Third Person's POV
The chambers of Noctyra's Empress were quiet, lit only by the soft glow of shadowfire lanterns that flickered violet and crimson against the walls. Rhenessa sat by the window, her long hair unbound, falling in loose green waves down her back. Outside, Solara's moon hung low and bright, bathing the golden city in silver light.
She had intended to spend the evening reviewing the treaties her advisors had pressed into her hands — trade routes, tariffs, alliances that could be forged during the celebrations. But the parchment lay untouched on the table. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
On her.
Talia Do Sol. Queen of the Sun.
Rhenessa closed her eyes, recalling the glow of the garden, the way light had poured from Talia's skin as though she herself was the dawn incarnate. And more than the magic — it was her honesty that struck deepest. The quiet tremor in her voice when she spoke of loss, the raw sorrow behind her steady gaze.
So fragile. And yet, so unbreakable.
"Two years," Rhenessa murmured to herself. "And she has carried it alone all this time."
Her chest tightened. She knew the taste of grief, the weight of duty pressed against raw wounds. She had buried her own losses beneath steel and fire — but to see Talia, still shining despite it, was like gazing at a flame that refused to die even in the fiercest storm.
Rhenessa rose, pacing the room, her hands clasped behind her back. She told herself this was dangerous — too dangerous. The Queen of Solara was no idle dalliance. To covet her was to risk more than scandal. It was to invite fire and war.
And yet…
When Talia had leaned closer, when her golden eyes shimmered with tears and trust, something had shifted in Rhenessa. Something she hadn't felt in years.
Not strategy. Not calculation.
Longing.
She stopped at the mirror, studying her reflection — the hardened lines of an empress, the strength carved into every feature. But for the first time in years, she saw something softer staring back at her.
"You're a fool," she whispered to her reflection, a humorless smile tugging at her lips. "But perhaps even a fool deserves a little sunlight."
She turned away, extinguishing the lanterns one by one until only moonlight remained. But sleep did not come easily.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Talia's light burning against the darkness — and wondered how long she could resist stepping into its warmth.
…..
The council chamber still echoed in Talia's mind as she stepped into the corridor. The debate over Gravemere had dragged on for hours — trade routes threatened, stone battalions spotted too close to Solara's borders, and Caelen's insistence that concessions might be the only way to avoid war.
Her temples throbbed, though she carried herself with the same soft dignity that had become her armor. Her attendants followed at a respectful distance, their chatter low as the queen walked in silence, her thoughts already retreating inward.
And then, as she turned down the eastern hall, she stopped.
A woman stood ahead — pale blonde hair braided neatly over one shoulder, freckles scattered across her delicate nose, hazel eyes glinting in the sun that spilled through the windows. Her gown, a shade too bold for propriety — crimson, edged with gold thread — clung to her form like a declaration.
Maris.
The mistress who had walked into her palace on Caelen's arm, heavy with his child.
Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the air froze.
Maris curtsied — shallow, perfunctory, her lips curving in a smile that held no true deference. "Your Majesty," she said sweetly, though the tilt of her chin betrayed smugness. "What an honor to finally meet you properly."
Talia's golden gaze remained calm, unreadable. "Lady Maris," she returned evenly, though her attendants stiffened at her side. "I trust you are finding the palace… comfortable?"
Maris's smile widened, her hand brushing across her rounded belly with deliberate grace. "More than comfortable, my queen. Your husband has been most attentive."
A faint ripple went through the attendants behind Talia, but the queen herself did not flinch. She stepped closer, her voice steady, regal. "I would hope so. Solara is known for its hospitality. It would be a shame if even its… unexpected guests did not feel welcome."
For a moment, the two women regarded each other — one glowing with quiet restraint, the other shimmering with brazen confidence.
Maris lowered her lashes, feigning innocence. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not mean to intrude upon your day. I only wished to express… gratitude."
"Gratitude?"
Maris's eyes lifted again, their hazel depths sharp with unspoken triumph. "For giving Solara a future."
The words hung in the air like venom.
Talia's smile did not falter, but her fingers tightened imperceptibly around the folds of her gown. "The future of Solara rests on her queen," she said softly, though each syllable rang with steel. "Never forget that."
With that, she inclined her head, sweeping past without another glance. Her attendants followed, their silence reverent, their gazes fixed on her glowing figure as she walked away from the woman who threatened her throne — and her heart.
Behind her, Maris's smile lingered, though it faltered faintly at the edges, as though she, too, had felt the steel beneath the queen's sunlight.
The echo of Maris's parting words still clung to Talia as she walked away, her attendants trailing in silence. The air in the corridor felt heavier, pressing against her chest with each step.
When she reached the quiet alcove near her chambers, she stopped, steadying herself with a hand against the wall. Her smile had not faltered in front of Maris, but now, alone with Stella, the weight of it showed in the soft tremble of her breath.
"Your Majesty?" Stella asked gently, stepping closer.
Talia closed her eyes briefly, gathering her composure. Then she turned, her voice quiet but firm. "I need a distraction, Stella. Something… away from prying eyes."
Stella's brow furrowed. "Shall I prepare your study? Or perhaps—"
"No." Talia shook her head, lowering her voice so no one else could hear. "The Forgotten Halls. Tonight. Tell the Empress that I request her company there. But discreetly — no one must know."
For the briefest moment, Stella's eyes widened, her expression flickering with surprise. Then she curtsied deeply, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "As you wish, my queen. I will see to it."
Talia let out a soft breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The Forgotten Halls — abandoned corridors of the palace long since left unused, where sunlight barely reached and shadows lingered in silence. Few dared to walk there, which made it the perfect refuge.
As she returned to her chambers, she felt the stir of something dangerous and exhilarating under her ribs. She had not named it yet, not even to herself. But she knew this much — tonight, when the world slept, she would not be alone in the dark.
The Empress of Noctyra was seated at her writing desk when the soft knock came. A handmaiden slipped inside, bowing low before offering a folded scrap of parchment sealed with the queen's mark.
Rhenessa raised a brow, setting aside the treaty she had been pretending to read. She broke the seal, her violet eyes scanning the neat script.
Her Majesty requests your company in the Forgotten Halls. Tonight. Come in secrecy.
Rhenessa's lips curved slowly, the beginnings of a smile that was equal parts intrigue and danger. "The Forgotten Halls," she murmured, rolling the words over her tongue. "A place of shadows… fitting."
Her attendant shifted uncertainly. "Shall I prepare you for the meeting, Empress?"
"No," Rhenessa said softly, her gaze distant. "Not yet. Leave me."
When the door closed, she leaned back in her chair, fingers drumming lightly on the table.
The queen of Solara was reaching for her. Her. Not Caelen. Not her ministers. Not even her most trusted ladies. But the foreign empress whose very presence should have been a threat.
Rhenessa exhaled, slow and steady, fighting the flicker of warmth that bloomed in her chest. She told herself this was strategy, an opportunity to strengthen her standing. And yet, deep down, she knew that wasn't why her pulse quickened.
She had seen the loneliness in Talia's eyes, the grief she carried like invisible chains. And she had seen her shine, radiant even in sorrow, when she let herself breathe.
"Careful, Talia," Rhenessa whispered to the empty room, her voice low and rough. "The more you call me into your light… the less I will want to leave it."
The thought lingered long after she extinguished the lanterns, until only the pale glow of Solara's moon touched her face.
Tonight, she would go to the Forgotten Halls.
And whatever she found there, she knew, would change everything.