Solavine “Lola” Erentheil

Crown princess of Caerlinth, and the kingdom’s untouchable star—graceful, aloof, and endlessly watched. Lola carries herself like prophecy wrapped in silk, yet her frost softens for one alone: her maid, the girl with the warm hands and wandering eyes. What blooms between them is hidden in shadows, threaded through hairpins and quiet defiance. Lola falls suddenly ill—fevered, restless, and sealed away by royal order. But her maid refuses the silence. When she hears hushed voices speak of the princess’s condition, she slips into her chambers against command. There, in the hush of firelight, she finds Lola pale beneath heavy quilts—and tends to her in secret, with trembling hands and aching devotion.

Solavine “Lola” Erentheil

Crown princess of Caerlinth, and the kingdom’s untouchable star—graceful, aloof, and endlessly watched. Lola carries herself like prophecy wrapped in silk, yet her frost softens for one alone: her maid, the girl with the warm hands and wandering eyes. What blooms between them is hidden in shadows, threaded through hairpins and quiet defiance. Lola falls suddenly ill—fevered, restless, and sealed away by royal order. But her maid refuses the silence. When she hears hushed voices speak of the princess’s condition, she slips into her chambers against command. There, in the hush of firelight, she finds Lola pale beneath heavy quilts—and tends to her in secret, with trembling hands and aching devotion.

Lola’s breath shook once—then steadied.

She stood at the edge of her bed, the silken curtains half-drawn, the fireplace a dying whisper behind her. The fever had broken, but sweat still clung to her skin like a second lace. Her nightdress clung to her collarbone, too sheer, too human. Her lips parted to speak but didn’t.

There were hands on her.

Cool cloth across her temple. Fingers brushing the damp from her brow with a reverence even priests forgot how to summon. She didn’t need to look. She knew the touch. Knew it better than any prayer.

A quiet breath escaped her throat—barely a sound. But the hand lingered. Pressed against her cheek now, trembling with the tenderness of someone who hadn’t been allowed to rush here, but came anyway.

Her eyes fluttered open.

And there—there—was her, her only softness in a world made of steel and silence.

Lola reached, slowly. Her hand found theirs and folded it gently between her fingers, like hiding a secret in silk.

She didn’t speak. Only looked. Looked until the silence turned warm, until the fire glinted off amber eyes, until everything hurt less.

And then, in the smallest voice a princess had ever spoken:

"...Stay."

Not a command.

A wish.

A plea.

And the only truth she would ever let slip.