The invitation had been sitting with them for weeks.
Not ignored—never that—but unhurried, folded neatly into the rhythm of their days like something that would come when it was meant to. Lord Starwhisper's observatory was not a novelty to be seized—it was an inevitability waiting for the right moment to settle into place.
That moment arrived over breakfast.
Illidan joined the family early that morning, the way he had begun to do without comment. The villa was bright with soft light and the smell of tea, the table already laid when he took his seat beside Lytavis.
She had a note tucked near her plate.
Illidan noticed it at once. He always did.
"I heard from Lynath again," Lytavis said, touching the parchment. "Just a reminder—very polite—that his invitation still stands."
Illidan glanced at her. "As if we would forget."
She smiled faintly. "As if he would let us."
Lucien leaned back, thoughtful. "He's been patient."
"He has," Lytavis agreed. "Which is why I thought… perhaps tomorrow night?"
She looked between them, not tentative, just checking the shape of the day ahead.
Lucien considered only a moment. "Tomorrow would be acceptable."
Illidan nodded. "Yes, tomorrow."
The ease of their answers surprised her, though she hadn't truly doubted them. "Then I'll send word," she said. "I imagine he'll appreciate having a date at last."
After breakfast, Lucien and Illidan disappeared into the study as usual, voices already shifting toward theory and practice. Lytavis lingered behind, helping Zoya clear a cup she didn't need help with.
"Would you like to come?" Lytavis asked casually. "To Tel'anor."
Zoya smiled, fond and decisive. "No. The stars and I have never agreed on much. I prefer my wonder closer to the ground."
Lytavis laughed. "Fair enough."
She went upstairs shortly after, settling at the writing desk near the window. Her reply was brief—warm, appreciative, confirming tomorrow night without ceremony. She folded it neatly and carried it back downstairs.
Skye was perched in the kitchen as usual, head tucked beneath one wing, pretending to be asleep while missing nothing at all.
"I need you, love," Lytavis said.
One glossy eye opened at once.
Lytavis slipped the note into Skye's beak. "Lord Starwhisper's," she told her, already lifting the raven gently from her perch. Skye settled against her arm without fuss, accustomed to this ritual.
They crossed the hall together. Lytavis opened the front door, cool morning air brushing her face.
"All right," she murmured. "Off you go."
Skye launched herself into the air in a burst of black feathers, wingbeats strong and certain as she vanished toward Suramar.
Skye returned before midday.
Lytavis was in the garden then, skirts gathered at her knees as she knelt beside the herb beds. Ginger lay nearby in a patch of sun, tail flicking lazily as she supervised. Lytavis moved slowly and with care, snipping rosemary and moonmint, laying them out in a shallow basket to dry later for potions and salves.
A familiar shadow crossed the stone.
Skye landed on the bench with a soft thump, wings settling. A folded note was clenched neatly in her beak.
"Well done," Lytavis said fondly.
She took the note and, in exchange, drew a small piece of cookie from her apron pocket—saved for exactly this purpose. Skye accepted it delicately and began to eat, crumbs falling onto the stone as Lytavis opened the parchment.
Lord Starwhisper's hand was unmistakable. Gracious. Precise. Pleased.
I will have my carriage sent for you before dusk.
Lytavis smiled.
She folded the note, tucked it safely away, and reached out to stroke Skye's head once. The raven croaked softly, leaning into Lytavis's hand.
Ginger lifted her head, unimpressed but attentive.
"Tomorrow night," Lytavis murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Above them, the sky remained clear and untroubled.
For now.