Kyyre had been deep in the kind of sleep that made his bones feel like lead, the exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. The moment the knock sounded at his door, his body reacted before his mind could catch up. He jolted awake with a strangled yelp, disoriented, tangled in the sheets that refused to let him go.

With a thud, he tumbled from the bed, crashing onto the cold floor in a mess of blankets and limbs. A groggy groan slipped from his lips as he tried to make sense of where he was, his bleary eyes struggling to focus.

The blonde woman at the door peered in, eyes filled with mild concern. “Are you alright, sir?”

Kyyre could only manage a pitiful, sleepy whimper in response. His body still felt heavy, like it was fighting to drag him back under.

The woman sighed softly, stepping inside and kneeling beside him, her hands gentle as she helped untangle him from the mess of fabric. “Dinner has been called,” she said, bowing her head slightly.

Dinner.

Kyyre’s brain caught up, and suddenly, he was scrambling to his feet. “Oh, gods—” The words barely left his mouth before he was sprinting to the bath, nearly knocking over his maid in his frantic attempt to make himself presentable. She gasped, startled, as he all but threw himself into the water, scrubbing at his skin with the urgency of someone about to be dragged in front of a tribunal.

Five minutes. That was all he had.

Water splashed everywhere, and Kyyre barely noticed the damp floor as he burst out of the bath, yanking on a hastily grabbed outfit—a black button-up, a slightly wrinkled vest, and dark dress pants that had probably been neatly folded at some point before he’d ruined them by rushing. His damp hair stuck to his forehead as he bolted for the door, pushing it open—

And slamming directly into something solid.

The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, and he stumbled backward, barely keeping his balance. A low, unimpressed grunt confirmed who he’d run into before Kyyre even had to look up.

Astrid.

The older man stood there, arms crossed, dressed in an outfit similar in its non-formality but far more put-together. His knuckles were bloodied, the bruising along his jaw stark against his skin, fresh wounds from training layered over the ones from earlier. He looked as if he hadn’t stopped moving since the trial.

Astrid exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing as he surveyed Kyyre’s disheveled state. “You’re a disaster,” he muttered, voice low as they started walking.

Kyyre huffed, still breathless from his sprint. “I overslept.”

Astrid shot him a sideways glance. “Yeah, no shit.” He shook his head, voice dropping as they neared the dining hall. “You’re lucky I didn’t have to come get you myself. Move faster next time.”

Kyyre scowled, rubbing at his still-damp hair. “I didn’t exactly mean to sleep through everything.”

Astrid didn’t reply, just scoffed, shoving open the heavy doors to the dining hall and nudging Kyyre inside with a firm push to his back.

The moment Kyyre stepped in, his eyes found Leon.

It was immediate, as if his brain had been wired to seek him out. There he was, sitting with that effortless air about him, his presence filling the space like gravity. Kyyre’s stomach twisted, his throat suddenly dry.

Astrid noticed.

With a sharp nudge, he guided Kyyre toward his seat, forcing him down before he could do something embarrassing—like continue to stare. Kyyre forced himself to look away, but the moment he was off his feet, the weight of exhaustion hit him like a crashing wave.

His body slumped forward.

Astrid sighed, exasperated but not surprised. Without a word, he reached out, pressing a firm palm to Kyyre’s chest, pushing him back against the chair before he could collapse like a ragdoll.

“Sit up,” Astrid muttered, holding him steady. “Try not to fall asleep on your plate.”

Kyyre groaned softly but obeyed, eyes fluttering as he struggled to keep them open. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get through dinner without faceplanting into his food.