Weeks passed.
Daphne healed slowly from the betrayal, throwing herself into Arin's treatment.
The Emperor was improving, slowly but surely, thanks to her relentless care, the blood transfusion and the pills she had made.
Alaric, meanwhile, was consumed by duty.
He only came to their chamber at midnight, slipping in when she was asleep.
The only time they shared was breakfast which Alaric had insisted on. They were brief moments too fleeting for real conversation.
One afternoon in his study, while maps lay spread and the palace hummed outside, the door opened and Carlden and Marcus entered, breathless with news.
"Regent Majesty," Carlden said at once, bowing. "We found her."
Alaric's head snapped up. "Who?"
Marcus dropped a sealed note onto the table. "The Dowager. The Emperor's grandmother. She's alive. Located in a small, isolated village, across the border, in the next kingdom."
Alaric took the paper with one steady hand and read.
