Lyria wasn't used to being shaken.
Not by fear.
And not by admiration either.
But that girl — RIVEN — somehow managed to do both.
During the three days Riven remained unconscious after saving her, Lyria would wake up in the middle of the night only to find the girl sitting there, unmoving, breathing evenly, like a silent guardian carved from obsidian.
She should have been frightening.
Her eyes had been sharp and cold.
Her presence heavy with power.
Yet Lyria had never felt safer.
Why?
Why did she trust someone she barely knew?
Why did it feel like this girl was incapable of harming her?
And why did her heart calm down whenever Riven was near?
Lyria didn't know.
But she wished to understand.
Lyria stayed beside Riven as much as she could.
The healers told her to rest, but she couldn't.
Every time she looked at Riven's peaceful face, she felt the weight of what she owed her.
She saved my life.
She ripped a curse out of my heart.
She almost died doing it.
How could she simply walk away?
So Lyria remained at her bedside — reading, humming softly, or simply staring at the ceiling while glancing at the sleeping girl every few minutes.
Riven had become… intriguing.
Someone Lyria wanted to talk to.
Someone she wanted to thank properly.
Someone she hoped would not vanish once she woke up.
The morning Riven woke, Lyria felt something flutter sharply inside her chest — relief so intense it almost hurt.
Riven sat up slowly, and their eyes met.
Not as princess and commoner.
But as two people who had shared something life-changing.
Riven spoke plainly, honestly, without trying to impress or intimidate.
And for the first time in her life, Lyria felt that someone was speaking to her — not at her.
The connection was small, fragile… but real.
In the two days Riven spent recovering inside the palace, Lyria found herself drawn to her.
Not by fascination with power.
But by the unexpected warmth hidden behind her cold exterior.
Riven took a sip, nodded, and calmly said:
"It tastes… normal."
Lyria couldn't help laughing.
It was the first genuine laugh she'd had in weeks.
Lyria loved how patient she was — direct, but never harsh.
Not treating her like an untouchable princess.
_When their hands brushed by accident
Lyria felt something warm shoot up her arm.
Not romantic — just unfamiliar.
Like discovering a new feeling she had no name for.
Riven, on the other hand, simply blinked as if nothing happened.
And somehow… Lyria found that endearing.
Serin peeked at her shyly, hiding behind Lyria's dress.
Riven knelt down, smiling softly, patting the child's head.
For a moment, something sad and distant flickered in Riven's eyes.
A memory — maybe of someone she once cared for.
Lyria noticed.
And her curiosity deepened.
Later that day, Lyria gathered the courage to ask:
"Riven … why do I feel stronger than before? More… awake."
Riven glanced at her calmly.
"I gave you some of my energy."
Lyria froze.
"What? Why would you—?"
"Your body was drained. The curse ate every bit of your strength.
If I hadn't transferred some of my power, your body wouldn't have recovered."
Then she added, almost casually:
"Your healing ability will grow stronger now. Perhaps even stronger than the queen's someday."
Lyria didn't know what to say.
Her chest tightened — not with fear, but gratitude she couldn't express.
By the second day, Riven had regained enough strength to stand before the throne.
The king, queen, Lyria, and little Serin lined up to face her.
The king's voice held a mix of gratitude and tension:
"You saved my daughter's life. Whatever reward you desire — name it."
Even Lyria held her breath, afraid of what Riven might request.
But Riven simply shook her head.
"I don't need anything."
The room fell silent.
The Queen said with smile ,
you must want something , Titles, wealth, lands, anything you need and desire just named .
She hesitated — then added:
"But… if you insist, there is one thing."
The king straightened, wary.
"Speak."
Riven smiled softly — unexpectedly kind.
"…Please support the orphanage where I grew up.
The children there don't have much.
If you can help them… that is enough for me."
Everyone stared.
The king.
The queen.
Even Lyria felt a sting in her chest.
Such strength — matched with such selflessness — was rare.
The king finally nodded.
"It will be done."
Before she could leave, he added:
"We will hold a celebration for Lyria's recovery.
You are invited, Riven Nightthorn."
Riven bowed slightly.
"I'll be there."
As Riven walked down the corridor to leave, Lyria realized something undeniable:
She didn't see her as a threat.
Or a warrior.
Or a savior.
But as someone she wanted to keep in her life.
Someone inspiring.
Someone steady.
Someone she wanted to call a friend.
And maybe—
eventually—
something even deeper.
But for now…
friendship was more than enough.