Third Person's POV
It had been three days since the night they fell asleep in each other's arms, and Solara seemed to hum with an energy neither of them could explain.
Rhenessa's official meetings with the council had continued, as had Talia's endless paperwork, but each evening, when the palace quieted, they returned to the queen's chambers — to the diary that had become their shared secret.
Tonight was no different. The moon hung high, its glow spilling through the balcony doors. Talia sat cross-legged on the bed, the diary open in her lap, her pink hair spilling over her shoulder like liquid silk. Rhenessa sat beside her, one knee bent, her expression focused yet tender.
"The peace between our kingdoms trembles," Seraphina had written. "Someone has learned of the tunnel. Of us. Vaelora and I have been forbidden to speak again. Father says my friendship with her is a stain upon our family — that it dishonors the light to consort with the shadow."
Talia frowned, her fingers tightening around the page. "A stain," she muttered. "Because she dared to love someone different?"
Rhenessa's voice was low. "Because fear runs deeper than reason. It always has."
Talia turned another page, her brow furrowed. The ink here was darker, more frantic.
"There was shouting in the halls today. They say war nearly broke out. The kings blame each other — my mother wept. Vaelora tried to come through the tunnel one last time, but the guards sealed it. She said her brothers swore to burn every record of it. She made me promise to hide the truth somewhere safe — somewhere that might outlive us both."
The next line had been underlined twice.
"If anyone ever finds this, go to the royal archives. Look for 'The Song of Divided Flame.' It holds what the elders tried to destroy — the story of how light and shadow first turned against each other."
Silence fell.
Rhenessa met Talia's eyes, her violet gaze sharp and unblinking. "The Song of Divided Flame… that's not a title I've ever heard, even in Noctyra."
"It sounds poetic," Talia whispered, "but in her time, that would've been code. Something disguised as literature."
"Or prophecy," Rhenessa said softly. "My people believe the first flame was both light and shadow — one force divided by pride."
Talia brushed her fingers across the ancient script. "Then maybe this book holds the truth they tried to bury."
Rhenessa's jaw tightened. "And the reason they still hate us."
Talia looked up at her, eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight. "Then we'll find it. Whatever it is."
Rhenessa hesitated for a moment — torn between duty and the dangerous thrill of what they were doing. Then she reached over, closing the diary gently. "Tomorrow night," she said. "We'll go to the archives together."
Talia smiled, a mix of courage and quiet excitement. "And what if we're caught?"
Rhenessa smirked, her voice low and rich. "Then I'll do what I do best."
"Which is?"
"Protect what's mine."
Talia's heart fluttered at the words, but before she could respond, Rhenessa leaned in — close enough that their breaths mingled. The moment stretched like silk between them, charged and electric.
The candlelight flickered, throwing their shadows across the wall — one golden, one dark — twining together until they were indistinguishable.
The diary had long since been closed, but neither woman moved. The room was quiet — the kind of stillness that felt alive, as though even the air knew what they'd just unearthed.
Talia sat at the window, her gaze fixed on the horizon where Solara's twin moons hung like watchful eyes. The Song of Divided Flame. The name pulsed in her thoughts like a heartbeat.
So much of her reign had been spent chasing peace — treaties, diplomacy, balance — yet here was proof that the war between Sun and Shadow had never truly ended. It had merely been buried under generations of silence.
Her hand lifted unconsciously to her chest. How much of our hatred was inherited? she wondered. And how much of it was chosen?
Behind her, Rhenessa still sat on the bed, silent but alert. The firelight danced across her face, making her eyes glimmer like polished amethyst.
Talia turned slightly, studying her. Even in stillness, Rhenessa carried power — quiet and grounded, like the heartbeat of the earth itself.
"You're thinking too loudly," Rhenessa said softly, breaking the silence.
Talia smiled faintly. "And you're listening too closely."
"I can't help it," the empress murmured. "You draw me in — even when you say nothing at all."
The queen's lips curved. "You're impossible."
Rhenessa rose and crossed the room, stopping just behind her. "And yet you keep letting me in."
For a moment, neither moved. The distance between them was small, but the air was charged — not with passion, but with understanding.
Talia sighed, her voice quiet. "If what Seraphina wrote is true, then everything we know — everything our people have fought for — has been built on lies and old wounds."
"Then we'll heal them," Rhenessa said firmly.
Talia turned, surprise softening her features. "You speak as if it's simple."
"It's not," Rhenessa replied. "But neither is love. And we're already doing that, aren't we?"
Talia's breath caught — her eyes flicking to the empress's lips before she forced herself to look away. "Sometimes I forget how easily you can make things sound… possible."
"That's because you spend too much time in the light," Rhenessa said, her tone almost teasing. "You forget that shadows have their own kind of beauty — and truth."
Talia's laugh was quiet, wistful. "You always know exactly what to say."
"I've had practice," Rhenessa said, smiling. "A thousand courtrooms. A hundred battles. But never someone like you."
The queen felt the words settle deep in her chest, a warmth that almost hurt. She turned back toward the window, her reflection overlapping Rhenessa's in the glass — sun and shadow side by side.
"I don't know what we'll find in that book," she whispered. "But whatever it is… I'm not afraid."
Rhenessa stepped closer until their reflections merged completely. "Good," she said quietly. "Because this time, the story won't end the way theirs did."
The two women stood there, the world beyond their window vast and waiting — the weight of history pressing down, but for once, it didn't feel suffocating.
It felt like the beginning of something powerful.