Third Person's POV
The road home stretched beneath a heavy dawn. The air was cool, the world still quiet — the perfect hour for thoughts he had long tried to bury.
Caelen rode alone at the front of his escort, his gloved hands tight around the reins. The rhythmic clatter of hooves gave his mind space to wander, and inevitably, it wandered back to her.
Talia.
He had met her when they were barely eighteen — before crowns, before duty, before the world had carved them into what they had become. He could still remember the first time he saw her: standing barefoot in the palace gardens, sunlight tangled in her pink hair, a crown of yellow lilies in her hands.
She hadn't known he was watching. She was laughing with one of her attendants, bright and unguarded, her voice carrying like music.
And when she finally noticed him — the ambitious councilman's son loitering near the royal steps — she didn't curtsy or blush. She just looked at him, unimpressed, and said, "You're standing in my sunlight."
He had fallen right then.
Her stubbornness had been intoxicating — her wit, her pride, her refusal to yield even when every man in the court expected her to. He had spent months trying to win her favor: bringing her flowers, joining her on walks, finding excuses to speak with her after council meetings. It wasn't until he stopped trying that she'd surprised him one afternoon by asking him to accompany her to the Solstice Festival.
That was the day she'd let him hold her hand. The first day she'd laughed for him, not at him.
Back then, her fire had been his compass. Now, it was the flame that burned him.
He sighed, watching the horizon glow with the same gold that had once shimmered in her eyes. He told himself he missed her — the warmth, the partnership, the way she'd used to look at him as if he could move mountains. But he also missed the man he'd been when she still believed he could.
Somewhere along the way, that belief had died.
But maybe it wasn't too late to bring it back.
Maris was gentle, comforting — the softness he needed. But Talia… she was the crown itself. Without her, he was half a king, half a man.
A dangerous thought began to take root in his mind as the palace's golden spires appeared in the distance. What if he could have both?
He imagined it easily: returning to Solara as the repentant husband, the wounded king seeking to reconcile. He would win Talia's forgiveness, reclaim his place beside her — and still keep Maris hidden away, a quiet secret in his private wing. The court would see stability, the people would rejoice, and he would have everything he desired.
A perfect illusion.
He smiled to himself, the first true smile in weeks. "Soon," he murmured, "everything will be as it should."
But far away, in the palace whose halls no longer waited for him, the queen had already become something far beyond his reach.
Morning sunlight poured through the grand windows of Solara's east wing, painting the marble floors in warm gold. The palace was stirring — servants whispering, ministers preparing scrolls — but in the Queen's chambers, laughter drifted like music.
Talia stood before her mirror, fastening the final clasp of a flowing sage-green gown trimmed with soft gold. Her hair was pinned half-up, strands of pink cascading down her shoulders, and her eyes shimmered like molten amber in the morning light.
"Your Majesty, the Empress has arrived for your morning meeting," Stella announced gently from the doorway, but there was a glint of amusement in her tone.
Talia turned, her lips curving into a secretive smile. "Perfect timing," she murmured.
Moments later, Rhenessa stepped into the room — tall, poised, radiant as ever in deep forest silk and silver armor accents. Yet, despite her imperial bearing, her steps faltered slightly under the queen's gaze.
"Empress," Talia greeted, her voice smooth as honey. "I thought perhaps we might postpone the dull politics of the morning."
Rhenessa arched a brow, crossing her arms. "And what do you propose instead?"
Talia tilted her head, her smile playful but deliberate. "A day in the kingdom. No guards. No titles. Just us."
Rhenessa blinked, caught off guard. "You mean—out there? Among the people?"
"Precisely." Talia took a step closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've heard the marketplace is full of life this time of year. And I believe a queen and an empress could use a bit of adventure."
Rhenessa tried — and failed — to hide the faint flush that touched her cheeks. "You are far bolder than I expected this morning."
Talia's smile deepened. "You've only seen the cautious queen. I thought it time you met the woman she used to be."
There was something intoxicating in her confidence — the warmth of sunlight turned to fire. For a moment, even the Empress of Shadows found herself struggling for words.
"You're dangerous when you smile like that," Rhenessa murmured.
"Good," Talia replied softly, brushing past her as she reached for her cloak. "Then perhaps you'll remember me."
Rhenessa caught her wrist, their eyes meeting — violet to gold. "You think I could ever forget?"
The moment lingered, heavy with tension and laughter and everything unspoken.
By the time they slipped into the city dressed in simple cloaks, their crowns traded for anonymity, Talia's eyes sparkled with mischief. Every merchant's greeting, every child's laughter, seemed to feed her spirit. Rhenessa watched her move among her people — radiant, kind, utterly alive — and something inside her shifted.
This was the queen she'd first glimpsed at the ball. The woman who commanded light not just with magic, but with the sheer gravity of her being.
And as they wandered through the golden streets of Solara, shoulder to shoulder, Rhenessa realized with quiet certainty that she would burn every kingdom to ash before letting that light fade again.
The sun-drenched streets of Solara were alive with color and sound. Vendors called out from stalls laden with silk ribbons, citrus fruits, and golden pastries that glimmered with sugar. Musicians strummed along the avenues, their tunes echoing through the market square.
No one looked twice at the two cloaked women wandering hand in hand through the crowd.
Talia had insisted they go without attendants, her hood pulled low, her laughter soft but unrestrained. She stopped to admire jewelry, to taste sweet bread, to greet children who ran past with flower crowns. Rhenessa followed, at first tense and cautious, but soon laughing herself — her deep voice blending with the market's rhythm.
"You're far too at home among commoners," Rhenessa teased as Talia bartered for a vial of amber perfume.
"That's because I am one of them," Talia replied with a wink, slipping a coin to the merchant. "A crown doesn't make me less a woman who enjoys the smell of honey and spice."
Rhenessa shook her head, the corners of her lips curving upward. "And yet every person here feels your presence. You glow even when you try to hide it."
Talia stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a ripple of warmth through the empress. "Perhaps you shouldn't stare so much, Rhenessa. You'll give us away."
The Empress's composure cracked into a shy smile — something so rare it made Talia's heart skip. "You're impossible."
"Unforgettable," Talia corrected softly.
They wandered until the sun began to dip toward the horizon. By then, Rhenessa had flowers braided into her green hair — courtesy of a young girl who had insisted the "tall lady with the pretty eyes" needed them — and Talia's hands were stained with the juice of the ripe oranges she'd been peeling for them both.
For the first time in years, neither felt the weight of their thrones.
⸻
As evening fell, they returned through the quiet servants' passage that led to the inner courtyards. The palace was still, bathed in amber light. Rhenessa paused in the shadow of a column, reluctant to let the moment end.
"You've given me something I didn't know I was missing," she said quietly. "A day where I wasn't an empress, or a soldier… just a woman."
Talia smiled, stepping closer until only a breath separated them. "Then let's have another. Meet me in the garden tonight — our place."
Rhenessa hesitated, her pulse quickening. "And if someone sees?"
Talia's eyes gleamed with mischief and command. "Then they'll see the queen of Solara do as she pleases."
The empress exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. "You're dangerous, Talia do Sol."
"Only to those who stand between me and what I want," Talia whispered.
And as she brushed past Rhenessa, her perfume — jasmine and sunlight — lingered like a promise that night would not come soon enough.
The palace gates opened under the cover of nightfall. The moon was high, and the torches burned low as King Caelen's carriage rolled to a stop in the royal courtyard. The journey from the coast had been long, but the moment his boots touched the marble steps of Solara, the king felt a rush of misplaced pride — the sense of a man returning to claim what was his.
He dismissed his escort and made for his private quarters at once, not toward the royal wing, but the smaller, secluded chambers he had long ago arranged for Maris.
She was waiting for him.
The door opened to reveal her standing by the balcony, pale hair braided loosely over one shoulder, a nightgown of soft cream clinging to her figure. Her hand rested lightly on the curve of her stomach, now rounded with new life.
"Caelen," she breathed, and the relief in her voice was genuine. "You're back."
He smiled — tired, but fond. "Did you think I wouldn't return to you?"
She moved closer, her eyes searching his. "I wasn't sure. Things here… they feel different lately."
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering. "You worry too much. Nothing has changed. I'm home now."
But as he said it, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. The halls were quieter than usual. No attendants came running. No guards at the corner saluted him. He pushed the thought away as Maris leaned into him, her warmth chasing away his unease.
Their lips met softly — familiar, practiced, lacking the fire of passion but heavy with need. When he pulled back, he rested his hand on her stomach, feeling the faint movement beneath.
"This," he whispered, "this is what makes it all worth it."
Maris smiled faintly, but her gaze lingered on him — on the faint detachment in his eyes, on the way he was already elsewhere in his mind. She'd thought having his child would make her secure, unshakable. But in that moment, as his smile faded into silence, she understood something cruel and sharp.
She would always be the shadow of another woman's light.
Caelen turned away, stripping off his gloves, his mind already turning toward the future. He imagined Talia waiting in her chambers — remorseful, lonely, ready to forgive. He would return to her as the humbled husband, the father-to-be, the king who had seen his errors. She would take him back. He was sure of it.
And Maris? She would stay right where she belonged — in the quiet corners of his world, his secret comfort, his proof that he could still command love when he pleased.
As he lay beside her that night, one arm draped over her body, he closed his eyes with a self-satisfied sigh.
Everything would soon be as it should be.
But outside, beyond the palace walls, the winds of Solara carried the scent of jasmine and moonlight — and far away in the sealed garden, a queen and an empress were falling deeper into a love that would destroy the illusion of his crown.