Third Person's POV
By the time they reached the lower wing of the palace, the sunlight had shifted to a lazy, amber hue. The servants' halls were quiet — most of the staff tending to preparations for the next day's council. The air smelled faintly of sugar and warm bread.
Rhenessa followed Talia with the stealth of someone who had no right being there, yet moved as though she owned the place. "Are we truly sneaking through your own palace, Your Majesty?" she whispered, amused.
Talia smirked over her shoulder. "I'm a queen, not a ghost. I can walk where I please."
"Ah," Rhenessa said softly, "but this seems far more entertaining when it feels forbidden."
Talia stifled a laugh and pressed a finger to her lips as they slipped through the arched doorway of the private kitchen. The room was empty, sunlight pooling through the latticed windows and glinting off trays of cooling pastries.
The queen approached the counter, surveying the selection like a child faced with too many choices. "You're fortunate," she said, glancing at Rhenessa. "They baked honey tarts this morning."
Rhenessa leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "And here I thought Solara's royalty dined only on exotic fruits and jewels of sugar."
Talia shook her head with a grin. "No, just the tarts. They were my favorite as a girl."
She took one delicately from the tray and handed it to Rhenessa before selecting one for herself. The Empress took a bite, and her brows rose in surprise.
"Sweet stars," she murmured, savoring it. "I've conquered empires with less satisfaction than this."
Talia's laughter filled the quiet kitchen, light and real. "You're insufferable."
"Perhaps," Rhenessa said, licking a trace of honey from her thumb, "but I'm also honest."
The queen turned away quickly, hoping the faint heat in her cheeks wasn't too obvious. "You're impossible."
They moved to sit at the long wooden table, half in sunlight, half in shadow. For a while, they ate in comfortable silence — a strange, peaceful intimacy blooming between them.
Rhenessa was the first to break it. "You smile differently when you're not wearing your crown."
Talia looked up, startled. "Do I?"
The Empress nodded. "It's softer. Freer. I think I prefer it."
Talia studied her for a moment — the strength in her shoulders, the ease in her posture, the curiosity in her eyes. There was no judgment there, no pity. Just… seeing.
Her lips curved faintly. "Careful, Empress. Flattery might make me believe you actually like Solara."
Rhenessa smirked. "Oh, I think I like quite a few things here."
Talia felt her breath catch — not from the words, but from the way Rhenessa said them. Low. Certain. Measured.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Talia rose, setting her empty plate aside and smoothing her gown. "I should return before they send a search party."
Rhenessa stood too, her expression unreadable but gentle. "Then allow me to escort you back, Sun Queen. Wouldn't want to lose you again in your own palace."
Talia gave a quiet, genuine laugh. "You'd be surprised how easily I can get lost these days."
As they walked back through the dimming halls, their hands brushed once — brief, accidental, but enough to send a pulse of something new through the air between them.
Neither commented on it. But when they parted ways at the corridor, Rhenessa's smile lingered — and Talia, for the first time in months, felt the faintest spark of warmth that wasn't pain.
Perhaps, she thought, not all shadows are meant to dim the sun. Some are meant to remind it how to glow.
…..
The evening breeze carried the scent of sun-warmed blossoms and the faint hum of the sea beyond Solara's cliffs. Rhenessa stood on the balcony of her guest chamber, her shadow long and elegant against the marble floor, a half-empty goblet of amber wine cradled in her hand.
She had attended countless courts and banquets across Auremera — places where rulers smiled like predators and every word dripped with intent — yet none had unsettled her quite like Solara's queen.
Talia do Sol.
Even her name lingered on Rhenessa's tongue like a prayer and a challenge all at once.
There was something disarming about her — a softness that shouldn't have survived the weight of her crown, a warmth that made even sorrow look like light. When Rhenessa had first seen her across the ballroom, she'd expected another delicate monarch clinging to diplomacy. Instead, she found a woman burning quietly beneath her grief.
A sun trying to rise again after being dimmed.
Rhenessa smiled faintly to herself, remembering the afternoon — the laughter echoing through the corridors, the stolen honey tarts, the moment Talia's fingers brushed hers. The queen had tried to hide it, that tiny spark of color in her cheeks, but Rhenessa noticed everything.
So she can still blush, she thought, swirling the wine in her glass. Good. The fire isn't gone yet.
A knock at the door broke her thoughts. "Enter," she called.
One of her attendants stepped inside and bowed. "The King of Solara has sent word. He requests your presence at supper tomorrow evening, Your Imperial Majesty."
Rhenessa's brows lifted, amusement flickering in her eyes. "The king?"
"Yes, Majesty. He says he wishes to discuss 'matters of alliance and trade.'"
She turned back toward the balcony, her lips curving into a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course he does."
The attendant hesitated. "Shall I prepare a response?"
Rhenessa tapped a nail against the rim of her glass. "Tell him I accept his invitation. But make sure word of it reaches the queen as well. I'd hate for our radiant host to feel… excluded."
When she was alone again, Rhenessa leaned on the balcony rail, her thoughts swirling like the shadows gathering below.
Talia fascinated her — not because of her beauty, though that was undeniable, but because of her resilience. She had seen queens break under far less. Yet Talia stood tall, even while bleeding light.
Rhenessa tilted her head, watching the last rays of sun fade beyond the horizon. "You've been caged by love, little sun," she murmured under her breath. "But I wonder what you'd become if you learned to burn for yourself."
Her smile softened — something almost wistful in it.
"I suppose I'll find out."
….
Morning light spilled gently through the sheer curtains of Talia's chambers, turning the air golden and warm. She sat at her vanity as Stella brushed through her soft pink hair, her mind distant as her attendants moved about the room. The world outside her window was already alive with sound — merchants shouting near the palace gates, the faint rhythm of a lute from the lower courts, the scent of jasmine carried in by the breeze.
Everything looked as it always had — beautiful, bright, unchanging — and yet she felt hollow.
It had been two days since the ball. Two days since Caelen's betrayal had been laid bare. She had managed to face her guests with grace, had smiled and danced and pretended to be whole, but the exhaustion of pretending clung to her like a second skin.
"Your Majesty," Stella said softly, interrupting her thoughts. "A message arrived from the King's council. He has arranged a private supper this evening with the Empress of Noctyra."
Talia's brush paused mid-stroke. "With… Rhenessa?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." Stella hesitated, watching her reflection carefully. "He wished to discuss alliance matters."
Talia nodded faintly, forcing her expression into practiced neutrality. "Of course. It's important to maintain good relations with the Empress."
But her chest tightened all the same.
So quick to entertain her, she thought bitterly. I wonder if his eagerness is political or something else entirely.
She caught her own eyes in the mirror — golden and sharp despite the dark circles beneath them. There was no room for jealousy, she reminded herself. No room for weakness. Still, she could not forget the way Rhenessa's gaze had lingered on her during the ball, nor the quiet strength in her voice.
Talia took a slow breath and set the brush down. "Stella, have the gardens prepared for me after luncheon. I think I'll take tea there today."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
She needed the air — and the quiet — to think.
As her attendants finished dressing her in a flowing gown of soft coral and gold, Talia looked out at the sunlight glittering off Solara's towers. She told herself it didn't matter who Caelen dined with, that she had far greater things to concern herself with.
But in truth, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting — the delicate balance of her court, her crown, and perhaps her heart itself.
And somewhere deep down, beneath the ache of betrayal, curiosity stirred.
What kind of woman is she, this Empress who makes kings nervous and queens forget to breathe?