The air was tense. Bellies were tighter than belts. Murmurs crawled through the kingdom like smoke.
Then—a trumpet.
The guards at the gate turned sharply, eyes wide.
Carts—hundreds—loaded to the brim, rolling into the kingdom with gleaming armor, Velmora's soldiers upright and silent.
A roar erupted across Elareth.
Iridessa threw her outer robe off and dashed from her chamber, Miri on her heels.
Villagers rushed to the streets, shouting, crying, clapping their hands.
Iridessa stopped at the palace gates, gasping at the sight.
Grain. Dried fruits. Water flasks. Blankets. Herbs. Tools. And lots more.
The Velmora soldiers said nothing. They unloaded quietly, bowed—and without a word, turned their horses and rode away.
Their departure was silent. But their presence had thundered like a promise.
Iridessa ran to the wagons, her hands trembling as they gripped sack after sack. She laughed—laughed!—and Miri beside her burst into soft tears.
From a distance, Queen Isadora watched. Beside her, Evelyn's mouth opened and closed.
"Velmora helped us?" she whispered, tasting disbelief like poison.
King Rael raised his chin. "Seems so." He turned to the guards. "Distribute everything. The villagers eat first."
The courtyard swarmed with motion.
One guard lifted a large sack to carry it inside when the bottom tore slightly—spilling a little trail of grain onto the stones.
Miri bent to help sweep it aside—but something glimmered in the mess.
A small bottle. It rolled and stopped right at her foot.
Miri froze. Her eyes widened. She picked it up slowly, fingers shaking, her heart fluttered.
The same bottle. Her bottle. The one she had given Aurora.
She looked up quickly—but no one had noticed. The grains distracted everyone. Iridessa was still laughing, holding a loaf of bread to her chest like it was gold.
Miri's throat tightened. She slipped the bottle into her skirt and pressed her hand over it.
A silent relief passed through her. She is alive—Aurora is alive. She smiled.
The courtroom of Elareth had not known such stillness in years.
Lords and ladies of the court filled the long chamber, dressed in colors too rich for their own good. The stone walls, once echoes of bitter arguments and famine reports, now hummed with quiet gratitude. Murmurs rippled like wind on still water.
"All of this would not have been possible without the wisdom and foresight of Princess Iridessa," Lord Fenwick said, rising from his seat with a firm voice. "Her letters, her compassion, her courage—she is the reason our people are sleeping with full stomachs now."
A round of nods and claps followed. Even Lord Daron, always skeptical, muttered an agreeable "Aye."
"She has done more for Elareth in two moons than others have done in two decades," another noblewoman said, casting a glance—intended or not—toward the royal dais.
King Rael offered a quiet nod, but the pride in his eyes was unmissable. "Let it be known, the daughter of Dhalmar has become the light of Elareth."
The applause grew. But not everyone clapped.
Queen Isadora sat stiffly, fingers curled tightly around the edge of her armrest. Her face was carved of stone, eyes narrowed in distant fury.
Beside her, Princess Evelyn crossed her arms tightly, eyes rolling with disdain.
And Magnus… Prince Magnus sat rigid. His jaw clenched, fingers twitching as Iridessa's name continued to roll off lips like prayer.
But Iridessa did not gloat.
She sat quietly, head slightly bowed, hands folded in her lap. Her expression was calm—humble even. She did not lift her eyes to meet the hall's praise.
Days Later…..
Peace settled over Elareth like soft snow.
The streets were no longer filled with coughing and groans. Laughter rang out at corners, and children ran barefoot through the softened earth. The palace bustled again—cooks sang in the kitchen, servants moved with purpose, and life breathed through its halls like it had not in years.
Iridessa sat in her chamber, the late sun casting golden stripes across the marble floor.
She was sewing, slowly, the thread a pale blue silk.
Miri entered quietly, holding something small in her hand. She hesitated for a moment, then moved closer.
"My lady…" she began.
Iridessa looked up.
Miri gave her a little smile and opened her palm. "I think… Aurora is alive."
Iridessa's eyes widened. Her fingers dropped the needle.
Miri held up the tiny bottle. "I found it in one of the grain sacks. Tucked in. It is the one I gave her. The one I slipped into her hand before she left."
Iridessa gasped softly. Her hand flew to her mouth, her heart thudding.
"She is alive," she whispered. "This… this is her message. She wanted you to know."
Miri nodded, her smile trembling. "Perhaps… she is the one who helped us. The carts came too swiftly, too generously. It must have been her."
Iridessa blinked back tears.
"Do you think…" Miri added gently, "maybe she is more powerful now than we ever imagined?"
Iridessa held the bottle gently, like it might shatter. She looked toward the open window, toward the fading light over the distant hills.
"Perhaps," she whispered, "fate brought me here for her. And her there—for us."
Miri sat beside her, resting her head on Iri's shoulder.
And together, they listened to the distant music floating up from the village square—the sound of a kingdom healing.
-
The door slammed shut with a sharp crack.
Queen Isadora stood by the tall window of her chamber, lips pursed, the lace of her sleeve trembling in her fist. Her eyes burned holes into the courtyard below, where she could still faintly hear the echoes of laughter. Villagers, guards, nobles—all of them—chanting Iridessa's name like some blessed savior.
Evelyn was pacing like a wildcat, her jeweled shoes clicking against the tiled floor.
"I cannot believe this," Evelyn snapped, voice laced with venom. "Did you hear them? Did you? Like she is the hope of Elareth. Like we have not been the ones holding this palace together."
Isadora turned sharply, her voice cool and low, like ice sliding across steel. "They forget too quickly. They forget who rules here."
"She did not even say anything," Evelyn spat. "Just sat there with her big eyes like some martyred saint. And they lapped it up."
"Because fools love a humble heroine," Isadora hissed. "Especially one who bleeds just enough to seem holy."
The door opened again.
Prince Magnus stepped in, his jaw still tight, shoulders stiff as stone. He said nothing at first—just strode to the wine table, poured a generous goblet, and drank it in one pull.
"I want her out of this palace," he said finally, slamming the goblet down. "She is poisoning everything. The court, the servants… even father looks at her like she is a gift from the heaven."
Isadora turned back to the window. "You should have silenced her long ago."
"I tried," Magnus snapped. "She is too quiet to be caught, too clever to be punished, and now too loved to be touched."
Evelyn folded her arms, her lips curling. "So what now? We let her walk around like some star-blessed marvel while we rot in the shadows of our own court?"
"She will slip," Isadora said coldly. "They always do. Especially when they start to believe they belong."
Magnus sneered. "Let her keep playing perfect. The higher she rise, the harder she fall."
"Exactly," Isadora said, her voice smooth and sharp like a dagger dipped in honey. "All we need to do… is wait."
A silence fell between them.
Evelyn moved to the fire, staring into the flames. "She is not of us. Never will be. Dhalmar blood runs different. She does not understand this kingdom—she only stumbled into it."
Isadora's eyes gleamed. "Then let us take her luck from her."
Magnus stepped closer to the hearth, shadows clinging to his frame. "The first chance we have, we remind Elareth who holds power in this palace."
The three stood there—silent, bitter, and burning. And far outside, Elareth danced in the sunlight Iridessa helped restore.
VELMORA KINGDOM….
The sun had long set over Velmora, painting the skies in deep violets and silver-blues. The moonlight poured softly through the arched windows of Aurora's chamber, casting a pale glow across the stone floor.
Her maids were chattering in soft, excited tones, relaying the latest gossip from the court—how Lady Renna tripped in the dining hall, how Queen Ava snapped at one of the stewards, how a certain duke kept glancing toward the kitchen maid with far too much interest.
Aurora sat before her mirror, seemingly listening, her white hair spilling down her back like a river of snow. But her reflection told another story.
Her eyes were distant. Her fingers lightly grazed the rim of the table, but her thoughts were far from the present.
A sudden stillness came over her. Without turning, she rose from the stool. "I need to see His Majesty," she said softly.
Lira blinked. "But, my lady… you saw him earlier today."
"No one should follow me," Aurora added, already moving to the door.
The maids exchanged confused glances, but none question her. Something in her tone—not harsh, but certain—held them back.
The halls of Velmora's palace were quiet at this hour, the torches flickering gently against the marble walls. Her soft shoes made no sound on the polished floor as she passed the high-vaulted doors and tapestries whispering in the breeze.
She arrived at the King's chamber. Two guards stood on either side of the tall door. At her presence, they straightened and bowed.
"Her Majesty Aurora," one of them announced, rapping twice on the door before opening it for her.
Inside, Aldric was alone, seated behind a long table littered with scrolls and open books. His deep black hair was slightly tousled, and he wore a robe of midnight blue, the collar slightly undone as if he had tugged at it in thought.
His head lifted as she stepped in. And immediately, his face softened.
"Aurora," he said gently, almost surprised, but pleased. "You are still awake."
She gave a small bow. "Forgive me. I hope I am not disturbing."
"You never are." He gestured to the seat beside him. "Come. Sit."
Aurora moved quietly and sat beside him. The soft scent of ink, parchment, and him filled her senses.
"I could not sleep," she said after a pause, voice barely above a whisper.
Aldric studied her face, his eyes gentle. "Because of Elareth?"
Aurora shook her head slowly. "Not entirely."
A silence fell, but it was not uncomfortable. It was heavy with unspoken things—with gratitude, longing, and something softer, deeper.
Aldric closed the book before him and turned to her fully. His voice was quiet. "Is there something you need to say?"
Aurora looked at him—and her heart fluttered.
He was so close. The warm lamplight danced across his cheekbones, highlighting the strength of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the slight shadow beneath his eyes. His presence was steady, grounding, yet it pulled her like a tide.
She did not speak. And Aldric did not wait.
He leaned in slowly, his hand brushing her cheek as if to give her time to stop him. When she did not, he brought his lips to hers.
Aurora's eyes fluttered closed. The kiss was gentle at first—tender, uncertain—but it grew, deepened. Her arms reached for him instinctively, wrapping around his shoulders, drawing him closer.
Aldric lifted her carefully, placing her on his lap without breaking the kiss. One hand tangled in her soft white hair, the other slid around her waist.
His breath hitched when he pulled back to look at her—truly look at her.
"Aurora…" he whispered, reverent.
She blinked up at him. "My heart beats for you, Your Majesty. And I want more of this."
He blinked, joy swelling in his chest. Rising, he carried her gently toward the bed.
He laid her down with such care, as if she were something precious and breakable. He shrugged off his robe, his shirt falling open, and lowered himself onto her.
She reached for the strings at her shoulder, but he stilled her hand, taking over with a reverent slowness.
As the fabric slipped away from her body, his gaze widened—not just with desire, but awe.
"You are beautiful," he murmured, more breath than words.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, a slow burn of passion and softness. Their bodies moved in quiet rhythm, skin to skin, the outside world vanishing in the hush of candlelight and the murmurs of breath between them.
And then, they were one.
—
The early rays of dawn crept through the window, casting a golden glow over the tangled sheets.
Aldric lay on his back, one arm draped securely around Aurora. His dark hair lay scattered across the pillow, and his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm.
Aurora blinked awake slowly. For a moment, she did not move.
She was curled into him, their legs still intertwined. The warmth of him surrounded her, and the memory of the night washed over her in waves—his kiss, his touch, the way he whispered her name.
A tiny smile tugged at her lips.
She giggled softly to herself, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.
So it was not a dream. She turned slightly to look at him.
Even in sleep, he was strikingly handsome — brows relaxed, lips slightly parted, the usual hard edge softened into peaceful calm.
Aurora leaned closer, heart fluttering, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
A moment later, Aldric stirred, eyes blinking open. He turned his head slowly to meet her gaze.
When he saw her, a sleepy smile broke across his face.
"You are still here," he murmured, pulling her tighter to him.
"I am not going anywhere," she whispered back.
Aldric pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, and warmth seemed to fill the chamber.