Third Person's POV
Sunlight crept across the marble floors of the queen's chamber, soft and golden — the first true dawn since her world had fractured. Servants moved about in hushed tones, careful not to disturb the stillness as Queen Talia do Sol sat before her vanity.
Her reflection looked foreign — pale from sleepless nights, eyes rimmed with faint shadows. Yet even through the exhaustion, there was a glint of determination.
Today was the Dawn of Solara Ball, the grandest celebration of the year — a festival of light, unity, and renewal. And Talia, rightful heir to the throne, would not let her kingdom see her broken.
She inhaled deeply and whispered to her reflection,
"You are Solara's light. You were born of the sun itself. Let them see the queen they forgot to fear."
Her attendants began their work — gentle hands weaving her long pink hair into an elaborate updo, with golden pins shaped like rays of sunlight and a circlet of sage-colored crystal resting at her crown.
Then came the gown — her armor in silk.
It was a breathtaking creation: layers of sheer gold and pale yellow fabric that shimmered like sunlight on water. The bodice, embroidered with sage and white threads, hugged her form, while the skirts cascaded like molten gold around her feet. At her shoulders, translucent sleeves caught the light, glowing faintly as if kissed by the sun.
When she stood, even the air seemed to pause.
For a fleeting moment, she felt whole again — radiant, unbreakable, divine.
Outside, the palace musicians began their warmups. The scent of tropical flowers and spiced wine filled the corridors. Soon, foreign royals and nobles from every realm — including the Empress of Noctyra — would fill her halls.
And Talia do Sol, wounded but proud, would greet them not as a heartbroken wife… but as a queen reborn.
….
The soft hum of music echoed faintly through the golden corridors. Guests were already beginning to gather in the grand ballroom below, their laughter and chatter rising like distant waves.
Talia stood beside her vanity, adjusting a single sun-shaped brooch at her collarbone. The gem at its center pulsed faintly with light — a touch of her own magic, responding to her heartbeat. When she exhaled, the glow steadied, warm and controlled.
"Your Majesty," came Stella's voice gently from behind her, "they're waiting for you and the King to make your entrance."
Talia nodded, her gaze steady on her reflection. "Then let them wait a little longer. A queen arrives when the sun chooses to rise."
Stella smiled faintly at that — a hint of pride breaking through her worry. "You look radiant, my queen. No one will doubt who Solara truly belongs to tonight."
Talia's lips curved slightly. "That is the point."
Just as Stella moved to open the chamber doors, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor — measured, confident. The doors opened before Stella could reach them.
King Caelen entered, dressed in formal gold and ivory, his dark hair tied neatly back. For the briefest moment, his breath caught.
Talia turned toward him, every inch the embodiment of her realm — sunlight made flesh. Her skin glowed faintly under the lanterns, her gown alive with gold shimmer, her eyes a molten amber that dared him to look away.
Caelen's expression softened with something she hadn't seen in months — regret. Or perhaps guilt.
"You look… breathtaking," he said, his voice low.
Talia inclined her head, the faintest smile touching her lips. "As a queen should, on her kingdom's most sacred night."
He stepped closer, lowering his tone. "Talia, I know things have been strained between us. But perhaps after the ball—" his gaze swept over her figure, the faintest hunger in his eyes, "—we could talk. Privately. I've missed you."
Her heartbeat faltered for only a second, then steadied.
"Have you?" she asked softly, eyes never leaving his. "Strange, for someone who's been… otherwise occupied."
The flicker of guilt in his expression was swift but unmistakable. He masked it with a smile, the politician's charm she once found endearing.
"You misunderstand me. You always have."
Talia took a step closer, the faint scent of sunflowers and vanilla surrounding her. Her voice dropped to a whisper only he could hear.
"No, Caelen. I see you now, clearer than ever. And so will everyone else."
With that, she turned, her skirts whispering against the marble as she strode toward the doors.
"Come, husband," she said, not looking back. "Let's show Solara its king and queen."
And as she walked ahead of him, her golden aura trailing like a comet's tail, Caelen could only watch — a man standing in the blinding light of the sun he'd betrayed.
Talia swept through the doorway, sunlight clinging to her like a living halo. Every head would soon turn to her, as they always did.
Caelen stood motionless for a moment, his jaw tight, his chest rising with an ache he didn't quite understand. He had seen her angry, heartbroken, even cold — but never like this. Never so radiant.
For the first time in months, desire twisted through him, sharp and unwelcome. She's still mine, he thought, though even the words felt hollow now.
He exhaled slowly, watching the last flicker of her glow fade down the corridor. Beneath the weight of his crown and his guilt, a single thought pulsed through his mind —
The sun was never meant to be owned… only admired, until it burns you.
…..
The great golden doors of the ballroom swung open, their hinges singing in perfect harmony with the horns that heralded the royal entrance.
"Presenting Their Majesties," called the herald, voice booming through the glittering hall, "King Caelen and Queen Talia do Sol, Sovereigns of Solara."
The music swelled. Hundreds of heads turned.
Talia stepped forward, her hand resting lightly on Caelen's arm. Every step she took caught the light — each glimmer from her gown scattering like sunbeams across the marble. Conversations stilled. Guests bowed low as she passed, the embodiment of grace and light.
The ballroom itself was a masterpiece of splendor: chandeliers strung with crystals that refracted golden light, walls draped in silk banners depicting Solara's blazing sun, and tables laden with tropical fruits and sweet wines. Flowers of gold, white, and sage decorated every corner — her design, her vision, her celebration.
But as her eyes moved through the crowd, she found her.
Maris.
The woman stood near the far end of the ballroom, half-hidden behind a column. Pale blonde curls framed her freckled face, her hazel eyes wide with barely contained awe. She was dressed far finer than any commoner had the right to be — a soft gown of pale rose and cream that shimmered beneath the lanterns. And beside her, standing too close, was Lord Dalen of the Council — one of Caelen's allies.
A quiet murmur rippled through the room as people noticed where Talia's gaze had fallen. But she did not falter.
Her fingers tightened imperceptibly around Caelen's arm, her chin lifting just slightly higher. The golden aura around her seemed to brighten — subtle, but unmistakable.
If Maris was the shadow in her sunlit kingdom, then Talia would make sure the girl never forgot how blinding light could be.
She smiled gracefully to her guests, her voice smooth as honey.
"Welcome, my dear friends and allies of Solara. May this night remind us that no matter the darkness in our world, the sun always rises."
Applause rippled through the hall. The orchestra began a waltz.
As she and Caelen descended the grand staircase, his voice brushed against her ear.
"You've outdone yourself, my queen," he murmured softly. "You have them all spellbound."
She didn't look at him.
"Good," she said evenly. "Let them remember why they kneel."
And with that, she released his arm and descended the last few steps alone, her gown flowing like liquid gold. The crowd parted for her as though the sun itself were walking among them — radiant, untouchable, and utterly beyond reach.
The music drifted in soft waves through the ballroom — strings and harps weaving golden notes around the hum of voices and laughter.
Talia glided among her guests with practiced ease, her every smile measured, her tone gentle but unwavering. She spoke with ambassadors from the Realm of Bloom, accepted gifts from the lords of Stormreach, and exchanged blessings with the high priestess of the Dawn Temple.
Each bow, each curtsy, came with whispers trailing behind her like faint perfume.
"She's lovelier than ever."
"Tragic, after what's been said about the king."
"And yet she still smiles… gods, what a queen."
Talia heard every word. She wore them like jewels — heavy, glittering reminders of her role.
Across the room, Caelen watched her from beside the wine table. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes followed her every move.
There had been a time when she had smiled only for him. When that same grace had been his to claim in private, when her laughter had filled their chambers and her warmth had been his solace. Now, as he watched her weave through the crowd — radiant and untouchable — he felt the sharp ache of loss twist through his chest.
She laughed softly at something a noble said, the sound light as glass. The way her hand brushed the air, the tilt of her head, the fire in her golden eyes — every piece of her reminded him of why he'd fallen in love with her in the first place.
But that love had curdled into fear, then guilt. And now, regret.
He lifted his cup to his lips, trying to drown it in fine Solarian wine, but it lingered like smoke.
Talia caught his gaze briefly across the ballroom — only for a second. Her look was calm, polite, but it carried the weight of unspoken things. When she turned away, speaking to a visiting duchess, Caelen felt his stomach tighten.
He'd thought she'd crumble. Instead, she glowed brighter than ever.
And then, as though the gods themselves wished to test the fragile balance of the evening, the great doors opened again.
A sudden hush swept through the hall.
From the entryway, framed by torchlight and shadow, stood Empress Rhenessa Daelora of Noctyra.
Tall, regal, and commanding, she moved like the night given form — her dark emerald hair cascading in soft waves, her gown a deep violet threaded with silver flame. Her presence seemed to pull the light toward her rather than reflect it, and yet somehow, it did not dim the room — it deepened it.
Talia turned, feeling the shift in the air before her eyes found Rhenessa's.
Sunlight met shadow.
And for one suspended heartbeat, the entire ballroom seemed to hold its breath.
The hush that followed Rhenessa's arrival felt different than the polite silence offered to any royal guest. It was a silence born of awe — and a touch of unease.
The Empress of Noctyra descended the steps with unhurried grace, each stride smooth and deliberate. The torches along the walls flickered, their flames bending subtly toward her, as if even fire itself was drawn to her presence.
Her gown, woven from black silk and deep violet thread, shimmered faintly with every movement. The neckline was trimmed with silver, catching the light in a way that made her seem crowned in shadow. Her forest-green hair glowed faintly under the chandeliers, framing eyes the color of midnight violets — deep, unreadable, and alive with restrained power.
Talia's breath caught before she realized it.
She had expected a ruler hardened by the volcanic realm of Noctyra — a warlike woman, severe and sharp. But the woman moving through her ballroom was… captivating. There was strength there, yes, but also something mesmerizing — like the stillness before a storm, or the beauty of night just before dawn.
Rhenessa's gaze swept across the room, acknowledging murmured greetings with a nod, but her eyes didn't linger on anyone — until they found Talia.
The moment their gazes met, something in the air shifted.
Warmth and coolness collided — sunlight brushing against shadow. Talia's pulse stuttered, though her face remained perfectly composed. She told herself it was just surprise, perhaps admiration. But her chest felt strangely tight, her stomach fluttering as Rhenessa began walking toward her.
Every step the Empress took seemed measured, but not rehearsed. It was as if she chose to move slower, letting the anticipation grow.
Talia's attendants shifted nervously nearby; Stella bowed her head as the foreign Empress drew close.
When Rhenessa stopped before her, the hall seemed to exhale.
"Your Majesty," Rhenessa said, her voice low and rich — smooth like velvet, yet with a faint rasp that sent a shiver down Talia's spine. "It is an honor to stand in the light of Solara at last."
Talia inclined her head, managing a soft smile. "And it is an honor to welcome the ruler of Noctyra to my home. I hope the journey treated you kindly, Empress."
Rhenessa's lips curved — not quite a smile, but something far more deliberate. "The journey was long, but the destination…" Her eyes flicked over Talia, not crudely, but with a lingering fascination. "…has already proven worth it."
Talia's heart skipped once, her composure faltering for only a heartbeat before she caught it. She responded with the grace of a queen, her voice steady.
"Then I trust you will enjoy the celebration. Solara has waited long to welcome you."
Rhenessa's gaze softened, though her tone remained cool.
"I believe I will."
A small pause lingered between them — a silence heavy with something unnamed.
Somewhere behind them, the orchestra began another song, and the hall came alive again with motion and chatter. But to Talia, the world felt quieter, dimmer around the edges — as if every candle had turned its flame toward this one woman cloaked in shadow.
A gentle tap on her shoulder broke the charged silence.
Talia turned to find Caelen at her side, wearing a well-rehearsed smile.
"The first dance, my queen," he said softly, though his tone carried more expectation than warmth.
For the sake of their people — and the kingdom's fragile peace — she nodded, placing her hand in his. His grip was firm, almost possessive, but she ignored the unease curling in her chest as they stepped into the open circle forming in the center of the ballroom.
Music swelled — strings and flutes intertwining like sunlight and wind — and all eyes turned toward them.
Caelen's touch was gentle enough for show, his expression a mask of charm for their audience. Yet beneath the polish, Talia could feel the distance like a blade between them. His hand at her waist was practiced, not tender. His gaze drifted past her too often, to where the nobles whispered and watched.
Still, Talia lifted her chin, letting her sunlight aura bloom subtly around her. The golden sheen of her gown shimmered, and the pearls in her braids caught the light like captured dawn. Her people saw their queen radiant — not broken. And that was enough.
As the dance ended, applause filled the hall, and Talia dipped into a graceful curtsey. Caelen offered his hand to help her rise, murmuring a hollow compliment —
"You never fail to captivate them, my queen."
Her answering smile was thin but polite. "It is my duty to shine, is it not?"
She withdrew her hand before he could say more and turned toward the guests once again, her mask firmly in place.
The next song began, slower and lower, its rhythm steady as a heartbeat. The crowd began to mingle, laughter weaving through the music. Talia moved among the guests, exchanging kind words and blessings, until a familiar warmth — or perhaps a heat — prickled at the back of her neck.
She turned.
Rhenessa stood only a few paces away, holding two crystal goblets of golden wine.
"Majesty," the Empress said, her voice a calm ripple amid the noise. She offered one glass, her gloved fingers brushing lightly against Talia's. "To Solara's dawn."
Talia hesitated, then accepted it with a courteous nod. "And to Noctyra's strength."
They drank — Talia in a small, careful sip; Rhenessa in a slow, savoring one that made the simple act feel… intimate.
The Empress tilted her head, her eyes reflecting the golden light of the hall. "You wear your crown well," she said softly. "Few can hold so much light without letting it burn them."
Talia blinked, unsure whether it was a compliment or something deeper. Before she could respond, Rhenessa extended her hand — the faintest smile ghosting her lips.
"Then perhaps, Your Majesty," she murmured, "you would grant me the next dance?"
The words fell between them like a spark in dry grass.
Talia's breath hitched — just enough to feel it. The world seemed to dim again, music swelling around her as if awaiting her answer.