The booth was exactly where I remembered it—half hidden behind a pillar carved with glyphs no one claimed to understand, the wood worn smooth by elbows, daggers, and too many secrets.

The Howling Moon never stayed still for long, but this spot always found us again. Like it remembered who needed it most.

Lanternlight pooled over the table, soft blue bleeding into warm amber with every burst of laughter from the crowd. The air was a living thing—salt, smoke, honey, sweat. I could feel it cling to my skin, the way the Veil did when it was listening.

Naomi slid a tankard of honey-smoke ale across the table toward me with the grace of a bartender and the menace of a sister.

“Your Grace of Starveil,” she drawled, voice dripping reverence that had absolutely nothing holy about it, “so kind of you to grace us commoners with your royal presence.”

Kess didn’t even look up from the blade she was cleaning. “Careful, Duchess. Word is they charge extra for titles in this part of town.”

The ale fizzed gently when I took a sip, the warmth rolling down my throat like liquid sunlight. “Good thing I can afford it,” I said, deadpan.

They all laughed. Even Kael cracked a smile over the rim of her glass.

Cassie leaned forward, elbow on the table, chin in her hand. Her smirk was soft and sharp all at once. “You really are collecting titles faster than Naomi collects bar fights.”

I kicked her under the table—not hard enough to bruise, just enough to earn that lazy grin that could melt my entire sense of consequence.

“Hey,” Naomi said, mock-offended. “I haven’t started a fight in weeks.”

Kess arched a brow. “You mean days.”

“Semantics.”

The banter came easy, warm. Familiar. The kind of noise that smoothed the edges off my thoughts before they could spiral. The hum in my brain—always too loud, too fast—had been quiet all afternoon thanks to whatever charm Gorgan had slipped me before class. But it was wearing thin now. I could feel the rush creeping back in: sound sharp, color sharper, every heartbeat too bright.

I let my focus narrow, cataloging details until the noise became manageable again.

The condensation on my glass, catching light like miniature constellations.

The distant sound of dice hitting wood and the cheer that followed.

Cassie’s hand tapping a rhythm against her thigh, perfectly offbeat, like she knew I was counting.

It helped. It always did.

Cassie caught me watching her and smiled that quiet, grounding smile that reminded me why she was the calm in every fire I lit. “You good?” she asked softly, too low for anyone else to hear.

“For now,” I said. “Ask me again when I have to sit through a Solar briefing.”

Her nose scrunched the way it did when she was trying not to laugh. “Maybe your mother will finally let you bring snacks.”

“Doubtful. She still thinks I eat respect and drink diplomacy.”

Kael, seated at the edge of the booth like a shadow pretending to be polite company, snorted into her drink. “You might want to save that line for the Solar,” she said. “It’s the most honest thing you’ve said all week.”

Naomi raised her glass. “To honesty!”

Kess raised her knife instead. “To survival.”

Cassie touched her ring against mine under the table—three soft taps. Breathe. Stay here.

The gesture was small enough to go unnoticed, but it settled something in my chest.

I leaned back in the booth, letting the chaos fold around me. The laughter, the clatter of mugs, the hum of Veil-magic and mortal energy blurring at the seams—it was home in a way palaces never could be.

I thought about the Solar waiting for me, all marble polish and politics. About Roran’s inevitable lecture when he realized I’d vanished from the convoy. He wouldn’t be mad that I’d slipped the guards—he’d be mad because he hadn’t come with me. Because that’s who he was: protector first, friend always, never quite sure how to separate the two.

The thought made me smile. He’d understand. Eventually.

Naomi’s voice cut through my reverie. “You’re smiling. That’s suspicious.”

“Don’t ruin it,” I said.

“Can’t help it. It’s literally my job.”

I rolled my eyes, and Cassie’s laughter filled the space beside me—soft, sincere, grounding.

The Howling Moon hummed in approval.

For a few precious moments, I let myself believe this could last—that I could be both the Duchess of Starveil and the girl who laughed too loud in a bar full of misfits. That I could belong to both worlds without breaking either.

The charm might be fading, but for now, I didn’t need it.

I had this.

I had them.

Naomi pointed her drink at me like it was evidence. “Look at her—straight from class to court. You’re one council meeting away from turning into your mother.”

I groaned, letting my forehead thunk dramatically against the table. “If that ever happens, stage an intervention. Preferably involving fire.”

Kess didn’t look up from sharpening her knife—she didn’t have to. “You say that like we’d need an excuse.”

That earned a round of laughter. Even Kael, posted at the edge of the booth like a professional bodyguard pretending she wasn’t off-duty, cracked a smirk. She lifted her glass of something amber and probably illegal. “Seara would have you escorted out of the city if she knew you were sitting in a place with rust on the door.”

“She can try,” I muttered, sitting up again. “I’d like to see her fit that order into the Solar minutes.”

Cassie’s laugh came low, wicked. “You’re adorable when you threaten government paperwork.”

I turned toward her, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re dangerous when you’re encouraging me.”

Under the table, her fingers brushed my knee—just a light touch, accidental if anyone else asked. The air around us tightened, humming faintly like it remembered fire.

Naomi caught the look between us and grinned, all teeth. “Gods, you two are nauseating.”

Kess didn’t glance up, but her mouth twitched. “Finally,” she said dryly. “A power Mira actually wields—public indecency.”

I threw a napkin at her. “You say that like I started it.”

“You usually do.”

It was unfair how fast they could dismantle me. In the Solar, my words carried weight—every syllable measured, recorded, dissected for meaning. Here, I couldn’t even finish a sentence without being heckled. And somehow, that felt better than applause ever had.

Naomi leaned back, propping her boots on the bench beside her. “So tell us, Your Grace. What’s it like running an entire duchy? Do you make peasants sign NDAs? Is there a dress code for bowing?”

Kess added, “And what does a duchess drink, anyway? Blessed wine? Bottled sunlight?”

I stared down at my ale. “Apparently this.”

Cassie snorted. “That tracks.”

Their laughter rolled over me, warm as a hearth fire, and I let it. Because this was the point. They didn’t care about the duchess title, or the royal bloodline, or the armies that would follow a single order from me. They never had. They cared about whether I was still Mira—the girl who used to sneak out windows and light candles with her fingers just because it felt like control.

I didn’t have to be careful here. I didn’t have to command.

It was the first place in weeks where I wasn’t treated like a story.

Kael was still watching the door—old habits—but she looked at me then, eyes softening. “You know, most nobles would kill to have your kind of power,” she said quietly. “And here you are, hiding in a bar that eats tourists for breakfast.”

I shrugged. “I don’t use power to make myself comfortable.”

Kess tilted her head. “No, you use sarcasm and questionable life choices.”

“Exactly,” Cassie said, and clinked her glass against mine.

Naomi grinned, leaning forward. “That’s our Duchess—too moral for politics, too stubborn for self-preservation.”

They meant it as a joke, but it landed somewhere heavier. I laughed anyway, because that was the only way to keep from flinching.

The truth was simple and sharp: I could summon fire strong enough to melt the gilded gates of the Solar. I could silence rooms full of nobles with a single glare. And yet, I wouldn’t—couldn’t—use any of it for myself. Not to win, not to protect, not even to breathe easier.

Maybe that made me naïve. Maybe that made me dangerous.

But here, surrounded by the people who didn’t bow when they said my name, it just made me Mira.

Cassie’s hand found mine again, her thumb tracing the edge of my ring. “You okay?” she murmured.

I smiled without looking up. “I am now.”

Naomi eyed the slice of berry tart sitting lonely in front of me, fork untouched. “You’re not gonna eat that?”

I arched a brow. “If it’s your baking, no. I’m still recovering from last time.”

She gasped, hand to chest, scandalized. “That was an experimental recipe!”

Cassie smirked. “It exploded.”

Kess didn’t even look up. “And screamed.”

Naomi threw a napkin at her. “You’re all culinary cowards.”

I couldn’t stop laughing—the kind of laugh that cracked through the last of the tension clinging to my ribs. It hit so hard my eyes watered, and Cassie reached over to thumb the corner of one, pretending not to notice how much softer she looked when she did it.

Around us, the Howling Moon seemed to breathe with us—lanterns pulsing warmer, the illusion of brick and wood rippling at the edges. For a heartbeat, the glamour peeled back just enough to show what the tavern really was: something old, alive, stitched together by centuries of laughter and bad decisions. Veillight hummed through the floorboards like a pulse.

The sound rooted under my skin—familiar, grounding, a reminder that not everything ancient was cruel. That sometimes magic just stayed because it liked the people who used it well.

The charm Gorgan had given me was fading fast now. I could feel the edges of my thoughts start to splinter—awareness fracturing in too many directions at once. The room’s color saturation turned up; every sound had a shape. Naomi’s laughter looked like orange static in my head. Kess’s voice was a low, silver hum that made the lights tremble.

I pulled in a breath, tracing the rim of my mug until the world narrowed to that single circle of motion. Anchor point. Breathe in, find the rhythm, match it to something real.

Cassie noticed, of course she did. Her knee bumped mine under the table—three steady presses, grounding. “You good?” she murmured.

“Getting there.” I forced a smile and reached for the fork. “Fine. If it’ll stop the interrogation, I’ll eat the thing.”

The first bite was tart enough to make me blink. The second wasn’t bad. By the third, Naomi was watching me like she’d singlehandedly restored faith in baking.

Cassie grinned. “Look at that. Miracles and Mira in one room.”

Kess groaned. “That pun’s illegal.”

“Everything about her is illegal,” I said around another bite. “Especially the smug face.”

Cassie’s foot brushed mine under the table. “You married it.”

I choked on a laugh. “Technically, you married into it.”

Naomi raised her glass. “To terrible decisions.”

Kael lifted hers in silent agreement.

I leaned back, letting the glow of the moment soak through. But behind the warmth, the unease was creeping back in—tiny, deliberate. The Solar was waiting. A court full of nobles who hated me for being too human and Cassie for not being Fae at all. And we’d be walking in wearing mortal school uniforms like it was Casual Treason Friday.

Cassie must’ve felt the shift in me, because her fingers found mine beneath the table. “Hey,” she said softly, “they’re lucky to have you, you know.”

“They don’t think so,” I muttered.

“Then we’ll make them think it,” she said simply.

I wanted to believe that. I really did. But the Solar wasn’t like this place. The Howling Moon let me exist; the Solar made me prove I deserved to.

I took another sip of ale, finishing it in one swallow. The sweetness burned going down, the honey-smoke settling heavy in my throat.

Naomi stretched, casual but knowing. “You’ve got that ‘noble panic’ look,” she said. “Solar soon?”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing at the clock-shaped glyph hovering over the bar. “Evening session.”

Kess winced. “Those suck.”

“They rearranged the schedule so she could keep playing human,” Cassie said, half-proud, half-defensive. “Every noble in the city’s furious about it.”

Naomi whistled low. “You’re gonna walk in there dressed like that?”

Cassie gestured to her plaid skirt. “What, this isn’t court chic?”

Kess snorted. “You’ll cause an international incident with that hemline.”

“Good,” I said, standing. “Let them choke on it.”

The words came out sharper than I meant, but no one called me on it. They just smiled, proud in their own reckless ways.

Kael downed the rest of her drink and rose too. “Come on, Duchess. Let’s go remind the nobles why they can’t quite replace you.”

I looked around the tavern one last time—the shimmer of laughter in the air, the soft thrum of Veillight under my skin, the scent of honey and smoke and belonging.

The Howling Moon had a way of making the rest of the world seem far away. But duty had a way of catching up.

I touched Cassie’s wrist, just once, and whispered, “Let’s go get in trouble.”

She grinned. “Together?”

“Always.”

Kael checked her watch, then the door, her expression a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection. “If we leave now,” she said, “we can beat Alaric’s search radius before he realizes your ghost decoy isn’t texting back.”

I groaned, slumping back into the booth. “Do I really have to show up like this?” I gestured to my uniform—the plaid skirt, the blazer with the academy crest, the faint coffee stain on my sleeve from an earlier panic in the café line.

Cassie arched a brow, already standing. “Oh yes. Nothing says mortal duchess like plaid and sarcasm.”

Naomi raised her glass in salute. “Don’t forget to curtsy to the finance minister; she loves that.”

Kess smirked, tossing her dagger into its sheath with a practiced flick. “And if anyone asks where you’ve been?”

I finished the last sip of my drink, savoring the warmth one final time before duty swallowed it whole. “Studying psychological myth theory.”

Naomi snorted. “That’s the most honest lie you’ve ever told.”

Kael stood, tugging her jacket straight, always ready to slip back into professionalism at a second’s notice. “You two realize,” she said, glancing between me and Cassie, “that every minute we stand here is another minute closer to me explaining to the High Lady why her daughter outsmarted an entire convoy.”

Cassie slid out of the booth, her shoulder brushing mine in that deliberate way that made oxygen optional. “Come on, Duchess,” she said with a grin that promised trouble. “Time to rule something that doesn’t involve alcohol.”

I sighed, dragging my bag over one shoulder. “That’s all politics is, Cass. Less drinkable alcohol, more fermented egos.”

Kess barked a laugh. “And you’re still the sanest one of them.”

Naomi swatted at me affectionately as we passed. “Go melt some marble, Your Grace. We’ll keep the seats warm.”

The words were teasing, but the looks weren’t. Beneath the laughter, I could feel it—their faith, their pride, the silent reminder that no matter how high the courts climbed, I’d always have gravity waiting here for me.

The charm’s calm might have faded, but their belief in me still buzzed steady under my skin.

We made our way to the door. The tavern seemed to know it—lanterns dimming, the Veil-light fading to a softer hue, as if it were tucking itself back to sleep until we came home again. The glamour shimmered around the walls in muted farewell.

Naomi called out from behind the bar, “Try not to start any wars before dessert!”

Kess’s laugh followed close behind. “No promises!”

Kael ushered us toward the exit, muttering something that sounded like “royals” but couldn’t quite disguise the small smile curling at the edge of her mouth.

Outside, the city air hit sharp and clean—a slap of reality against the honeyed warmth we’d just left behind. The neon haze of Grimwall shimmered on puddled asphalt, colors fracturing into veins of violet and gold.

Cassie bumped my shoulder as we walked, her voice low. “Still worth it?”

I looked back once. The sign over the tavern door flickered faintly—the letters of Howling Moon rearranging themselves again, cycling through languages like memories.

“Always,” I said.

Her hand found mine, our rings catching the Veillight. The glow lingered there—warm, steady, unbothered by distance or duty.

As we walked toward the waiting car and the long road back to the Solar, I could still taste the faint sweetness of honey-smoke on my tongue and the echo of laughter in my chest.