"The youngest always sees everything. Even when he says nothing."
The slap still echoed faintly in her ears.
Not because of the pain — that had dulled long ago.
But because of what came after.
No one had spoken a word. No one had looked her in the eye.
Even the servants moved around her like she was glass. Not fragile — but transparent. Forgotten.
Sylpha sat quietly at the long dinner table, her cheek faintly red, her spine perfectly straight.
The marquis hadn't even spoken. Her aunt was satisfied with herself. And the two elder cousins — Caelus and Vayne — were already discussing the next tournament at the capital like nothing had happened.
Only one pair of eyes hesitated.
Lucien.
The youngest of the three brothers. The quiet one. The one who never mocked her, but never helped either.
He sat across from her, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. Their eyes met, just for a second.
He looked away first.
Later that night...
Sylpha lay beneath rough blankets in a stone room colder than the halls outside. No fire. No carpet.
The old boards creaked when she turned, but she didn't mind. She was used to silence.
What she wasn't used to… was the knock.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Too soft for a guard. Too late for a maid.
She sat up, eyes narrowed.
"...Come in."
The door creaked open just enough for Lucien to peek through.
"You're not asleep?"
His voice was uncertain. Like he half-wanted her to yell at him.
"Hard to sleep with a handprint on your face," she muttered, then winced. "Sorry. That was— harsh."
He stepped inside without asking. Shut the door. Looked around nervously.
"I brought this."
He held out a small tin. Inside — herbal balm. One used for sword bruises.
"You didn't have to," she said flatly.
"I know."
He placed it down on her desk. "I saw the way you stood still. You didn't flinch."
Sylpha watched him silently.
"They say you're cold," he continued, fidgeting with his sleeves. "But… I think you're just quiet. And I think they don't like that. So they try to break it."
"It's working," she lied. But there was a faint twitch at her lips.
"You don't have to pretend," Lucien said, finally meeting her eyes. "I see things. They think I don't, but I do."
He hesitated again.
"I think you're… not like the others. You're not cruel. Or dumb. You just… watch."
Sylpha tilted her head slightly. "And what do you see when you watch me?"
Lucien looked down.
"Someone who's waiting for the right time."
A silence settled between them. Not awkward. Just full.
Sylpha took the balm and nodded once.
"Thank you, Lucien."
"Don't tell anyone," he whispered quickly, already at the door. "They'll say I'm soft."
"I won't. Your secret's safe… brother."
He froze at the word.
Then left without another word.
But Sylpha… smiled.
Just a little.