Third Person's POV
Night fell softly over Solara, wrapping the golden kingdom in muted shades of rose and amber. The palace glowed faintly beneath the dimming sky, its walls catching the last glimmers of fading sunlight — a beauty that felt almost cruel after the chaos of the day before.
Trumpets sounded from the courtyard — steady, regal, echoing off marble and gold. The Empress of Noctyra had arrived.
Her procession swept through the gates like a tide of shadow and flame. Carriages of black steel trimmed with silver rolled across the golden roads, their wheels whispering over stone. Soldiers in armor that shimmered like dark glass marched in perfect formation. At the head rode Empress Rhenessa Daelora, her deep green hair catching the torchlight as if it held the forest night itself.
From her tower chamber, Queen Talia do Sol could see the faint glint of the arriving procession. Her reflection wavered in the glass, pale and weary. The world beyond her balcony burned with lanterns and celebration, but she felt hollow inside.
Only last night, her life had shattered before the eyes of her court.
Maris — a woman of no noble blood, no name of legacy — had stepped out of the royal carriage on her husband's arm, her soft curls crowned with pale gold, her smile radiant. And then the whispers had spread like wildfire: four months pregnant. The King's child.
Talia's heart still stung with the echo of gasps, the sound of her own pulse roaring in her ears as the truth had unfolded in front of everyone.
Now, she sat half-dressed at the edge of her bed, her golden shawl slipping from her shoulders. The chamber smelled faintly of jasmine and marigold — scents that once brought her calm, now cloying and heavy.
Stella stepped quietly into the room. "Your Majesty," she said softly, "the Empress of Noctyra has arrived at the palace gates. The King… has gone to greet her in your stead."
Talia's lips trembled into a faint smile — one entirely without joy. "Of course he has," she murmured. "He finds time for everyone but his queen."
"My Queen, you should rest—"
"I've rested long enough," Talia interrupted, her voice tired but sharp. She rose to her feet, though her movements were slow, careful. "I won't be seen as weak, not tonight."
Yet even as she spoke, her knees wavered beneath her, and Stella caught her arm quickly. The healer's words from that morning echoed in Talia's mind: too much strain, too little food, too little sleep.
Below, in the golden courtyard, King Caelen descended the palace steps to meet the Empress. He wore Solara's ceremonial colors — gold threaded with sage — and the same composed smile that had fooled so many. The crowd bowed as he extended his hand toward Rhenessa.
"Empress Rhenessa Daelora," he greeted smoothly, "it is an honor to welcome the ruler of Noctyra to Solara."
The Empress dismounted her stallion in one fluid motion, her long cloak trailing like smoke behind her. "King Caelen," she replied evenly. "I was told Queen Talia herself would greet me. Is she… unwell?"
The words fell like a blade in the air — polite, but heavy.
Caelen's smile faltered for only a heartbeat. "The Queen is resting," he answered, tone measured. "She sends her regrets."
Rhenessa inclined her head slightly. "Then I wish her strength. I hope Solara's light has not dimmed."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, sharp and assessing, before she allowed herself to be escorted into the palace.
From her window, Talia watched the last of the procession disappear through the gates. A strange calm washed over her — exhaustion and fury locked in quiet battle beneath her chest.
She whispered into the stillness, "Let him play king for now." Her voice was barely audible, but the edge in it gleamed like the setting sun.
Beyond the horizon, night crept closer — and with it came shadows bearing change.
….
Morning light spilled through gauzy curtains, painting soft gold over the marble floors of the Queen's chamber. The air smelled faintly of marigold and honey — a scent that once brought her calm, now cloying and heavy.
Queen Talia do Sol lay propped against silk pillows, her complexion pale, eyes shadowed by sleeplessness. The faint sound of preparations for the Dawn of Solara Ball echoed from the distant halls — laughter, footsteps, the distant hum of musicians rehearsing. The celebration of Solara's independence was tomorrow.
How ironic, she thought bitterly. A festival for freedom, when I feel like a prisoner in my own skin.
The door opened quietly, breaking her thoughts. Stella stepped in first, her expression uneasy. Behind her came King Caelen, dressed immaculately in white and gold, every fold of his attire precise. He had not entered her chambers since the day his betrayal became known.
"Your Majesty," Stella murmured, bowing before slipping out and closing the door behind her.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Talia looked at him, her gaze unreadable. "You finally remember where your queen sleeps."
Caelen exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Talia, please. I didn't come here to fight."
"Then why are you here?" she asked quietly, her voice calm but edged like glass. "To see the damage you've done? Or to finish what's left of my dignity before tomorrow's festivities?"
He hesitated, his mask of composure cracking ever so slightly. "I came because you deserve to hear it from me," he said, his tone careful. "You've… already seen what the court has seen. But you should understand why."
Talia laughed softly — a brittle sound. "Understand why my husband paraded his mistress through the palace gates? Why the woman carrying your child wore jewels I chose for our wedding day?"
He flinched at that, just barely. "You don't understand, Talia. Maris—"
"Don't." Her voice was suddenly sharp, slicing through the air. "Don't you dare say her name to me."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and raw.
When she finally spoke again, her tone was softer — trembling not with weakness, but restraint. "You married into Solara, Caelen. You wear our crown because of my bloodline, my birthright. Yet you've brought shame to the throne I was born to uphold."
Caelen's jaw tightened. "I've done what I must for Solara's future. You've given this kingdom light, yes — but no heir. The council grows restless. They demand security."
Talia stared at him in disbelief. "Security?" she repeated. "You call your betrayal security?"
His silence was all the answer she needed.
Talia pressed a trembling hand against her chest, forcing herself to sit up straighter despite the pain that flickered behind her ribs. "You could have faced me with truth. You could have spoken to me before making me a spectacle."
"I didn't intend—"
"No," she interrupted, her voice cold now. "You intended to humiliate me in front of my people and call it duty."
Caelen's expression hardened, the charm draining from his face. "I did what a ruler must. I ensured the continuation of Solara's line. You can hate me if you wish, but history will remember this as strength, not scandal."
Talia looked at him for a long, still moment — then smiled faintly, though her eyes glistened with tears. "History will remember it as cowardice," she whispered. "And so will I."
He shifted as if to reply, but she turned her face away toward the balcony, the morning light haloing her in gold.
"This conversation is over," she said softly. "Go prepare your throne, my king. I'll attend your ball as your queen — not because you deserve it, but because Solara does."
Caelen hesitated, his hand flexing at his side — torn between guilt and wounded pride — but said nothing. He turned and left, the echo of the door closing behind him the only sound left in the quiet room.
Talia's shoulders slumped the moment he was gone. Her chest ached, her body trembling with exhaustion she could no longer ignore. The tears she'd held back finally spilled, though she wiped them away with shaking hands before Stella reentered.
"My queen…"
"I'm fine," Talia whispered, though her voice faltered. "Just… bring me the reports from the council. I'll work from here."
And as the morning sun climbed higher, Solara's queen buried herself in scrolls and letters, forcing herself into the rhythm of duty until her vision blurred — until even pain became another form of labor.
Outside, the palace bloomed with color and music in preparation for the Dawn of Solara Ball. Inside, Talia's world dimmed quietly — the last light of her heart flickering against the growing shadow.
….
The palace had long fallen quiet by the time Talia found the strength to rise from her bed. Wrapped in a soft robe of pale gold, she drifted through the silent halls until the marble gave way to grass beneath her bare feet. The air was cool, touched with the scent of moon lilies and wet jasmine — her garden, her sanctuary.
She breathed deeply, the night air filling her lungs, but it did little to ease the ache in her chest. Everything she loved had grown heavy with sorrow — the stars above, the hum of the fountains, even the wind that once sang her name.
She trailed her fingers through the petals of a lily, its stem trembling under her touch.
"It was supposed to be different," she whispered. "We were supposed to grow together… not wilt."
Her thoughts drifted to the child she had lost — the tiny heartbeat that had flickered for only a short time before fading into silence. It had been after that loss that Caelen had begun to pull away.
At first, she had blamed herself. But now, beneath the moonlight, she saw his cruelty for what it was — cowardice.
Her gaze lifted to the heavens, her golden eyes burning like dying embers.
"I am the daughter of Solara's sun," she murmured. "And I will not fade because a man cannot stand in my light."
The words steadied her, even as tears streaked her cheeks.
From the palace balcony above, cloaked in the darkness of Noctyra's sigil, Empress Rhenessa Daelora watched silently. The queen below looked fragile — breakable, even. Yet there was something fierce in her stillness, like sunlight trapped behind clouds, waiting to burn through.
Rhenessa's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"So this is the Queen of Solara," she whispered to herself.
"How beautifully she burns."
And in that quiet garden, beneath a sky where day and night met at last, the sun and shadow saw each other for the first time.