Chapter 28 — The Room He Built for Her
He didn't tell her.
Not at first.
He simply began gathering things — moonwood from the old grove, frostbloom petals she had once sung open, bits of parchment with her handwriting pressed between glass. He worked at night, when the palace was quiet and the stars were watching.
He wasn't building a throne.
He was building a room.
For her.
---
It wasn't grand.
It was gentle.
A small chamber tucked behind the music room, where the walls curved like wings and the ceiling opened to the sky. He lined the shelves with soft cloth and empty journals. He placed a harp in the corner — not the ancient one, but a new one, carved with her name in dragon script.
He didn't know what to call it.
So he didn't.
He just… made it hers.
---
Lyra found it by accident.
She had been following the sound of wind through stone, a whisper she'd begun to recognize as his presence. The door was slightly ajar. She stepped inside.
And stopped.
The glow in her chest pulsed once.
She touched the harp. It hummed.
She opened a journal. The first page read:
> *For the girl who listens.
> For the girl who stays.
> For the girl who is not mine to keep —
> but mine to welcome.*
Her eyes filled with tears.
He stepped into the doorway, silent.
"I didn't know how to say it," he said. "So I built it."
Lyra turned, her voice trembling. "Say what?"
He walked to her, placed his hand over hers on the harp, and whispered:
> "You belong here."
She didn't speak.
She just leaned into him, her glow wrapping around them both.
And the room — quiet, sacred, waiting — held them gently.
Not as king and bride.
As home.