The walk back toward the castle was quiet but not in a strained way.
The earlier weight, the one that had hung heavy in the air after she brought up Zera, had softened between them, like silk slowly loosening from around the throat.
There were no raised voices, no icy silences. Just the echo of their boots against the stone paths, and the quiet brush of Elysia's shawl against Malvoria's arm every now and then when she leaned too close to the hedges.
Malvoria had questions.
She always had questions.
But she'd learned slowly, painfully, through trial and error that Elysia needed space. Pressure made her sharp, defensive, prone to retreat. But patience? Patience invited honesty. Eventually.
So she walked beside her without prying. Without demanding.
Even though something in her gut told her that what happened earlier wasn't just harmless fun or maid-induced chaos.
