Third Person's POV
Two days had passed since the uproar. The palace was quieter now—quiet in that way it gets after a storm, when even the walls seem to hold their breath.
Maris had kept to her chambers, refusing visitors. Word had spread through Solara like wildfire: the former mistress, the mother of the king's son, had caught him with his new fiancée. The gossip was vicious, but the sympathy… surprising. Many saw in her what they'd once seen in Talia.
That morning, Talia walked alone through the west wing. Her golden gown shimmered faintly in the sunlight that spilled through the tall glass windows. A small bouquet of white lilies rested in her hand—the same flowers that once adorned her own bridal crown.
She stopped before the door guarded by two sentries.
"You may leave us," she said softly.
Inside, the room was dim. Curtains drawn. The scent of milk and lavender lingered in the air.
Maris sat in a chair by the cradle, Sorren asleep against her shoulder. Her hair was loose, her eyes ringed with exhaustion.
When she noticed Talia, she tensed. "Your Majesty."
"Please," Talia said gently. "No formalities today."
She set the flowers on the table and took a seat across from her. For a moment, neither spoke—the silence stretching between them, fragile but not cold.
"You've been through enough," Talia said finally. "And none of it is your fault."
Maris let out a bitter laugh. "You don't have to pretend to care. I know what I am—a mistake."
Talia's expression softened. "No. You were a woman who loved the wrong man."
She paused, voice quieter now. "I know what that feels like."
Maris looked up, startled by the honesty in her tone.
Talia continued, "Caelen's actions are his own. You shouldn't suffer for his pride or his sins. So I'm extending you and your son asylum here in the palace. You'll have your own quarters, a stipend, and protection. You may leave if you wish—but you'll never be turned away."
Maris blinked, her throat tightening. "Why? After everything—why be kind to me?"
Talia smiled faintly, reaching out to touch Sorren's tiny hand.
"Because kindness is something Caelen could never understand. And because this child…"—she looked down at the boy—"…didn't ask to be born into his father's chaos. He deserves peace."
For a long moment, neither woman spoke. Sorren stirred, sighing softly in his sleep.
Maris wiped at her eyes. "I don't know what to say."
"Then don't," Talia replied softly. "Just heal. That's all I ask."
When she stood to leave, Maris rose too, clutching Sorren close. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Talia turned at the doorway, her expression serene but her eyes carrying the weight of something deeper—perhaps a hint of longing, the ghost of the mother she once hoped to be.
"Rest well, Maris," she said. "The future has a way of surprising us… especially those strong enough to survive the past."
And with that, the Queen of the Sun left the room glowing softly in the light of her mercy.
The garden smelled of rain and honey.
Talia sat alone on the marble bench beneath the white lilac tree, her hands folded loosely in her lap, eyes distant. The soft hum of bees filled the stillness, and a single droplet of dew clung to her sleeve, catching the morning light like glass.
Rhenessa found her there.
The empress had shed her crimson armor for a flowing robe of twilight silk, her green hair braided down her back. She moved silently, her presence a quiet current of power and concern.
She paused before the queen, studying the way sunlight gilded her profile—the gentle strength, the sorrow she tried to hide.
"You were gone a long while," Rhenessa said softly.
Talia didn't look up. "I went to see Maris."
The empress tilted her head. "And?"
"She's hurting," Talia murmured. "But she's strong. Stronger than I expected."
A small, weary smile curved her lips. "I offered her a place here—safety for her and the child."
Rhenessa moved closer, her shadow stretching across the marble. "Of course you did," she said quietly. "You would rather heal a wound than salt it."
Talia sighed, finally lifting her gaze to meet hers. "She didn't deserve his cruelty. None of this was her fault. I've been in her place before—alone, blamed for his sins."
Her voice trembled, just slightly. "But I couldn't let her walk that same road."
Rhenessa reached out, her fingers brushing Talia's cheek. "That's why I love you," she whispered. "You could command armies with your voice, and yet you choose compassion over vengeance."
Talia leaned into her touch, eyes closing. "Sometimes compassion hurts more."
Rhenessa sat beside her, their shoulders touching, the golden light spilling over them both. For a moment, neither spoke. The world felt still — suspended between dusk and dawn.
"You've carried so much," Rhenessa murmured. "The weight of a crown, a kingdom, a broken heart. You don't have to carry it alone anymore, Tali."
Talia turned toward her, the soft nickname melting through her defenses.
"I know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to."
Their hands intertwined, the warmth between them quiet but fierce.
Rhenessa smiled faintly. "Then rest today. Let me carry the shadows while you breathe in the sun."
Talia laughed softly, brushing a strand of green hair from Rhenessa's face. "You make it sound like poetry."
"Everything between us is poetry," the empress replied simply.
And when Rhenessa leaned in to kiss her, it was slow and grounding — not passion's fire, but devotion's calm; sunlight meeting shadow in perfect balance.
The thunder of Caelen's footsteps echoed down the golden corridor.
Every servant who glimpsed him ducked away, pressing flat against the walls. His temper was legend—fiery, cruel when provoked—and this morning it burned hotter than the Solaran sun.
The council chamber doors swung open with a slam that startled the advisors mid-discussion.
Caelen strode in, his cloak flaring, his eyes burning like molten bronze.
"Who approved it?" he demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.
The Prime Councilor hesitated. "Your Majesty, if you refer to—"
"Don't play coy," Caelen snapped. "The Queen's decree! The one offering that woman—my former mistress—permanent asylum in the royal palace!"
A few members shifted uncomfortably.
No one dared answer.
"She's made a mockery of me," Caelen continued, pacing. "Allowing Maris to live here under her protection, as though I'm the villain in my own kingdom!"
The councilor cleared his throat. "With respect, Your Majesty… the Queen acted within her rights. As sovereign, her decisions regarding citizens and guests—"
"I am the King!" Caelen barked. "Not her!"
The room went still.
Every head bowed, not out of reverence, but fear.
A thin, almost pitying smile tugged at the councilor's lips. "And yet," he said carefully, "it seems Her Majesty's shadow stretches further these days than yours."
Caelen froze.
Then, with a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl, he turned and stormed out.
⸻
He didn't stop walking until he reached the balcony overlooking the gardens—the same gardens where Talia was said to spend her mornings now, often with the Empress of Shadows by her side.
He gripped the marble rail until his knuckles whitened. Below, the courtiers wandered through the sunlight, their chatter a low hum that only stoked his anger further.
"She dares to pity her," he muttered under his breath. "To take in the woman who—"
He stopped himself, jaw tightening.
It wasn't about Maris.
It was about control. About Talia no longer flinching when he raised his voice. About her smile being reserved for someone else.
And somewhere deep in his chest, resentment festered.
He had once thought her delicate—pliant. A soft jewel to display. But now she had become something radiant and untouchable.
Behind him, a familiar voice broke the silence.
"You're losing her," Lira said, leaning casually against the doorframe, her pale hair gleaming in the sun.
He turned sharply. "Mind your tongue."
"It's the truth," she said, stepping closer. "Everyone sees it. The Queen no longer lives in your shadow, Caelen. She is the light—and even your name dims beside hers."
Her tone wasn't mocking—it was amused, almost admiring.
"But perhaps that's not so bad," she continued. "If the sun shines too brightly, the clever seek shade."
Her fingers brushed his arm, a teasing reminder of where his comfort now lay.
Caelen's expression darkened.
"She's not invincible," he said. "Every light burns out eventually."
Lira smiled faintly, the kind of smile that hides secrets. "Then let's hope you're not standing too close when she does."