Veil of Ashes :Claimed by them

Kael blinked at the girl at his feet, her hair a disheveled halo of maroon curls, face scrunched in a sleepy daze before her lips pulled into an awkward, sheepish smile.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep here. I was just... waiting," Aera mumbled as she scrambled to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster.

Kael sighed. "You didn't have to come. I'm fine. It was just ten lashes." He avoided her gaze, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "Servants outside the palace get killed for smaller mistakes. It's not worth losing sleep over."

His voice was flat and factual, but somewhere in the tight corners of his chest, the gloom that had lingered like a shadow lifted. He didn't show it, of course—his expression remained its usual reserved calm. But something about her being here, waiting for him, chipped away at the familiar numbness.

Aera gave him a skeptical look and grabbed his arm to help herself up, though he was clearly the more injured of the two.

"Still," she huffed, brushing her hands on her dress. "You're not made of stone. Even if you act like it."

He didn't respond to that, merely giving her a glance as he stepped aside so she could follow him into the room. She didn't ask for an invitation. She just followed.

"So… how are you now?" she asked, peeking at his side as if trying to see through the layers of cloth. "The medicine should've helped. I used the same blend when I cut my thigh last winter. Healed without a scar!" She beamed, clearly proud.

Kael looked away, unsure how to respond to her unfiltered energy. "...It helped," he said awkwardly, and that alone seemed to satisfy her.

He shifted the subject, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm heading to the servants' dining area. If we're late, there won't be any food left."

He didn't wait for her, but walked slowly enough that if she wanted to, she could easily catch up.

She did.

Aera fell into step beside him, chattering about everything and nothing—food, the weather, how awful the stewardess looked in her new feathered cloak. Kael mostly nodded or hummed in response, still unsure how to keep pace with someone so... openly human.

They reached the dining hall, the clatter and buzz of voices washing over them like a wave. But as soon as they stepped in, the noise dipped, the shift palpable.

Kael was used to it—the hush, the sideways glances. His silence made people uncomfortable. His presence, forgettable and yet unnerving at the same time. He never spoke unless spoken to, never mingled, never invited anyone into his space.

So walking in with someone like Aera—bright, talkative, pretty—turned more than a few heads.

They took their food and sat at a corner table. It wasn't long before someone broke the tension.

"Hey, you're not usually on this side," a curious servant said, frowning at Aera. "Aren't you one of the laundry maids?"

Before Kael could answer, Aera did it for him. "I'm his friend," she said brightly.

Kael paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. The word echoed in his mind like a bell.

Friend.

He couldn't remember ever having one. Not even back in the village. There were playmates, sure. But his time had been spent more with his grandmother, watching over herbs, tending to her coughs, or listening to her endless tales under the moonlight. Even then, he had been quiet, withdrawn. He hadn't known how to be a child.

His grip on the spoon tightened slightly. He looked up and found eyes—many—watching him. Some skeptical, some amused. But Aera's eyes were expectant, hopeful in a way that twisted something inside his chest.

He gave a short nod. "Yes. We're friends."

Aera's eyes lit up like firecrackers, and she grinned like he'd just given her a gold coin instead of a simple confirmation. She resumed eating with gusto.

A few servants chuckled, nudging each other.

"When did that happen?" someone else asked.

Kael responded without looking up. "For quite some time."

A grumble from the opposite side of the table caught his attention. Billy, a stable boy with a square jaw and hay-colored hair, scowled at his tray. "Tch. Can't believe someone like him has a girl like her fawning over him. The heavens are really unfair sometimes."

Kael blinked. Aera, oblivious, was humming as she ate.

He glanced at her—really looked.

Aera's face was heart-shaped, framed by that wild mane of dark red curls that leaned towards a deep maroon. Her skin was sun-kissed, scattered with light freckles that made her look like she walked with the dawn. Her lips were full and naturally pink, curved now into a happy smile. And her figure...

The summer maid uniform didn't help. The dress was knee-length, simple cotton over a thin inner shirt. The neckline dipped in a low U-shape—modest on most, but on Aera...

Kael felt his face warm.

She was... generously built, her breasts full and tightly packed under the fabric. The soft curves of her body strained against the dress in a way that made it clear why men stared—and why Billy's complaint was half-lust, half-jealousy.

Kael found himself nodding, almost unconsciously. That man might be annoying, but his confusion wasn't entirely misplaced.

Why would someone like her be his friend?

Still, neither of them responded to Billy's muttered comment. Aera kept eating happily, and Kael turned back to his tray, deciding not to dwell too long on thoughts that made his brain foggy.

Soon enough, Aera had charmed the entire corner of the dining hall. She chatted with nearby maids, made jokes with a cook's apprentice, and kept pulling Kael into her conversations.

"You never talk," she said at one point, poking his side. "Do you even know how to laugh?"

"I laugh," Kael muttered defensively.

"Yeah? When?"

He blinked. "...Privately."

Aera laughed, loud and unladylike, drawing a few more eyes.

The environment had relaxed, the hum of chatter returning, until—

The dining hall fell silent.

The air turned thick, like storm clouds rolling in.

Kael looked up.

At the entrance, framed by the open double doors, stood the main stewardess.

She never came here. This dining hall was for the lowest-tier servants—stable boys, kitchen runners, firewood carriers.

She dined elsewhere, in far more comfortable quarters.

So her presence now... meant one thing.

Trouble.