
And thinking, as ever, of the world that continued on without him.
The knock on the door was gentle.
"Come in," he said.
An attendant entered—a young man with tidy posture and careful hands. "A letter for you, sir. Delivered just this morning."
Silas took it with a nod, fingers pausing at the wax seal. Familiar. The crest of the Elowen family—one of the most respected names in town. Friends of his father. And of him, once.
He broke the seal.
It was an invitation. To a ball. A coming-of-age celebration.
For Alen Elowen.
His breath caught—just slightly. That name. That sharp, stubborn voice. That child who once tugged at Lhady's skirt and declared herself the next queen of the forest.
He couldn't help the ghost of a smile.
It was a formal invitation, of course. But personal. Written by the head of the family himself, in old, familiar script.
You've been missed. Your presence would honor us, even quietly.
Beneath that, in a softer hand:
If you are willing—and your strength permits—you might consider being Alen's partner for the evening. She insists she will only dance if it is with "someone princely and grand."
…She also hopes it might catch the attention of one of her crush. She didn't say who, but she was very serious about it.
Silas stared at the words.
Astounded.
But not dismayed.
Not because of the request itself—but because he knew Alen well enough to recognize the mischief and sincerity in such a request. Their families had always been close. Not just in blood, but in something stronger—years of trust and laughter and shared dinners under wide-roofed homes.
Of course they'd think to ask him.
Of course the little troublemaker would want to arrive on the arm of someone "grand."
His lips quirked in something almost like a smile.
It was absurd.
It was oddly perfect.
And in some unspoken way… it felt like a gift. A chance to step into a memory, not for himself—but for someone else's joy.
He stood slowly, wincing as his muscles stretched. The attendant stepped forward, but Silas waved him off.
"I'll go," he said, folding the letter back neatly. "But tell them not to announce anything. No welcome. No title."
The attendant blinked. "Sir?"
"I'm attending as a guest. Nothing more." His voice was quiet, but firm. "This is still my home. I don't wish to boast in it."
There was a silence then, and something in it felt settled. Like a decision long considered and finally voiced.
The attendant bowed. "Understood."
Silas turned back to the window, eyes following a drifting cloud as it passed overhead.
So much had changed. And yet, something in this moment—quiet, full of intention—felt like the first page of a new chapter. Not grand. Not public.
But personal.
He didn't know what he would say, or if he'd say anything at all.
But he would go.He would simply… be there.
For her.
For Alen.
For whatever still tied him to that part of the world that had once, and perhaps always, belonged to her.
Even if only to prove to himself that—
some lines we draw are meant to be crossed.