In the Shadow of What If's

Between the Lines and Graying Skies

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Between the Lines and Graying Skies

The morning sun poured through Evermoor's eastern windows in golden slants, setting the polished wood floors aglow and coaxing warmth into the long corridors. It had rained the night before, and the smell of earth and distant lavender lingered in the air.

Euphemia sat in the garden room, sipping tea with a croissant perched delicately on her saucer and an eyebrow arched at the chessboard in front of her. Thomas sat across from her, chin resting in his hands, Morrigan lazily draped around his shoulders like a living scarf with a crown of inky feathers that shimmered subtly as she shifted.

"You do know your bishop is doomed, darling," Euphemia said, not unkindly.

Thomas squinted. "I was hoping you wouldn't see that."

She smirked. "Then you've clearly not been paying attention."

He was about to respond when his head tilted, eyes narrowing toward the far hall that overlooked the garden.

"Hmm?"

Euphemia followed his gaze.

There—just beyond the glass doors—stood Harrison and Isadora.

They weren't doing anything inappropriate. In fact, they weren't even standing all that close.

Harrison had just finished adjusting the south-facing wardstones, and Isadora had approached with her usual collected grace. They were speaking softly—so softly the words couldn't be made out from here—but something about the moment felt different.

Their postures mirrored each other slightly. Both standing with arms loosely folded, expressions more relaxed than usual. And then—

Harrison said something that made Isadora smile.

A real smile.

One that lifted her eyes and softened the sternness that so often rested at her brow.

And then—he smiled back.

Not the polite, public one he gave the Ministry or the one reserved for diplomatic deflections.

A quiet, open smile.

Euphemia's gaze lingered a second longer, then slowly returned to the chessboard, a small knowing curve forming at the corner of her mouth.

Thomas, however, wasn't done watching.

He tilted his head and murmured, "Do you think... I'd ever have a mum?"

Euphemia paused.

She set her tea down gently, eyes flicking over the rim of her glasses.

"Do you want one, dear?"

Thomas didn't answer right away. Morrigan shifted across his shoulders, pressing the length of her body along his spine like she could feel the vulnerability curling behind his ribs.

"I think... it might be nice," he said finally. "I love Father. But sometimes... it feels like he needs someone to hold him, too."

Euphemia's throat tightened.

It never ceased to amaze her how children saw what adults refused to speak aloud.

She reached across the table and squeezed Thomas's hand lightly. "If he ever chooses someone, I have no doubt it'll be someone who sees the world the way you do. And who chooses both of you."

Thomas smiled faintly.

Then reached for his knight.

Euphemia didn't move to stop him.