Dawn's first light filtered through the towering city walls, illuminating the domes and intricate red tiles of Rahlian as if welcoming back the "Snowflame Queen." The Royal Flame Army marched triumphantly through the gates, banners snapping in the wind. The Silver Oath Shield and Fire Cavalry formed precise ranks, soldiers' chants resounding with high morale. Clad in plain silver battle robes—her cape still dusted with Northern Border snow—Aveline rode at the vanguard, her gaze resolute yet gentle as she accepted the cheers and wonder of citizens lining the streets. Lucian followed close behind, his ice-blue eyes shining with both pride and tender concern.
As the procession reached the palace steps before the bronze lion railings—symbols of the city's submission—Aveline removed her war helm. Her disheveled bun only accentuated her dignified bearing. Royal officials had gathered on both sides of the square, their expressions mixed: admiring approval, veiled discontent, and cold stares. Lord Baeloth, an elder statesman, bowed courteously but probed: "Your Majesty, your northern campaigns have spread your fame far and wide. Yet court affairs still need order. How will you first appease old nobles and remaining church factions?"
Clasping her scepter, Aveline scanned the crowd, voice clear: "Past conflicts arose from the misuse of my royal blood. Today, governance begins with benevolence and law. I will convene a tri-council to replace feudal privileges with covenants, replace favoritism with fairness—enabling every minister to serve under new laws, unburdened by private grudges." Pausing, she met the church delegation's eyes: "If church prelates will join me in protecting the people, I will reopen the Holy See Council to balance sacred and secular duties, purging bigotry and heresy."
Father Cerian, the church representative, nodded hesitantly: "Your Majesty's words could begin an era of church-royal co-governance. May council discussions prove more than empty promises."
The square fell silent, then erupted in thunderous applause. Even skeptical old nobles nodded inwardly: she had shed the "tyrant queen" label, winning hearts through fairness and magnanimity.
Lucian stepped forward, whispering in her ear: "They test your mettle—genuine gold or gilded pretense. After tonight's banquet, we'll seek allies and unmask traitors." Aveline smiled and nodded.
That afternoon, a court banquet was held in the Ginkgo Hall. Golden leaf tapestries hung from the ceiling, candlelight and sunlight blending into a warm glow. Aveline wore a lavender gown with a royal blood badge at her waist and an obsidian pendant gifted by Lucian. She mingled with envoys and nobles, pouring wine and conversing—composed yet resolute in her vision for reform. Many who had opposed her were won over by her sincerity, swearing allegiance.
As night fell and the banquet dispersed, a few representatives of old and new factions remained in a private chamber. Aveline and Lucian sat side by side, their shadows stretched by lamplight. Lucian offered a cup of newly mixed night-blossom wine: "Today you won over skeptics with royal grace and pacified dissent with mercy. This wine is called 'Nightflame'—let us drink to your return to the throne." Aveline sipped, tasting bittersweet notes tangled with floral hints: "With you at my side, governing the realm is no longer a lonely burden."
Lucian drew her close, embracing her as his lips brushed her ear: "Tonight, let me repay you in ways beyond the sword. After years of storm, you deserve respite." Aveline leaned into his chest, fingers trailing along his collar: "For this moment, let us set aside royal duties and steal a breath of tenderness." They smiled, lost in the night's embrace—moments of intimacy speaking louder than words.
Just then, faint footsteps and whispers sounded outside. A guard respectfully slid aside the inner corridor screen. A messenger reported in a low voice: "From the West Garden, Lord Elwin and his men are sneaking to the South Gate—their intentions are suspect." Aveline and Lucian exchanged a sharp glance, resolve firm: "The trial by fire isn't over. Deeper shadows move."
Lucian unsheathed his sword, its edge glinting: "They refuse to yield. Tonight, let them learn the Royal Flame's edicts and blood are no empty words."
Aveline ran her hand along the blade, voice steely: "If they reignite old hatreds, let them feel the fire of true justice."
Smiling at each other, their resolute figures were mirrored in the candlelight. Rahlian's night wind entered through the window, carrying the moon's chill—but within that chill, smoldered spreading shadows and unbreakable vows.