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The courtyard had fallen into a hush.
Rowen stood beneath the archway like a ghost returned from legend, sunlight slanting over his shoulders, his military cloak rippling in the breeze.
The elite guards flanked him on either side, but it was clear, he was the only one who mattered.
He didn't move.
He didn't need to.
Because his gaze never left me.
Up on the raised stone dais, I couldn't breathe.
I stood as tall as I could manage, crown burning on my head like iron.
My fingers—elegantly gloved—shook so faintly I curled them into my gown to hide it.
My body was still facing the crowd, but my soul was pulled to him—completely, helplessly.
He was here.
Rowen…
I hadn't said his name aloud in years, hadn't let myself imagine his face with such clarity.
And yet now, as he stood there looking up at me, his eyes quiet and unreadable, my chest ached with everything I had buried.
The golden warmth in his hair.
The sharp, stubborn line of his jaw.
The soft curve of the smile he used to wear—for me alone.
He wasn't smiling now.
But… there was something on his lips.
A slight tug.
A shadow of memory.
A whisper of the boy who once gave me a flower bracelet and swore he would never leave.
My throat tightened.
My vision blurred.
No.
I wouldn't cry. Not here.
But my voice trembled in my chest as I turned my eyes back to the sea of nobles, my people still watching—some in confusion, others whispering already.
And behind me, Rye was rigid.
His hands clenched at his sides. His eyes were no longer gentle. They burned.
He had seen it too.
The look I gave Rowen.
And the one I never gave him.
I raised my chin slightly, heart pounding.
"I…" I began, my voice steady at first.
The crowd leaned closer.
"I am honored—"
A pause.
A small catch in my breath.
I swallowed.
"I am honored to stand before you today, not only as your Queen, but as the daughter of Elowen's soul."
The silence grew thick. Even the air seemed to hold still.
"I… promise to lead not with fear, but with fire. Not with pride, but with purpose. And not… not alone."
Another tremble.
A flicker of my eyes back to him.
Rowen hadn't moved an inch.
But his stare had deepened—softened—just a little.
I looked away quickly. My voice cracked.
"Thank you."
It was barely a whisper.
Then I turned and walked away.
My heels echoed against the stone with soft, controlled clicks, but my steps were fast—too fast for ceremony.
My ladies-in-waiting tried to follow, but I raised a hand to stop them, never turning around.
My gown flowed behind me like a wake of smoke.
The petals on the ground stirred in my passing, my crown glinting in the light as I disappeared down the back steps of the dais.
The crowd was stunned.
Rye's mouth twisted as if about to speak—but he didn't.
Because in the very next moment, Rowen moved.
Not hurried. Not apologetic.
But deliberate.
He stepped from the archway, the guards parting silently.
Every eye followed him as he walked through the stunned crowd, boots striking stone like thunder.
No one dared stop him.
Not even the King.
Because everyone could feel it.
This wasn't politics. This wasn't a scandal.
This was fate.
I disappeared into the palace corridors.
And Rowen followed—without hesitation, without permission, without fear.
Like he had done so many years ago, when I was just a girl with a flower in my hair and a world in my eyes.
And I had always belonged to him.
Whether I knew it or not.