Third Person's POV
Morning light spilled through Solara's eastern windows, golden and forgiving. The palace, still half-asleep, carried the quiet hum of servants preparing for another day of duties and ceremony. But in the royal gardens — where the flowers turned their faces toward the sun — peace lingered.
Talia walked slowly down the winding path, her fingers brushing against soft petals of dawn lilies. The faint scent of honey and sun-warmed grass filled the air. For the first time in what felt like months, her steps were light.
Yesterday's tea had left her thoughtful — and oddly buoyant. Rhenessa had a way of making her feel seen, as if her burdens were not invisible crowns but shared weights.
When she reached the marble arch at the edge of the garden, she found Rhenessa already waiting. The Empress was standing near the reflecting pool, her cloak the color of deep emerald shadow, hair gleaming in the light.
"You rise with the sun," Rhenessa said, a quiet smile curving her lips.
Talia laughed softly. "In Solara, the sun allows us no other choice."
Rhenessa turned to her, studying her in silence for a moment — the warm blush of her skin, the glint of amber in her eyes. "You wear the light as though you were born from it," she said at last.
Talia's breath hitched, her smile faltering. Compliments often felt heavy, ceremonial — but from Rhenessa, they carried weight. "And you," she replied, steadying her voice, "bring shade to a world that sometimes burns too brightly."
The words made Rhenessa's smile deepen, faint amusement in her eyes. "Then perhaps we are balance, you and I."
They began to walk together, side by side down the garden path. Their conversation flowed easily — from the details of Solara's traditions to the blooms that only grew under certain phases of the sun. Every time their shoulders brushed, Talia felt something warm and unfamiliar stir in her chest — something she didn't dare name.
When Rhenessa laughed at one of her stories — a genuine, melodic laugh — Talia found herself laughing too, a sound she hadn't heard from her own lips in months.
But in the quiet between their words, Rhenessa's gaze often lingered on her — curious, admiring, and just a little dangerous.
And Talia, though she tried to ignore the way her heart raced, found herself unwilling to look away.
…..
The garden shimmered under the midmorning sun, and a soft breeze swept through the golden trees, scattering petals like drifting embers.
Rhenessa stood beside the reflecting pool, her gaze drawn to the faint shimmer in Talia's skin where sunlight touched her — a living glow, as if the light itself adored her.
"Your people say you carry the blessing of the sun," Rhenessa said quietly, tilting her head. "That its warmth flows through your veins."
Talia smiled faintly, brushing her fingers over a bloom that unfurled beneath her touch. "It's not as grand as they make it sound," she said, though her tone held a hint of pride. "The light responds to emotion more than command. It's… alive, in its way."
Rhenessa's eyes glimmered with fascination. "Then show me," she murmured. "I wish to see what it means to be the Queen of the Sun."
For a moment, Talia hesitated — modesty tugging at her. But the Empress's voice, low and genuine, carried no mockery or formality. Only wonder.
So Talia closed her eyes.
She lifted her hands, and the world seemed to still. The light shifted — softening, gathering around her like a lover's touch. It rose from her skin in gentle ribbons of gold, spiraling outward until the entire garden seemed to breathe with her heartbeat.
Each motion she made was graceful and deliberate — the slow arc of her arm trailing radiant threads, the turn of her body leaving a bloom of sunlit petals that floated weightlessly in the air.
It was not just magic. It was art — a dance of warmth and sorrow, strength and fragility.
Rhenessa stood transfixed, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and light. For the first time in years, she felt her chest tighten — a strange, aching awe. There was something unearthly about Talia's grace, something that spoke of power tempered by pain.
When the last glimmer faded and Talia's glow dimmed back into her skin, silence fell over the garden.
Rhenessa stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're extraordinary."
Talia turned to her, cheeks flushed, breath slightly uneven. "I'm… only what Solara made me."
"Then Solara is blessed indeed," Rhenessa said softly, and her words lingered in the air like a promise.
⸻
Meanwhile
In the royal corridor overlooking the gardens, Caelen walked with measured steps beside Maris. The morning light streaming through the tall windows painted the floor in molten gold.
He hadn't meant to look — but movement caught his eye.
There, beyond the glass, his queen moved in a slow, radiant dance of light and grace. Her hair shimmered like silk flame, her gown swirling in golden waves. Every motion was soft, deliberate — and heartbreakingly beautiful.
For a moment, Caelen forgot to breathe.
Maris followed his gaze, her smile freezing when she saw the flicker of longing in his eyes — the raw, unguarded desire he hadn't shown her since before their secret became public.
"She's… magnificent," he murmured, voice thick with something she couldn't name.
Maris's fingers tightened around his arm. "She's only playing pretend," she said sharply. "You said yourself she hides behind grace because she can't face what's real."
Caelen blinked, as though shaken from a trance. His jaw hardened, his eyes turning away from the garden. "Perhaps," he said after a pause, though the conviction wasn't there. "Come — we have duties to attend to."
But as they walked on, his thoughts stayed behind — with the woman of sunlight and sorrow, glowing in the arms of her own power.
And Maris knew, deep down, that no matter how she tried, she could never shine bright enough to erase that image from his mind.
The last traces of Talia's light drifted into the air like fading petals, dissolving into the garden's quiet shimmer. For a moment, all that remained was the gentle ripple of water in the reflecting pool and the faint rustle of the breeze.
Rhenessa's eyes stayed fixed on her, transfixed. "Your magic is…" she paused, her voice low, "…alive. It breathes with you. It's not a weapon or a show of power — it's your soul laid bare. I've never seen anything like it."
Talia's gaze dropped, her fingers knotting in the folds of her gown. "It feels less like a gift and more like a burden, most days."
"Why?"
The queen's golden eyes shimmered as she looked up again, but her voice carried the weight of years. "Because no matter how brightly I burn, it could not save what mattered most to me."
Rhenessa's expression softened, something uncharacteristically gentle flickering across her face. "Talia…"
The words spilled like a river that had long been dammed. "Two years ago, I carried a child. For a brief time, I thought perhaps Caelen and I would find our way again. That love might return, that he might see me not just as a crown, but as a wife, as a woman. I thought… perhaps it would heal the distance between us."
She drew in a trembling breath, her throat tight. "But I lost it. And when I did, something in him turned to stone. His smile became hollow. His hands grew colder. And his eyes… his eyes stopped looking at me altogether."
Her voice cracked. "He stopped seeing me, Empress. Not just as his wife, but as a person."
The petals of her earlier light drifted on the pool's surface, glimmering faintly. Talia stared at them, but her voice carried on, soft and sharp at once. "I wear this crown because it is my birthright — because Solara's blood runs in me. He wears his only because he married me. And yet…" her shoulders shook, "…sometimes it feels as though I am nothing more than an ornament on his throne. A jewel he places beside him until he finds a brighter one to hold."
Rhenessa's chest tightened. She stepped forward slowly, deliberately, until she stood before her.
".You are not an ornament," she said firmly, her voice rich with conviction. "You are the Sun itself. The light that keeps this kingdom alive. He may have forgotten it — but I see it. Clearer than anything."
Talia blinked back tears, her lips trembling. "Then why does it hurt so much?"
Rhenessa hesitated only a moment before reaching for her hand. Her touch was warm, steady, grounding. "Because you loved him. And because love leaves us vulnerable in ways crowns never should. But hear me, Talia — you are not broken. You are not dimmed. You are more radiant in your grief than most rulers are in triumph."
Talia drew a shaky breath as her tears spilled freely now, her voice raw. "I've carried this weight alone for so long. I thought if I kept smiling, if I kept shining, maybe I could fool myself into believing I was still whole."
Rhenessa squeezed her hand gently, her violet eyes unwavering. "You don't have to fool me. Not here. Not with me."
For the first time in two years, Talia let herself lean — not on duty, not on a crown, but on someone who simply stood beside her. Her head dipped slightly, not resting fully, but close enough that the Empress's presence steadied her heartbeat.
And in that quiet, something new bloomed between them — fragile, dangerous, but achingly real.
⸻
Elsewhere in the Palace
In the corridor above, Caelen tore his gaze from the glowing garden. The sight of Talia's magic — her radiance — still burned in his mind. For the first time in years, he'd seen the woman he had married, the woman he had once loved with unshakable pride.
But she had not danced for him. She had danced for someone else.
Beside him, Maris walked stiffly, her freckled face tight with jealousy. She had seen the look in his eyes — the hunger, the regret, the longing. It wasn't for her. Not in that moment.
"She's only pretending," Maris whispered bitterly, her grip tightening on his sleeve. "Don't let her trick you into believing she's still yours."
Caelen's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He only looked away from the garden, his silence colder than words.
Maris's lips pressed into a thin line. Because she knew — no matter how close she stood, she could never eclipse the sun in his heart.