Third Person's POV
The shadows swirled like velvet around her, thick and alive, and in their center was light.
Rhenessa reached for it — for her — and the dream took shape. Talia stood before her in a gown of gold, her hair unbound, her orange eyes glowing like twin suns. She was radiant and soft all at once, her smile a flame that banished every shadow in reach.
"Talia…" Rhenessa whispered, but in the dream the queen already knew her name, already stepped forward with a hand outstretched. When their palms touched, light and shadow twined together, pulsing in rhythm with their hearts.
Rhenessa pulled her close, and the world around them dissolved into heat and color. She felt the warmth of her breath, the softness of her lips brushing hers — not command, not duty, but hunger and tenderness in equal measure. The taste of sunlight lingered on her tongue, intoxicating, devastating.
She held her as if she would never let go, her hands in her hair, her body pressed against her own. Every beat of her heart thundered with the name she dared not speak aloud: Talia, Talia, Talia.
The dream burned so vividly that when she jolted awake, the world was still aflame.
Rhenessa sat upright in her bed, sweat clinging to her skin, her breath ragged as though she had run miles. Her pulse raced wildly, but she knew it was not fear that gripped her — it was longing, raw and unrelenting.
She pressed her hand hard against her chest, as if she could calm it, but the truth struck harder than any nightmare. Every frantic beat of her heart was not for empire or shadowfire, not for her throne.
It was for Talia do Sol.
And no discipline, no crown, no fear of consequence could silence it now.
The private breakfast chamber was warm with morning light, its tall windows draped in pale gold. A long table had been set, but only two places waited at its center.
Rhenessa arrived first, still shaken by the dream that had haunted her sleep. She schooled her face into composure, though her pulse was quicker than usual. She had promised herself discipline, but the door opened — and discipline fled.
Talia entered, every step measured grace. She wore white — a fitted gown that clung in all the right places, the sweetheart neckline dipping low enough to frame the delicate gold chain that dangled just above her cleavage. Slits at her calves revealed glimpses of her legs as she walked, her skin kissed with sunlight. Gold jewelry adorned her wrists and throat, but none shone brighter than the confidence in her golden eyes.
Rhenessa's breath caught, subtle but undeniable. Her violet gaze lingered a fraction too long on the chain that swayed with each step, and Talia noticed.
A faint, knowing smile curved the queen's lips as she took her seat opposite. "I trust you slept well?" she asked, her tone light, but her eyes gleamed with quiet mischief.
"Well enough," Rhenessa managed, though her heart was still racing.
The meal was laid out — fresh bread, honey, fruits, and a carafe of spiced tea. They spoke at first of the council, of Gravemere, of alliances, but soon the words softened into laughter. Talia's laugh, bright and easy, wound through Rhenessa's chest like sunlight unraveling shadow.
And then, as the attendants drifted away to leave them in peace, Talia leaned slightly forward, her chin resting delicately in her hand. "You know," she said, her voice lower, intimate, "I think you look quite at home here in Solara."
Rhenessa's brow lifted, careful but curious. "Do I?"
"Mmm," Talia hummed, her smile sly. "Yes. As though you belong. Perhaps it's the way the light likes you." Her gaze held steady, warm and teasing all at once. "Or perhaps it's the way I do."
For a breath, silence. Only the pulse in Rhenessa's ears, only the way her chest tightened with want.
The Empress of Noctyra, shadow-forged and unflinching, found herself undone by a queen's smile over morning tea.
And Talia, basking in the effect, thought with sudden certainty: If this is only the infancy of my rebirth… what will she do when I burn in full?
By midday, the heat of the sun spilled through the throne room's high windows as Talia entered for her scheduled audience with Caelen. She had not changed since breakfast. The white gown clung to her form like liquid light, the gold chain glimmering at her chest, each step a reminder that she was every inch the queen of Solara.
Caelen stood waiting, parchments in hand, ready to argue trade routes and border patrols. But when she walked toward him, words failed.
For a moment, he did not see the quiet, grieving wife who had withdrawn from him these past years. He saw the rebellious princess he had once courted — the girl who dared him to keep up with her wit, who laughed without fear, who carried herself as though she already wore the crown.
Her smile was polite, regal, but there was a spark behind her golden eyes that twisted something in his chest. He remembered when that spark was for him.
They spoke of Gravemere, of tariffs, of the unrest at the borders, but his mind wandered. Each time she gestured, the light caught her jewelry. Each time she leaned forward, he caught a glimpse of the queen unafraid to wield allure as power.
And he realized, with a pang sharper than jealousy, that he had never truly broken her.
As the meeting drew to a close, Talia gathered her papers with calm precision. She did not look at him as she dismissed the ministers, but the sunlight through the windows crowned her in gold, dazzling and untouchable.
Caelen watched her, captivated despite himself, and wondered if he had lost her long before Maris — if perhaps he had never truly held her at all.
Later that evening, the palace was quiet. Talia dismissed her attendants one by one until only Stella remained, her most trusted confidante. The queen stood before her vanity, the white gown she had worn all day still gleaming faintly in the lamplight. She caught her own reflection — golden eyes, pink hair tumbling free, jewels glittering at her throat — and for the first time in years, she did not see a woman broken. She saw a queen reborn.
"Stella," she said softly, almost testing the words. "I think I am in love with her."
Her attendant did not ask who. She only stepped closer, her voice steady. "The Empress?"
Talia's lips curved in the faintest smile, though her eyes shimmered with something deeper than joy. "Yes. With Rhenessa. When I am with her, I feel alive again — not caged, not broken. I had forgotten I was capable of feeling this way."
She turned from the mirror then, walking to the tall windows where the last of the sun lingered on the horizon. "For too long I thought I needed him to legitimize my rule. That I was only queen because I married him. But that was never the truth." Her voice strengthened, each word ringing like sunlight on stone. "This throne was mine by birthright. I did not need Caelen to wear the crown — I chose him. And in choosing, I gave away what was always mine to command."
Her hand lifted to the windowpane, the fading light glinting against her rings. "No longer."
She glanced back at Stella, fire burning in her golden eyes. "Why should I remain a queen bound by a failing marriage, when I was born to rule? Why be only a queen when I can be an Empress? Everything the sun touches — it should be mine. Mine alone."
Stella bowed her head, hiding the flicker of pride in her expression. "Then claim it, my queen. Let the world remember the Sun does not ask permission to shine."
Talia smiled, faint but fierce. "No," she whispered, turning her gaze once more to the horizon. "It simply burns."