Third Person's POV
The king's chambers were dim, lit only by the glow of a low fire. Caelen sat at the edge of the bed, his shoulders heavy with tension, his eyes fixed on the flames as though answers might rise from the embers.
Maris moved behind him, her pale hair catching the firelight as she adjusted the drape of her silk gown. She laid a hand gently on his shoulder, her touch soft, coaxing. "You're restless again," she murmured.
"It's the Empress," Caelen admitted, his voice low, his jaw tight. "There's something about her I don't trust. She speaks of alliances, of prosperity, but her eyes… they watch too closely. As if she's weighing more than politics."
Maris slid gracefully onto the bed beside him, her hand resting against his chest. "Perhaps that is the way of rulers. Always watching, always calculating." She tilted her head, her hazel eyes warm despite the freckled mischief that danced in them. "But you, my love — you are cleverer than she knows. You'll see through whatever mask she wears."
His gaze softened at her words. She always had a way of soothing his doubts, weaving warmth into the cracks of his pride.
Maris leaned closer, her voice a whisper. "Do not let her steal your peace. Solara belongs to you — and to the child I carry. The Empress may play her games, but I am here. I am yours."
Caelen's hand moved absently to her rounded belly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "You've given me more than Talia ever could."
Maris's breath caught at the words — not from vanity, but from something deeper, rawer. Genuine longing flickered across her face, unguarded for a moment as she looked at him as though he were her entire world.
⸻
Flashback
The first time she had seen him, she had been nothing more than a servant's daughter, balancing a tray in the crowded hall of a midsummer feast. He had noticed her smile when she spilled wine on her own skirts and laughed at herself instead of crying. Later, when he found her alone in the gardens, their conversation had been easy, unguarded.
One meeting became two. Then more. Until stolen glances turned into stolen kisses, and stolen kisses became nights of whispered promises in hidden corners. She had not meant to love him — not a king, not a husband bound to another. But love, she discovered, did not ask permission.
Now, sitting beside him with his hand resting protectively on her belly, Maris let herself believe, if only for a moment, that she had won not just his attention, but his heart.
⸻
Back in the firelit present, she leaned into him, her voice soft but certain. "Whatever shadows the Empress brings, they will never stand between us. Not while you have me."
Caelen said nothing, but his arm curled around her shoulders, holding her close as the fire crackled low.
And though he told himself it was strategy, stability, the future he cradled in her belly — part of him wanted to believe her.
That same night, across the palace, lanterns glowed softly in the ancient archives once more.
Talia arrived wrapped in a sage cloak, her steps quiet against the stone as she descended the narrow stairs. Waiting at the base was Rhenessa, her posture regal even in the dim glow, her violet eyes softening as soon as they found her.
"You're late," Rhenessa teased gently, though there was no edge to her voice — only warmth.
Talia let out a soft breath, the tension of the day slipping away. "The council detained me. Endless questions about trade and taxes. But it gave me all the more reason to come."
They moved deeper into the archives together, their lantern light brushing across endless rows of parchment and bound tomes. The air smelled of dust and old ink, of secrets that had waited centuries to be uncovered.
Rhenessa carried a scroll tucked under her arm. "I began looking while I waited. There are more records here than I expected — mentions of treaties, campaigns… even ceremonies where Solara and Noctyra once stood as equals."
Talia paused, her hand brushing a shelf as though steadying herself. "My parents hid this from me. All of it. Why? Why would they erase such a truth from me, from our people?"
Rhenessa set the scroll on a table, her voice steady. "Because to forget is to control. If your people believe the shadows were always enemies, they will never question why the sun stands alone now. Unity can be more dangerous than war."
Talia met her gaze, something stirring deep in her chest. "And yet… here we are. United."
The words hung between them, heavier than history.
They bent over the scrolls together, their hands brushing as they unfurled maps and charters, the silence around them filled with the faint crackle of parchment and the thrum of unspoken thoughts.
At last, Talia leaned back, her golden eyes thoughtful, almost troubled. "It feels as though everything I knew was half a truth. That my crown was built on something incomplete."
Rhenessa's voice dropped, low and sure. "Then perhaps it is time to build something whole."
The words struck Talia deeper than she expected, her breath catching as she looked at the Empress — not as a rival sovereign, not as an ally of convenience, but as someone who might see the cracks in her heart and still choose to fill them.
The night deepened, the silence of the archives pressing close around them. Scrolls lay scattered across the table, half-read, their ink whispering of forgotten truths.
Talia traced one idle finger along the edge of a parchment, her orange-gold eyes soft in the lantern glow. "It feels strange… to know there are pieces of my world I've never seen. And yet, tonight, I do not feel as though I've lost something."
Rhenessa tilted her head, studying her. "No?"
Talia's lips curved faintly, a small, unguarded smile. "No. I feel… as though I've found something."
The words hung in the quiet, fragile and dangerous both. Rhenessa said nothing at first, but the warmth in her violet gaze was answer enough.
At last, Talia drew her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, the queen reasserting herself over the woman. "It's late. We should return before half the palace wonders where we've gone."
Rhenessa nodded, her expression unreadable but her eyes lingering just a breath too long. "Tomorrow, then?"
Talia hesitated — only for a heartbeat — before replying. "Tomorrow."
They left together, their lanterns flickering down the corridor until they parted ways at the stair, each carrying the weight of the night differently.
⸻
In her chamber, Talia sat by the window, her reflection blurred in the glass. She touched her lips, still smiling faintly at the memory of warmth and whispered truths. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow, I will know more.
And in her own wing, Rhenessa leaned against her balcony rail, the cool night air brushing her cheek. She whispered the word too — a vow in shadow: "Tomorrow."
The archives would wait. But so, too, would the unspoken pull between them.