Third Person's POV
The Golden Council Hall shimmered with morning light, spilling through the tall arched windows of gold-framed glass. At the long marble table sat Solara's finest — ministers, generals, advisors, and at the head, Queen Talia do Sol, radiant in authority.
She wore a sleek gown of sun-white silk trimmed in gold, her hair braided and pinned with amber jewels that caught the light with every turn of her head. The council's attention was fixed on her — and not just for her beauty, but for her mind.
"We'll reinforce the western border," she said smoothly, reviewing a scroll. "If Gravemere so much as shifts its soldiers again, we respond with diplomacy first, defense second."
The council murmured in agreement — or perhaps awe. This was the Queen who had once faltered under her husband's shadow. Now she commanded the room with effortless grace.
Across from her, Caelen sat listening, hands clasped, jaw tight. He had tried, over and over, to reach her. Yet this version of Talia — poised, untouchable, and luminous — was no longer his to reach.
He was still brooding when the great doors to the hall creaked open.
A hush fell as two Noctyran messengers entered, cloaked in deep crimson and black. Between them, they carried a long, elegant chest carved from obsidian and etched with runes that glowed faintly purple — the unmistakable mark of the Shadow Empire.
Talia's golden eyes widened slightly. The courtiers straightened, whispering amongst themselves.
"What is this?" one minister asked, leaning forward.
"A message from Noctyra?" another murmured. "Delivered here?"
The messengers bowed deeply.
"A gift," said the taller one, voice rich with the accent of the southern darklands. "From Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Rhenessa Daelora — for the Queen of Solara."
The murmurs grew louder. Caelen's grip on the table tightened.
"Present it," Talia said, her tone calm but her pulse fluttering.
The chest was placed before her. The messengers unlocked it with a touch — and the lid opened to reveal an exquisite sculpture crafted of fused gold and black glass.
It was a sunflower, but its petals were shadowed — half radiant gold, half translucent dark crystal. From its center rose a small flame, flickering between gold and violet hues.
Gasps filled the hall.
At its base, engraved in elegant runes, were words written in both ancient Solaran and the shadow-tongue:
"Even the sun finds peace when shadow dares to touch it."
The meaning was not lost on anyone.
A flush rose to Talia's cheeks.
It was not a love confession — not openly — but the implication danced perilously close.
"How… poetic," one of the councilors remarked with a knowing smirk. "A fine token from our ally, wouldn't you say, Your Majesty?"
Another chuckled softly. "Allies do exchange such… thoughtful gifts."
Talia shot them a regal but amused glance. "Careful, gentlemen. Your imaginations may get you in trouble."
The room laughed politely, though all eyes flicked between the Queen and the smoldering King beside her.
Caelen's expression had gone cold. His eyes fixed on the sculpture — beautiful, delicate, and intimate. He recognized what it was, what it meant. And the fact that it arrived here, before the council, made it worse.
"A fine gesture indeed," he said finally, voice tight. "Though one wonders if such displays are… entirely diplomatic."
Talia smiled sweetly, her composure unshaken.
"Oh, but it is. The Empress and I share a deep appreciation for art — and symbolism."
Her tone was honey and steel.
The council chuckled again, tension broken, but Caelen could not shake the image of that flame — violet and gold entwined.
⸻
When the meeting adjourned, Talia lingered alone, fingertips brushing the sculpture's petals. The faint warmth of the magic pulsed beneath her skin, and she couldn't help but whisper under her breath,
"You always know how to make an entrance, Nessa."
And somewhere far away, in the halls of Noctyra, Rhenessa smiled — as though she'd heard her.
Night draped itself over Solara in soft gold and silver. The Queen's chambers glowed with the gentle light of dozens of floating sun-orbs, casting warm shadows over silk curtains and polished marble.
On the center table, the sculpture from Rhenessa shimmered faintly — the golden and violet flame burning low but steady, almost alive.
Talia sat nearby, her long pink hair loose over one shoulder, a quill poised in hand. The parchment before her was half-filled, ink still drying where her elegant script wove between diplomacy and longing.
⸻
To Her Imperial Majesty, Rhenessa Daelora
My dearest ally,
Your gift arrived during council today. You would have laughed to see their faces — I fear one of my ministers nearly fainted when he realized it might not be entirely political.
The sculpture is exquisite. I've placed it where I can see it from my bed, so I might fall asleep to its light. How is it that even your shadows feel warm?
The King, of course, is brooding. You've managed to turn diplomacy into theater again, my Empress. It's a skill that both terrifies and thrills me.
The hall was buzzing after you stole the morning with your 'art.' You always do. And I? I find myself smiling more than I should.
— T.
She set the quill down, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her golden eyes lingered on the violet flame as it flickered — two colors entwined in impossible harmony.
"Always dramatic, my Nessa," she murmured with a faint smile. "You know exactly how to make them talk."
⸻
Later that Night — The Staff Quarters
The palace kitchen was winding down for the night, but the staff quarters were alive with whispered chaos. Candles flickered as maids, attendants, and guards lounged around the great oak table, trading gossip like treasure.
"So you're telling me," said Mira, one of the laundresses, eyes wide, "the Empress sent the Queen a glowing flower that literally burns in two colors?"
"And the Queen smiled," added one of the guards dramatically. "Smiled. In front of the King."
"Bless the Sun," a cook whispered, "that woman's braver than the rest of us combined."
Laughter erupted.
Then, the doors opened — and Stella strolled in, holding a cup of tea like a royal herself. The room went quiet.
"Evening," she said coolly, taking a seat.
Everyone turned toward her expectantly. Stella smirked. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You all want details, don't you?"
"We heard you were there when the gift arrived," Mira said eagerly.
"And that the Queen blushed."
Stella pretended to ponder, tapping her chin. "Blushed? No, no, glowed. There's a difference."
The table burst into laughter.
"So it's true then?" the cook asked between giggles. "The Queen's heart's been stolen by the Shadow Empress?"
Stella raised her brow, sipping her tea. "Stolen? My dear, it wasn't theft. It was mutual arson."
The whole room howled with laughter. Even the guards were grinning.
"And the King?" someone whispered conspiratorially. "Still trying to win her back?"
"Oh, absolutely," Stella said with mock seriousness. "He's planning something grand, bless him. But between us?"
She leaned in dramatically.
"He's trying to outshine the Empress of Shadows. I give him… two minutes before the Queen burns brighter."
The laughter echoed through the hall like music.
"So who's winning the great royal love triangle, then?" the cook asked.
"The Queen," Stella said without hesitation, rising from her seat. "Always the Queen."
She left them grinning and whispering, the air thick with warmth and amusement.
⸻
Upstairs, Talia closed her eyes, the faint hum of laughter drifting faintly from below. She smiled to herself, brushing her fingers over the sculpture one last time before sleep claimed her.
And for the first time in years, the Queen of the Sun dreamed not of crowns or duty — but of hands, shadows, and love wrapped in light.