The room was dim and warm when Pillyse slowly drifted back into consciousness.
Her eyelashes fluttered still stuck between dream and waking and her breathing was unsteady from everything she had seen.
For a heartbeat, she feared she was still trapped in Denova's memories.
But then she saw him.
She saw Elarion.
Asleep beside her, his head resting on his folded arm near her pillow, his breathing soft and uneven like he had fought sleep all night just to watch over her.
Her chest tightened. (Why does he always make her heart feel… safe?)
When she shifted slightly, his eyes opened immediately silver and filled with worry.
"Pillyse…" his voice cracked. "Are you alright? Did you dream again? Did anything hurt? Do you need something? Water? The healer?"
She blinked at him. "…You ask too many questions."
"Only because you scare me too often."
Her brows rose. "So you're blaming me for your panic?"
A small, reluctant smile tugged his lips. "Always."
She rolled her eyes and lightly flicked his forehead. "Stop worrying. I'm fine."
"You're not," he whispered. "Your hands are trembling."
She quickly hid them under the blanket.
"I'm just cold. Nothing more."
That was a lie.
She was terrified of the visions.
Terrified because something inside them felt like truth.
She wasn't ready to tell him.
Not yet.
Not until she understood why she was seeing Denova's life, why she felt her emotions as if they were carved directly into her soul.
So she changed the subject.
"Duke Elarion," she said with a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "are you planning to stare at me forever? Should I start charging you?"
He sighed softly in defeat.
"Fine. I'll… ease my worries."
"Good." She sat up and stretched. "Because I'm starving."
His face brightened immediately too fast, too eager.
"Then allow me to escort you to breakfast."
She blinked. "…Why do you look so happy about that?"
"Because you said you're starving," he replied softly. "Which means you're here. You're awake. You're… still you."
Pillyse's heart flipped uncontrollably.
The dining hall was cozy with warm sunlight spilling in through the tall windows.
"Tell me," Elarion said as he personally pulled out her chair (something a duke like him with high standing should never do unless she's his lover.)"what would you like to eat?"
"Fried food. Anything fried. Especially fried chicken."
Elarion choked on air.
Pillyse lifted a brow. "You good?"
"Fried… chicken," he muttered like he was recalling a traumatic event. "Of all the things you could like…"
"Excuse me?" she gasped. "Fried chicken is life."
He stared at her. Then, slowly… he laughed. A deep, warm, helpless laugh that filled the room like sunlight.
"I remember," he said.
His eyes softened in a way that made her heart ache with familiarity she couldn't explain.
"Remember what?" she asked.
"In the past," he murmured, "you argued with me for a full hour because you wanted to eat fried chicken for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."
She blinked. "Sounds like a smart woman to me."
"You threatened to starve yourself if I didn't give in."
"And did you?"
"How could I not?" he said softly. "I was already hopeless."
She froze.
Something about his tone…
Something about the tenderness in his eyes…
It felt like they were continuing a story she didn't remember living.
Before she could ask, a sharp knock echoed.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was so sharp it nearly made Pillyse drop the last piece of chicken. Elarion placed his napkin down with a sigh.
"Enter!"
Butler Yoter Quelan stepped forward with an expression so stiff it seemed he had trained his face to show only two emotions: severity and more severity.
"A letter from the palace, Your Grace."
The wax seal shimmered with imperial gold. Pillyse watched Elarion open it. She wasn't prepared for the way his expression changed.
Peacefulness vanished.
His jaw clenched.
His brows drew together, sharp and thunderous.
He looked like someone who had just seen the beginning of a migraine he knew he couldn't escape.
"No," he muttered under his breath. "Not today."
Pillyse tilted her head. "What happened? Did someone die?"
"No, unfortunately."
He tossed the letter on the table with the air of a man tossing away a curse.
"It's an invitation to the Imperial Ball."
She blinked. "Is that… bad?"
"I was hoping to spend the day here. With you."
His voice lowered, honest and raw. "But the palace has other plans. Attendance is mandatory."
"Oh…"
She tried to hide her disappointment by stabbing a piece of chicken. "You should go then."
"I will go," he agreed.
He paused.
Then his voice softened into something that felt like velvet against her skin. "But I refuse to go alone."
She froze mid-bite. "…Pardon?"
"You will accompany me," he said gently, but with a certainty that left no room for doubt.
Pillyse coughed on absolutely nothing. "M–Me?! At a ball? With you? Partner—as in—partner partner?!"
"Yes." His eyes held hers with quiet conviction.
"I would bring no one else."
Butler Yoter's eyebrow twitched, as if he had just witnessed historical scandal.
What Pillyse did not know was simple. Duke Elarion had never brought a partner to a ball in his entire life. But this time, it was her.
Pillyse let out a sigh of defeat. After breakfast, Elarion escorted her through the manor's marble corridors. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, catching in her hair, turning it into woven strands of diamond. Pillyse seemed energized, curious asking him about everything from the kingdom's trade routes to political alliances.
"So the Western Duchies trade grain for silk?" she asked brightly.
"And the tax system does it vary per province? Or is it centralized?"
"You are surprisingly curious," he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Are you complaining?"
"Never."
Her grin widened. "Then enlighten me, Your Grace~"
He cleared his throat, pretending her playful tone didn't send warmth flooding into his chest.
But halfway down the hallway, his steps slowed.
Her voice faded.
Something inside him constricted.
Because walking beside him talking, smiling, teasing, thinking she was too familiar.
Too much like the woman he had once loved.
He remembered nights when they studied together as husband and wife…
The glow of the hearth lighting her cheeks…
Her soft humming while she wrote notes for him…
Her gentle voice calling, "Elarion, you're overworking again. Come here."
The way she always chose him no matter how many admirers surrounded her brilliant mind.
Every gesture this Pillyse made tore open those old memories warm and agonizing all at once.
Her laugh.
Her curiosity.
The tiny crease between her brows when she was thinking hard.
It was all her.
It was the same.
Too the same.
His heart wasn't prepared. His breath stalled. His feet stopped moving.
"Elarion?"
Her voice anchored him like a rope thrown to a drowning man.
He blinked, returning to himself to find her standing close, too close with worry written all over her face.
"You spaced out," she said softly. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," he lied. "Just… tired."
She didn't believe him.
But she didn't press.
Instead, she continued her questions, giving him the mercy of distraction, and he answered with grateful calm.
They eventually arrived at her chamber door.
Pillyse turned toward him, ready to thank him when she noticed something strange.
He wasn't leaving.
He wasn't talking.
He was simply… staring at her.
But not in a threatening way.
More like a man staring at the last piece of his soul he hadn't realized he lost.
"Elarion?" she whispered.
He stepped forward.
Slowly.
Almost reverently.
He took her hand his fingers warm around hers and lifted it with a gentleness that made her breath catch.
Then he kissed the back of her hand.
A soft, lingering kiss that poured silent longing into her skin. Her heart fluttered wildly.
"Rest well, Pillyse," he murmured, voice low.
"I will return after I visit the gownmaker."
She blinked. "You're… buying a dress? For me?"
"I am commissioning the finest gown in the empire for you," he corrected.
"The designer owes me everything. Reservations are unnecessary."
Pillyse flushed so deeply she felt like a boiled shrimp. "You're… spoiling me."
His eyes darkened with something warm and dangerous. "I haven't even started."
Her knees nearly gave out. She whispered, "Elarion…"
"Yes?"
"…I really appreciate everything." Then Pillyse remember about how Kael acted when they go shopping.
("I still can't get used to being treated this gently," )she thought, a quiet ache settling in her chest. ("In the world I came from, I was nothing, discarded, unseen. But here… maybe things can be different.")
She felt almost like a newborn, uncertain and unsteady, knowing only one thing with clarity: Elarion loves her deeply because he believes she is the woman he once vowed to cherish for an eternity. And for the first time, she wondered if she was allowed to accept that kind of devotion.
Pillyse look at Elarion and smile.
He chuckled a low, rich sound that sent heat racing down her spine. Then he bowed, cape sweeping elegantly as he turned.
"Until later."
As he walked away, Pillyse clutched the hand he had kissed.
Her heart wouldn't stop pounding.
For the first time in her life she felt something terrifyingly sweet.
Something familiar.
Something ancient.
Something that belonged to him.
Even if she still didn't understand why.