“But there must be some order to it,” I insisted. “Signs. Names drawn. Announcements.”
Caedin’s mouth curled again—this time in amusement, not cruelty. “No ceremonies. No scrolls read aloud. When it happens, it’s instinct. Desire. Alignment. Sometimes it begins with a conversation. Sometimes a glance. Sometimes… just a feeling that a bond already exists and needs to be spoken aloud.”
“That doesn’t sound like order at all.”
“No,” Caedin said. “It sounds like life.”
We paused at a corner where the corridor branched, leading toward the eastern courtyard.
“You haven’t been given your duties yet?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I thought I wouldn’t need any. That I’d be summoned quickly. Maybe even the first night.”
He looked at me for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. “You were afraid of that, weren’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
He offered me a scroll, placing it into my hands. “Then be grateful for the waiting. Not everything here is about beauty and ease, Callis. Some of it is… more difficult. More real. The bond isn’t just pleasure. It’s intimacy and surrender. It can unmake you. Or make you better than you were.”
I held the scroll like it weighed more than before.
“So I’m to wait?”
“You’re to live,” Caedin said simply. “Attend your duties when they’re assigned. Explore. Learn. Let them see you for who you are.”
“And what if they don’t like what they see?”
Caedin tilted his head. “Then they’re not meant to summon you. That’s the secret no one wants to say aloud.”
A silence stretched between us, comfortable this time.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“For what?”
“For being the first person who doesn’t speak in riddles.”
Caedin laughed. “Oh, I promise I do. I’ve justlearned how to sound sincere while doing it.” He bowed slightly, his dark eyes warm. “Enjoy the scrolls. And if you tire of silence, find me. I’m usually in the terraces mid-morning. Or down by the practice pools pretending not to flirt.”
He turned, his bare feet silent on the polished stone.
I stood for a moment longer, the scrolls warm against my palms, the scent of herbs and ripe fig lingering in the breeze.
I didn’t know if I trusted him.
But I believed him. And somewhere deep down, I thought a bond to him could be easy. A single lunar cycle, bonded to someone who wasn’t cruel or stuck up. That couldn’t be so bad, could it?
The door clicked shut behind me, sealing out the murmurs of the halls and the drifting perfume of sunwarmed herbs. My room felt still again, the way it had last night. Quiet, almost watchful. The air inside was cooler than outside, touched faintly by the lingering scent of pressed parchment, citrus, and whatever balm had been worked into the polished floor. I stood there a moment longer, the stack of scrolls in my hands cradled against my chest like something too fragile to set down.
Then, slowly, I crossed to the writing table.
It had been cleared since morning, the surface smooth and wide, pale wood veined with the faint patterns of some sea-born tree I didn’t know the name of. I set the scrolls down carefully, one beside the other, then placed the slim volumes from the temple on top.They shifted slightly, as if resisting order, and I adjusted them until they sat neatly aligned.
I eased down into the chair. The cushion beneath me exhaled softly, plush and full, covered in tightly woven silk that caught the light like water. My hand drifted to the top volume. The leather was soft and worn, its edges still faintly perfumed by the Temple of Aerius—aged parchment, sandalwood, and a hint of ink.
I opened the first pages.
The writing was elegant. The ink had faded just enough to hint at age, but the words were still crisp, unmarred by time.
