"As bearer of Envy, Your Highness, your power must never be taken lightly." Gidion Swan ran his fingers along the glowing runes of his grimoire. "You cannot skip mana training."

Princess Eydis lay on the damp grass and stared at the eternally gray sky above the royal gardens. It was a sky caught forever in that liminal space between night and dawn, like someone trapped in indecision.

"Not a single raindrop," she said idly, her voice floating between daydream and complaint. "I wonder, does the sky hold grudges?"

Gidion coughed. "Your Highness, I regret to ask, but are you philosophising again, or did I lose you halfway through my sentence?"

"Philosophy? No, just an observation." Eydis sketched invisible clouds in the air. "No sun, no storms, not even a drop of rain."

"I doubt it's ever just an observa—"

"Feels like we're trapped between breaths. Neither alive nor dead."

"There it is," Gidion sighed, resigned.

Eydis smirked. "Don't you ever wonder what's beyond all this?"

Gidion closed the grimoire and looked at her with something gentler than reprimand. It made her feel exposed. Emotion felt as vast and unknowable to her as the sky beyond Mythshollow, and just as rarely acknowledged by her royal parents.

"Your Highness, must you always deflect with a question?

"Must every question be a deflection?" she retorted playfully. " Perhaps I'm exercising my royal charm to make the conversation more interesting."

"Are you slightly interested in today's lesson?

"Hmm…." Eydis pretended to consider. "No."

"But—"

"I've memorised everything in the Forbidden Library, including Mother's blood-inscribed scrolls." She stretched lazily.

"But memorising isn't—"

"—understanding? Trust me, I understand perfectly." She grinned. "I could even recite her monologues, with feelings. Right down to the way she pauses after every sentence to admire her own echo-o-o."

Gidion gave her a look of pure exasperation with no real heat.

"Knowledge alone isn't wisdom, Your Highness," he said, though his smile gave him away. "Even the oldest grimoires miss the true nature of the Sins. Their secrets live and die with each bearer."

Eydis sat up. "Now that sounds worth hearing. Tell me more."

"Those books were written by scholars who observed at a safe distance. No one understands a Sin until they carry it. Especially Pride."

"Ah, yes, Her Majesty." Eydis raised her hand, and an obsidian serpent coiled around her wrist. "So why didn't she bother writing that down? Is secrecy just the royal approach to parenting?"

"Her Majesty knew that each bearer must find their own path," Gidion replied carefully. "Some are consumed. Others fight back, endlessly, just to hold the line."

"That much I know intimately." Eydis brushed her fingers lightly against Envy's scales. "It's like keeping a very loud, very unpleasant pet in your skull."

Gidion's brown eyes met hers. There was pride, but more importantly concern.

And that made her look away. "Relax. It's practically meditation for me."

"You understand more than most," Gidion said softly. "More than many twice your age."

In truth, he meant none at all. Mythshollow was haunted by lesser evils: diluted echoes and fragments of the true Sins. The townsfolk had refined their binding techniques over generations. Yet only few attempted to bind a primal Sin, fewer still survived.

Power, yes. But at what cost?

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"Did you expect me to be as naive as those fools who think binding a Sin makes them invincible?" She laughed once. "We're glorified jailers, bleeding ourselves to keep the doors shut. And somehow we're the ones people tell horror stories about."

"How did you—"

"—figure that out? Please. These Sins didn't pop out of nowhere. They're what happens when human flaws rot too long. I can handle Envy. Now your Sin, the one you so lovingly call Raven…" She let it hang, smiling as Gidion's eyes narrowed.

"Not bad. Looks like our young prodigy is thinking beyond the textbooks. I almost mistook you for… well, a slacker."

"Prodigy?" she scoffed. "Try curious kid with a dangerous hobby. I still remember Her Majesty's face when I first summoned Envy. That was the first time I saw her crack."

"She wasn't pleased?"

"Sad, if you can believe it. Almost like she remembered how to be human."

Gidion stayed silent for a while, as though caught between what he could say and what was better left unsaid. When he spoke, it was the safer path.

"And you weren't afraid? What made you try binding one so young?"

"There were reasons," she said. "And yes, I was afraid. Still am. But fear doesn't change truth. The truth doesn't care if you're ready. Besides, I wouldn't mind borrowing her Pride for a day. Just to see what makes her so insufferable."

"Your Highness!" Gidion's scandalised gasp made her laugh.

"What? Ambition is a virtue, isn't it?" Her gaze turned sly. "But really, why did you avoid my question?"

"What question would that be?"

She dispersed Envy and severed the link. "Why stay here? Your mind's wasted in a kingdom without sun, stars, or rain, teaching an inconvenient princess."

"'Inconvenient' is harsh. I prefer 'challenging'." He tried a teasing smile. When she didn't smile back, he added, "And have I mentioned how deeply I value your concern?"

"That's deflection," she accused, cheeks warming. "Admit it, you're hiding something."

He rose. "There are indeed matters I care about here."

"Someone, you mean," she challenged, standing to meet his gaze. "Someone worth forsaking the sun, the stars, the rain? Quite a high price for devotion."

"Price?" Gidion murmured, eyes distant, following the elliptical flight of ravens.

He usually stopped there. He was good at stepping around the personal. But his breath caught; his eyes tracked the birds a fraction too long.

He always looked up when a truth pressed too close.

"Maybe one day, when the rain finally falls, you'll see things with a different perspective," he said softly.

"I'll believe it when Pride's bearer sheds a tear or two. Now that would be worth seeing, wouldn't it?"

Gidion's laughter was infectious. "Then, I fear, you may be waiting forever."

"Very bold. If she turns you into a statue, I'm not helping," Eydis deadpanned. "I'll just decorate you with flowers or something."

Their laughter faded on the wind.

Queen Eydis watched the raindrops race each other down the windshield, like the tears the former queen had never dared shed. She eased her grip on the wheel. The hard turn she'd taken earlier to silence the pompous politician in her rearview had been justified.

But no speed could outpace the past.

She caught a glimpse of Noah's reflection just as he sucked in a dramatic breath, clearly preparing for yet another soliloquy of self-importance.

"Pride!" he thundered. "Show yourself!"

A violet haze seeped from the footwell and slid around him like a serpent. Emboldened by this, he laughed, the relief evident.

"End this masquerade!" He dropped his voice, trying for menace. "Come now. I don't have all night."

The car's interior was silent except for the faint rush of the heater. The airtight system made it seem deceptively calm, and the electric motor stayed soundless even as they tore blindly toward the city's darkened edges.

Noah took a deep breath. "Pride, I summoned you!"

That earned a chuckle from Eydis.

"Summon? And I must say, calling this a masquerade is quite fitting. But not in the way you think, Senator. Still, by all means, shout louder."

He clicked his tongue. "Pride!"

"Or you could try flattery. It's surprisingly effective on those who can't get enough of themselves."

"Enough of your insolence, child! Foolish to think such pathetic taunts can move me."

"Child? Oh, be serious. 'Your Majesty' suits me far better."

"If you ruled anything, I would know. You're nothing but an irritating shadow trying to poison my bond with Pride."

"Shadows," she corrected, barely paying attention. She thought back to the same conversation with Astra and her mouth lifted despite herself.

Focus.

"For all your skill at deception, you're remarkably easy to deceive yourself, Senator. Seems to run in the family," she added.

He fumed. "How dare you?" Then, almost pitiful, his eyes turned pleading toward the mist. "Pride, remind this fool of her place!"

But the mist remained motionless, so still it was almost as if frozen.

"P-please."

Eydis followed his gaze and clapped once. "Oh, this? Wrong Sin. Envy, say hello."

The mist drew together, sleek and black, a serpent with an obsidian sheen. Its tongue flicked, clearly amused, clearly teasing him. It climbed Noah's chest and looped his throat. His eyes bulged.

"Envy?" he rasped.

"And here I thought he'd never stop talking." She turned to Envy. "You're late. Tell me, did she follow your essence?"

"Finding you at this breakneck speed is a challenge, Your Majesty," Envy grumbled. "But she didn't, not this time."

"Some tricks work only once." She clenched her jaw.

"So, why the distraction? Worried she might get hurt?"

"Watch yourself, Envy. Speculation is a dangerous habit in my presence."

The serpent flinched, then squeezed Noah until his face turned deep purple.

"Forgive me, but I trust you don't mind that he overheard, Your Majesty."

Catching Envy's little powerplay, Eydis's voice turned sly. "Not in the slightest. He won't live to tell anyway."

From the back seat, Noah clawed at the scales. "F—Help! Pride!"

"Persistent," she said. "But did you truly think Pride was behind this little game?"

Horror bled across his features. She could almost hear the slow grind as his thoughts caught up.

"Sorry to pop your bubble, Senator, but Pride has a taste for a very specific kind of company. You'd need a miracle just to be a varlet."

And just like that…

Click.

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