The afternoon sun bathed the palace gardens in golden warmth, casting soft light through the silken parasols and floral-draped trellises. Astrid's private garden, secluded and artfully curated, bloomed with colors only she could command—a mosaic of lilies, moon-blooms, and imperial roses bred only for the royal bloodline.
The long garden table was already set: delicate porcelain cups, golden teapots, sugared pastries, fruit tarts, and carefully arranged meat pies graced the embroidered cloth. The servants bowed and quietly exited, leaving the space in perfect, sun-dappled silence.
Then, the laughter began.
"—You cried. Don't lie about it, Kael," Elion was saying as he leaned back, smirking lazily over his teacup.
"I did not cry!" Kael shot back, flushed. "It was dust. In the forest. There were ashes in the air!"
"Your eyes were red for an hour," Dain deadpanned, slicing into a tart.
Maleus sipped his tea in silence, though his smile betrayed him. "For the record, I do believe Kael. The forest was... dusty."
"Traitor," Elion muttered, to which Astrid giggled and passed him a sugar cube.
Rythe, sitting at the far end, watched them with quiet amusement. His sleeves were rolled, his posture relaxed for once, and even the guards posted nearby appeared looser, sensing the moment wasn't made for war.
"Rhalia, do sit," Astrid called as their eldest sister arrived last, her hair coiled into a braid, her gown as sharp as her tongue.
"I was delayed," Rhalia said with a dramatic sigh. "One of the court ladies was asking if Rythe was accepting marriage proposals again."
Rythe choked slightly on his tea.
"Oh gods," Vaela murmured, grinning.
Astrid clapped her hands. "Perfect timing! Rythe, you must answer. Will the brave warhound prince finally take a consort?"
"Only if you suggest someone not from this kingdom," Rythe said dryly.
"You've grown picky," Kael muttered.
"You tried to kill me. Your opinion doesn't count yet," Rythe replied smoothly, taking a sip.
The entire table broke into laughter—sharp, amused, some laced with relief.
The emperor, who had been seated at the head beside Astrid, let the humor pass without interruption. His gaze lingered not on the food, but on his children—each grown, each flawed, but gathered. Together. Peaceful.
"I forget," he said suddenly, his voice a gravelled murmur, "how loud you all are when you're not trying to outmaneuver each other."
That brought a stillness. Then a laugh from Dain.
"We learned from the best."
The emperor raised his cup in a silent toast. "To my children. May your chaos never outgrow your loyalty."
They raised their cups—every last one.
Even Rythe.
As the laughter settled into gentle murmurs, Rythe leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. His tone, though casual, held a steady weight beneath the humor.
"But tell me," he said, his eyes shifting between Maleus and Rhalia, "why are they not here?"
The siblings looked around in brief confusion before understanding dawned.
"Your partners," Rythe clarified with a tilt of his head. "We're family. And if we're gathered like this—then the people you've chosen to share your lives with should be here too. They've earned their place."
Maleus glanced at the emperor hesitantly, while Rhalia's lips tightened into a small, unreadable line. Both of them looked toward their father.
The emperor did not respond immediately. He gazed down at the untouched teacup before him, the tension returning to his expression. But before anyone could speak, Rythe stood.
"I'm not asking to stir the court," Rythe said quietly but firmly. "Just that for once, we remember we are more than titles and bloodlines. If we must fight the world, let us at least not fight those we call ours."
Astrid added softly, "He's right, father."
"And it's just tea," Dain shrugged. "We're not exactly swearing in emperors here."
Elion smirked. "Unless the tea is poisoned. In which case, better we're all together."
That finally earned a huff from the emperor, almost a reluctant chuckle. He lifted a hand in dismissal. "Fine. Have them join us. But they'd best not make a mess of the seating."
Rythe smiled faintly and turned to a guard. "Go. Bring Maleus' and Rhalia's partners. Escort them respectfully."
The guard bowed and left at once.
Not long after, two figures were led into the garden—one was Maleus' omega partner, a quiet, composed man with soft features and careful eyes. The other was Rhalia's bold and elegant alpha wife, tall and poised in her pale blue cloak, chin high despite the scrutiny of the royal eyes around her.
They paused at the edge of the garden, uncertain. The air grew stiff with awkwardness.
Until Rythe broke the silence.
"Well," he said dryly, "at least now the tea party has a proper scandal. It was beginning to feel far too respectable."
Everyone burst into laughter—genuine, unrestrained, healing. Even the newcomers smiled in surprise, and the tension dissolved like sugar in hot water.
Rhalia reached out and took her wife's hand, guiding her to an empty seat beside her. Maleus gently pulled out a chair for his partner and whispered something that made him smile.
The emperor remained quiet, watching them. But he did not object.
The air was still full of laughter, Kael and Vaela in the middle of a fast-paced, theatrical argument over which of them had more suitors in their youth. Their voices were dramatic and overly loud, with Kael waving a spoon like a sword while Vaela feigned swooning into Astrid's lap, gasping dramatically.
"My suitors fought a duel in the garden—"
"Over your recipe for burnt honey cakes, perhaps!"
That brought a round of raucous laughter from the entire table—cups clinking, elbows nudging, and even the emperor, for once, smiling faintly.
Just then, Lareth entered the garden, drawing everyone's attention as he bowed with crisp, soldierly grace.
"Your Majesty. Your Highnesses."
Rythe turned to him, expecting a routine report. But when Lareth bent to whisper something in his ear, Rythe's entire body went rigid. The warmth in his eyes faded instantly, replaced with something unreadable. A long silence hung between them.
Maelus noticed first, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward. "Rythe?"
The table quieted. Rhalia, Elion, even the quarreling ones paused and looked toward their brother.
Rythe sat back, exhaled slowly, and ran a hand down his face, massaging his temple.
"She's here," he said quietly. "Our mother."
It took a moment for the words to register.
"Our omega mother," he clarified, his voice low but firm. "She's in the palace. She wishes to speak to us."
Shock rippled across the table like a thunderclap. Chairs shifted. Gasps were stifled. Every pair of eyes turned, almost in unison, to the emperor.
The color had drained from the emperor's face. He gripped the armrest of his chair as though it alone grounded him in place. His mouth parted, then closed again. He said nothing.
Kael looked between his siblings and the emperor. "Is this… is it a jest?"
"No," Rythe replied calmly. "Lareth confirmed it himself."
Rhalia's fingers slowly set down her teacup, which now trembled in her hand.
Astrid's eyes were wide. "She's alive?"
"She never died," Maelus said bitterly, his voice quiet but sure. "She left. And we were told to forget."
A heavy silence fell over the table, the cheerful tone of moments ago reduced to brittle fragments.
With their father mute and distant, it was Maelus who finally straightened, reclaiming control. His voice was calm, measured, but held the quiet force of someone long prepared for buried truths.
"We decide," Maelus said, meeting each sibling's gaze in turn. "Together. She's our mother. What do we do?"
Rythe leaned forward, steady once more. "Let her in."
The others nodded, each with varying degrees of uncertainty and wariness, but no one opposed him.
Rythe turned to Lareth. "Escort her in."
Lareth bowed. "At once, Highness."
As he departed, the royal family remained frozen in place—half-emptied cups before them, sweet pastries untouched, hearts pounding in anticipation of a ghost long thought buried.
And beyond the hedges, beyond the quiet walkways of the garden, footsteps approached.