Chapter 16: The Arrival of House Vaelthyr
The Difference of Both Sides
Sylvara's golden eyes flickered with unreadable emotion as she strode toward Kitsaro, her posture composed despite the tension settling in the air. She had heard Lyssandra's words—heard how the laughter had died, how the nobles had fallen into silence.
A careless remark, yet one that struck a chord too deep to ignore.
Cassian Aurevellis was a dear friend, a protector of sorts—but no, he was not Kitsaro's father. And yet, it was not the truth of the statement that stung, but the reminder of how precariously her son existed within this world.
She would not allow that moment to linger.
"Kitsaro."
Her voice, gentle yet firm, cut through the silence. All eyes turned to her as she stepped forward, her gaze momentarily meeting Lyssandra's.
The noblewoman looked away, guilt clouding her expression.
"We need to go," Sylvara said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "The main family is arriving."
Kitsaro, ever perceptive, nodded. "Yes, Mother."
Without another glance at the children, he turned and followed.
Sylvara inclined her head in a polite farewell to the group of noblewomen. Queen Amariel, standing amidst them, caught her gaze.
"Sylvara."
The queen's voice was quiet, yet it carried.
Sylvara hesitated for the briefest moment before dipping her head in respect. "Your Majesty."
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Amariel's expression. "How have you been?"
"Well enough," Sylvara answered smoothly, offering a small, measured smile. "As well as one can be."
Amariel studied her for a long moment, as if searching for something. Her violet eyes softened, and a sigh escaped her lips. "You need not always speak so cautiously with me."
Sylvara's gaze remained steady. "Caution has kept me alive, Your Majesty."
A shadow passed over Amariel's face, a mixture of guilt and understanding. "I suppose it has," she murmured. "But I would rather you not feel the need for such restraint, at least not with me."
There was a pause, the space between them filled with words left unspoken.
Amariel's voice lowered, softer now. "You are not alone, Sylvara. Even if it may seem that way."
Sylvara's fingers twitched at her side. The words were well-intended, but they did not erase the years of isolation, of whispers behind her back, of noble families turning their gazes away as if her existence were an inconvenience.
Still, she met the queen's gaze evenly. "That is kind of you to say, Your Majesty."
Amariel's lips parted slightly, as if to say more, but then she hesitated. Instead, she let out a quiet breath and inclined her head. "Take care."
A subtle dismissal. A tacit acknowledgment that this moment was not the time nor place for such discussions.
Sylvara gave a small nod before turning away, Kitsaro at her side. Cassian, who had been observing in silence, moved with them as they slipped into the quiet corners of the ballroom.
As their figures faded from view, Queen Amariel exhaled, then turned back to Lyssandra.
The noblewoman had not moved, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Next time," Amariel said, her tone carrying the weight of command, "watch what you say."
Lyssandra flinched. "I—"
"Apologizing will not change what has already been done," the queen continued, cutting her off. "We all know what Sylvara has endured. A single moment of carelessness will not be undone with a mere apology."
Isolde sighed, while looking at the mother and son walking away. "Her presence alone brings back memories. I hope she's doing alright."
"She was one of us once," Elyssara murmured, her gaze distant. "This is the first time I've seen her since then."
The weight of unspoken regrets hung between them.
Morrigan, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "I only hope," she said quietly, "that someday, she will forgive us."
A wistful silence followed.
Amariel's expression did not change, but something in her eyes darkened. "Perhaps, in time. I hope so as well."
But even as she spoke, the words felt hollow.
For now, the moment had passed. And, as Sylvara had warned, the arrival of the Vaelthyr family loomed.
The noblewomen exchanged glances before quickly gathering their children, the weight of unfinished business settling unspoken between them.
Away from the bustling crowd, Sylvara led Kitsaro into a quieter alcove of the ballroom, the golden glow of enchanted lanterns making their shadows stretch across the polished marble floor. Cassian followed behind, his usual smirk subdued.
Sylvara knelt slightly so she was at eye level with her son, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his fine clothes. "Did you have fun talking with the other children?" she asked, her tone soft, almost playful.
Kitsaro's golden eyes gleamed as he nodded. "Yes. They were nice."
"Just nice?" Sylvara arched an eyebrow. "Not terribly dull or dreadfully boring?"
Kitsaro shook his head, his small hands tightening around the hem of his sleeves. "Not all of them. Some were interesting."
Cassian chuckled. "Interesting, huh? And what made them interesting?"
Kitsaro tilted his head, considering. "They know a lot of things. And they talk differently."
Sylvara hummed, smoothing a hand over his soft white hair. "That's because they were raised in different houses, with different lessons. Did you like any of them in particular?"
Kitsaro hesitated, then nodded. "Mm. One of them—Zareth—said he had big lizards at his house. I want to see it."
Cassian let out a low whistle. "A big lizard? Quite the companion."
Kitsaro's face lit up with excitement. "Do you think he'll let me ride it?"
Sylvara let out a soft laugh, amused by her son's eagerness. "That depends. Would you really ride something so high off the ground?"
Kitsaro puffed up his small chest. "I wouldn't be scared!"
Cassian smirked. "Brave little fox, aren't you?"
Kitsaro beamed. "Of course!"
Sylvara shook her head, smiling fondly before she tapped his nose lightly. "Alright, little fox. Since you're so brave, how about you go get some food? I saw a table with fresh berry tarts."
Kitsaro's eyes brightened. "Really? The sweet kind?"
"The sweetest," she confirmed.
Without hesitation, Kitsaro turned on his heel, practically skipping toward the refreshment tables.
Once he was out of earshot, Sylvara's expression hardened, the warmth in her golden eyes cooling.
Cassian watched her closely. "Avoiding the topic?"
Sylvara exhaled, her fingers tightening slightly at her side. "He doesn't need to be reminded of what just happened. He's a child. Let him enjoy that while he still can."
Cassian studied her for a long moment before nodding. "Fair enough."
As they spoke in hushed tones, Kitsaro returned a few minutes later, a plate in hand and a victorious look on his face. "I got two tarts!" he announced proudly.
Sylvara's features softened again as she crouched down. "Two?"
Kitsaro nodded eagerly. "One for me and one for you!"
Sylvara blinked, then chuckled, ruffling his hair. "How thoughtful of you."
Cassian smirked. "And what about me?"
Kitsaro looked at him, then at his plate, before slowly breaking off a tiny crumb and holding it out.
Cassian snorted. "Generous."
Kitsaro grinned mischievously, taking a big bite of his tart before speaking again. "Oh! There was this girl, Seraphis—she really likes books. She said she reads all the time."
Sylvara hummed. "A fellow book lover, then. Maybe next time, you can talk about your favorite stories."
Kitsaro nodded excitedly. "I will! And—and there was Eryndis. She really liked Cassian."
Cassian raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh?"
Kitsaro bobbed his head. "She said your clothes were really good and asked if it was possible to meet you."
Cassian leaned back against the wall, stroking his chin in exaggerated thought. "Hmm. Not many people get to meet and befriend Cassian Aurevellis." He sighed dramatically before flashing a playful smirk at Kitsaro. "But for you, little Kitsaro, I shall make an exception."
Kitsaro's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Really?"
Cassian shrugged. "Besides, they're from duke families, aren't they? It should be fine."
He then gave Kitsaro a knowing look. "My, my, Kitsaro, your friends are all from high society families, and they're all the same age. Quite the little aristocrat, aren't you?"
Kitsaro grinned. "I'd love to play with them next time!"
Sylvara chuckled softly. "I'm sure you will."
For now, she let him enjoy the moment, savoring the innocence of childhood while it lasted.
A hush fell over the ballroom as the great doors were drawn open. The gentle hum of noble chatter died instantly, replaced by a silence laced with anticipation and reverence.
The Vaelthyr family had arrived.
At the forefront of the grand entrance stood Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr, Duke of the Northern Territories. A man whose presence alone commanded attention, his silver hair, streaked with the faintest hint of midnight blue, framed a face sculpted with chiseled elegance. His silver eyes carried the weight of absolute authority—unshaken, distant, and formidable. Draped in regal attire woven with the sigil of Vaelzaryn, the Divine White Tiger, he exuded an aura of power befitting the ruler of the north.
To his right, the Duchess Selene Yuki Vaelthyr, his main wife, walked with poise and unshakable confidence. Dark silver hair cascaded in soft waves over her finely embroidered gown, her piercing purple eyes shimmering with quiet arrogance. She was the picture of nobility—untouched, unchallenged, and, in her mind, the only rightful lady of House Vaelthyr.
Behind them, the heirs followed.
Zion Lyka Vaelthyr, the first heir, moved with effortless grace, embodying the ideal noble son. His silver hair was pristine, a mirror of his father's, while his sharp purple eyes carried an inscrutable weight. He was composed, almost eerily so, as his gaze methodically swept across the ballroom, evaluating everything and everyone. And when his eyes finally landed on Kitsaro—on the boy who should not exist—something flickered within them.
Recognition.
Interest.
Perhaps even irritation.
Yet, unlike his mother, he remained silent, unreadable. His every step was deliberate, poised, calculated.
In contrast, Zachary Vaelthyr, the second heir, wore his arrogance openly. Despite being only five years old, he carried himself with the self-importance of someone far older. His identical silver hair and purple eyes gleamed under the enchanted chandeliers, but where Zion was composed, Zachary was bold, unrestrained. He walked with a gallant pride, chin high, chest puffed, as if expecting the very world to acknowledge his superiority.
As the family strode towards the front of the ballroom, the announcer's voice rang clear and powerful, his tone filled with reverence.
"Announcing the arrival of His Grace, Duke Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr of the Northern Territories—Lord of the Frostbound Dominion, Warden of the Silver Fangs, and Descendant of Vaelzaryn, the Divine White Tiger!"
A pause.
"Accompanied by Her Grace, Duchess Selene Yuki Vaelthyr, and their esteemed heirs—Zion Lyka Vaelthyr, First Heir of House Vaelthyr, and Zachary Vaelthyr, Second Heir of House Vaelthyr!"
The nobles lowered their heads in acknowledgment, murmurs of admiration and respect rippling through the crowd.
As the family reached the ballroom's forefront, Selene's gaze flicked to the side—to Sylvara.
And then, she smirked.
It was a slow, deliberate expression—the smirk of a victor. A silent message.
I am the only rightful wife.
I am the one who belongs here.
You? You are nothing more than a shadow in the past.
Sylvara stood at the far end of the ballroom, watching as Selene's children walked beside their father with ease, showered in admiration and recognition, while she and her son remained kept at the sidelines, unwanted ghosts in their own bloodline.
Kitsaro, too, was watching. Unmoving. Expressionless. Silent.
Yet his silver eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
The Vaelthyr family reached the King and Queen, their regal presence meeting the royal pair in an exchange of mutual respect.
"Duke Zephiron," King Regnar Vaelios Vaeloria greeted, his voice rich with authority. "It has been too long."
Zephiron inclined his head. "Your Majesty. Your Grace." His voice was cool yet respectful as he addressed Queen Amariel Solenne Vaeloria as well.
The Queen's gentle smile was warm as she turned to the young heir. "And young Zion—happy birthday, child. You have grown well."
A murmur of approval spread through the gathered nobles.
Zephiron rested a firm hand on Zion's shoulder. "My son will be awakening his bloodline. The strength of Vaelzaryn flows within him."
The King nodded in approval. "Then congratulations are in order. House Vaelthyr continues to prove its legacy."
More murmurs of admiration. More praise. More recognition.
All of it directed at Selene's children.
Sylvara watched, her fingers curling subtly into the fabric of her gown. She had long since mastered the art of quiet composure, but even she could not ignore the weight of exclusion.
She and Kitsaro stood at the edge of a world that should have been theirs—yet they were treated as if they were never meant to exist at all.