Third Person's POV
The palace of Solara buzzed with the kind of excitement that could only mean one thing — the Queen's birthday was near.
In just a month, all of Auremera's nobility would gather for the Ball of Dawning, the grandest celebration of the year. Servants were already stringing suncrystal garlands along the marble corridors, and invitations embossed with golden wax were being sent to every realm — including Noctyra.
Talia's birthday always marked the beginning of the sun season, a time of abundance and renewal. Yet this year, the Queen's heart felt like it had already begun to bloom — for a reason known to very few.
But while the rest of Solara celebrated the preparations, two very different hearts were scheming.
⸻
In the King's Quarters
Caelen stood at the window overlooking the royal gardens, a half-smile playing at his lips.
"Her birthday," he murmured, fingers drumming against the glass. "The people adore her. The court will all be watching. Perfect."
He turned to Maris, reclining on the settee, her hands resting over her rounded belly.
"If there's ever a day to remind her who she belongs beside, it's then. A public gesture. Grand. Impossible to ignore."
Maris tilted her head, hazel eyes curious.
"And what will you do, my King? Kiss her hand before the court and hope she forgets the Empress exists?"
He chuckled softly, though his gaze darkened.
"No. I'll remind her of what we once were. I'll make her remember how it felt before all of this."
Maris smiled faintly, hiding her unease. She had no interest in sharing Caelen's heart, but the thought of Talia's power — her glow — made jealousy curdle in her chest.
"Then you'd better be ready to dazzle," she said, rising slowly. "Because if what the servants whisper is true, the Empress of Shadows plans to arrive with a spectacle that will make the sun itself dim."
Caelen frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Maris shrugged, feigning innocence.
"Rumors. That she's preparing a gift — something the likes of which Solara has never seen. I thought you'd want to know."
Her tone was sweet as honey, but her words dripped with venom.
Caelen turned back toward the window, jaw tight. The idea of Rhenessa outshining him — outshining him in his own court — ignited a familiar burn in his chest.
"Let her try," he said softly. "I'll make sure Solara remembers whose light truly rules these halls."
⸻
Meanwhile, in the Queen's Chambers
Talia stood before her mirror as Stella fussed over her jewelry. Her thoughts, however, were miles away — drifting through memory and shadow toward the woman who had stolen her heart.
"A month," Talia whispered. "Only a month."
Stella smiled knowingly.
"You've never looked forward to your birthday this much before."
"Perhaps I've never had a reason to," Talia said softly, touching the small flame-shaped pendant at her throat — Rhenessa's gift.
Outside, the sunlight shifted across the marble floor, warm and golden.
Somewhere beyond the sea, in the depths of shadow, an Empress was preparing to cross the border again — and she was bringing more than a gift.
She was bringing change.
In Noctyra, the Empress's palace pulsed with quiet energy — a rhythm of movement that only came before great change. Servants hurried through corridors of black marble veined with molten gold, carrying crates, scrolls, and bolts of deep silk. The air smelled of ink, ash, and blooming night orchids.
From her private study, Rhenessa Daelora watched it all unfold with a rare, almost mischievous smile.
Her advisors stood before her, their postures rigid, their eyes betraying a touch of fear. They had seen her wrath in battle — but never this strange, almost playful calm.
"Your Majesty," one of them ventured carefully, "the preparations are… extensive. Might we ask the nature of this event?"
Rhenessa's gaze drifted from the dark horizon to the parchment spread before her — sketches, sigils, and what appeared to be a design of sorts.
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, the faint light of shadowfire dancing across her skin.
"You may ask," she said lightly, "but I won't tell you."
The advisor blinked. "Then how are we to—"
"Trust me," she interrupted, her smile deepening. "You'll know what to do when the time comes. You always do."
A ripple of uneasy laughter passed among the room.
Only when they bowed and left did Rhenessa rise, walking toward the window. The night stretched before her — a canvas of deep indigo and flickering stars.
"The Sun Queen's birthday," she murmured. "The day the world celebrates her light."
Her fingers brushed the golden flame pendant that hung around her neck — its twin to the one she'd given Talia.
"Let's see how the light dances when shadow kisses it again."
⸻
Later that evening, Rhenessa entered the Hall of Embers, where her inner circle awaited — artisans, sorcerers, and commanders.
"Everything we need must be ready within three weeks," she commanded. "No delays. No questions."
The lead artisan bowed. "Of course, Empress. But… are we to expect a war or a wedding?"
Rhenessa smirked, violet eyes glinting.
"Neither," she said. "Something far more dangerous."
Her council exchanged nervous glances.
"We are preparing a gift."
The room fell silent. Even the flames seemed to hold their breath.
And as Rhenessa turned toward the great window overlooking her empire — her hair gleaming green-black in the firelight — she whispered softly to herself, a secret vow carried on the wind:
"For her, I'll bring the dawn to its knees."
The afternoon sunlight spilled into the Queen's chambers, warm and golden, painting everything in Solara's signature glow.
Talia sat before her vanity, the same ornate mirror that had reflected her through girlhood, marriage, heartbreak — and now, rebirth.
Her fingers traced the edge of the frame as memories unfurled like silk ribbons.
⸻
Ten Years Ago — Her 21st Birthday
The palace had been alive with laughter that day. Musicians filled the courtyards, dancers twirled under floating sunlights, and the streets of Solara had overflowed with people celebrating their radiant princess.
It had been her first birthday as Queen — her coronation anniversary barely a season before. She could still remember the weight of the crown, the warmth of her people's love, and the way Caelen had looked at her then — with awe, with devotion.
Everything had felt possible.
The world had been bathed in sunlight, and so had she.
⸻
Now — Ten Years Later
Talia exhaled softly, her gaze shifting back to her reflection. The woman staring back was not the same radiant girl she'd been then — she was sharper, wiser, and infinitely stronger.
"The 21st was for the kingdom," she murmured to herself. "The 31st will be for me."
Stella stood nearby, sorting through fabrics and jewelry for the upcoming celebration, but she glanced up at the sound of her Queen's voice.
"Your Majesty?"
"My birthday," Talia said, eyes glinting with purpose. "It will not be a symbol of the past. It will be a statement — of who I've become."
She rose, the soft swish of silk following her. "No more delicate sunlight. I want to burn brighter than I ever have before."
"And what does that mean, my Queen?" Stella asked carefully.
Talia smiled — slow, knowing, devastating.
"It means I will remind them all that the Sun does not need to share her throne. It means I will look like what I truly am — an empress in waiting."
She moved toward the wardrobe, her hand brushing over the shimmering gowns of gold and ivory. "The dress," she mused, "should be a scandal. Regal, daring, divine. It should silence every whisper that's ever questioned my strength — and it should make her…"
Her voice softened, a secret smile curling her lips.
"It should make Rhenessa forget the world exists."
Stella chuckled softly. "Then we'll make sure the Sun herself envies you, my Queen."
Talia turned toward the balcony, letting the sunlight kiss her skin.
Her heart ached for the shadows that had touched her so gently, the hands that had shown her that even the light could be held.
"My last birthday was for duty," she whispered. "This one… this one will be for desire."
The King's private quarters smelled faintly of parchment and expensive cologne. Papers littered his desk — drafts of speeches, sketches of jewelry, even notes written in his own hand describing possible gifts.
Caelen leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded as he studied the crown jewel of his plan — the grand gesture that would turn the court's eyes, and Talia's heart, back to him.
"She won't expect it," he murmured. "Not from me. Not after all this time."
He smiled faintly, remembering the last time she'd looked at him with genuine warmth — years ago, before duty and distance had hardened the air between them.
"But she will," he whispered. "She'll remember."
Across the room, Maris shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The heavy silk of her maternity gown draped across her swollen belly as she tried to find a position that didn't ache. Her fingers traced the curve of her stomach as she watched him work — silent, simmering.
"You've been at that desk all morning," she said finally, her tone light but edged. "Shouldn't you rest, my love?"
Caelen didn't look up. "I can rest when this is finished."
"This?" She tilted her head. "You mean her."
That made him pause. He exhaled slowly, setting his pen down before turning toward her.
"You know this is political, Maris. The alliance, the image of the crown — it all depends on how the Queen and I appear to the world."
Her laugh was soft and bitter.
"Appearances. That's all I ever hear."
Maris rose carefully, crossing the room to him. Her tone dropped lower — hurt threading through her voice.
"Do you ever think about me in all of this? About us?"
He hesitated.
"Of course I do. You and the child—"
"—come second to her," Maris finished, voice trembling. "Always her. Even now, when she barely looks at you, you're chasing her shadow like a lovesick boy."
Caelen's jaw clenched.
"Enough."
But she pressed on, voice breaking as she touched her stomach.
"You've forgotten who stood beside you when she turned cold! Who made you feel wanted when she shut you out! I'm carrying your heir, Caelen—your legacy—and you spend your days planning flowers and speeches for the woman who despises you!"
He turned sharply away, hands gripping the edge of the desk. His silence was its own confession.
"This isn't just about her," he said finally, low and tired. "It's about the throne. About the kingdom. You wouldn't understand."
"No," she whispered, tears gathering in her hazel eyes. "I understand perfectly. You'll fight for her until it destroys you."
She moved toward the door, stopping just long enough to add,
"And when it does, don't expect me to pick up the pieces again."
The door shut softly behind her.
Caelen sank into his chair, his reflection caught in the polished gold of a decorative mirror. He looked like a man haunted by what he'd lost — and what he still refused to admit was gone.
"She'll see me again," he said to the empty room. "On her birthday, she'll remember."
He didn't realize how close his words were to a prayer.
The Queen's wing of the palace was alive with quiet chatter that morning. Servants bustled through the corridors, carrying fresh linens, tea trays, and armfuls of flowers. It was the usual hum of life — but beneath it, whispers thrived like wild ivy.
"Did you hear? The King's been planning something for Her Majesty's birthday."
"They say he's working himself to exhaustion over it."
"Poor man. He still doesn't realize she's long past needing him."
Laughter, light but sharp, followed the gossip down the marble halls.
Inside her study, Queen Talia do Sol signed off on a stack of parchment — trade approvals, council decisions, letters from foreign ambassadors — her golden quill gliding effortlessly across the page. She didn't even have to look up to know Stella had entered.
"You're smiling, my Queen," Stella said, setting a steaming cup of jasmine tea beside her.
Talia's pen paused mid-stroke. "Am I?"
"Mm. The kind of smile that says someone's amusing you."
Talia leaned back in her chair, a soft laugh escaping. "The staff gossip travels faster than the royal messenger."
"It's not gossip if it's true," Stella teased. "The King's apparently in a frenzy preparing some grand gesture. Perhaps flowers again?"
Talia chuckled, swirling her tea. "He always did believe gestures could fix what neglect destroyed."
Her gaze drifted toward the open balcony, where the sunlight poured in — warm and inviting. She tilted her head slightly, her expression distant, wistful, yet serene.
"Let him plan," she murmured. "I've already received my favorite gift."
"From Noctyra?" Stella asked knowingly.
Talia smiled — radiant and secretive all at once. "From her."
The attendant grinned softly. "Then it seems your birthday will be brighter than anyone expects."
"Oh, Stella," Talia said with a quiet, amused sigh. "It's not the brightness they should worry about. It's the eclipse that follows."
She turned back to her papers, her pen glinting in the light like a blade of gold.
And somewhere in the depths of the palace, the staff whispered again — this time in tones of awe.
"The Queen has changed."
"No," someone corrected gently. "She's returned."