The morning after their first night together was only the beginning.
Aldric held Aurora closer now, his affection quieter, but deeper. Their bond grew gently, like moonlight resting on water.
In the days that followed, Aurora glowed—not just from his whispered gifts, but from the way he looked at her, as though she was a secret worth keeping. He sent her tokens, gifts—always thoughtful.
And Aurora answered in her own quiet language, poetry scrolls, a white feather, a sketch of stars—small proofs that her thoughts had found a home in him.
They visited each other's chambers often, always after nightfall, always discreet. Her maids, giggly and wide-eyed, knew the truth—especially when they caught her returning with her hair tousled and her lips bitten red. But none dared speak a word.
And though the palace whispered, there was no proof. Just the little gestures that gave them away:
Aldric winking subtly when passing her in the corridor.
Aurora's soft smiles when she caught sight of him across the garden.
A shared glance that said everything words could not.
-
It was a quiet afternoon when Aurora sat by her writing table, scrolls and parchment spread before her. Her maids worked nearby—sewing, sorting petals into small bowls. Aurora was focused, inking down all she had learned of farming during her time in Elareth. The methods. The tools. The planting rhythms.
Queen Ava had once spoken of it with curiosity. So Aurora wrote everything she knew—something useful. Something lasting
But halfway through writing, her thoughts slipped. Her hand stilled, the ink pooling in place. Her mind drifted to Aldric—his smile, the way he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, the weight of his hand on her hip at night. She smiled.
"I am going to see His Majesty," she said suddenly, setting the quill down.
Lira raised a brow, smiling. "My lady, you saw him this morning."
"I know," Aurora said, rising with a mischievous softness in her voice. "Still, I want to."
They followed her quickly, whispering behind her back, delighted and smiling. But when they reached Aldric's chambers, the guards told her the king was in the consultative hall with the lords.
Aurora did not hesitate. She turned at once and made her way there.
Inside the grand consultative hall, sunlight streamed through tall windows, catching on the golden embroidery of the royal lords' robes. Aldric sat at the head of the table, Kael at his side, listening to one of the lords drone on about the best methods for storing grain through the winter.
Then the door opened.
A guard cleared his throat. "Her Majesty, Lady Aurora."
Aurora stepped in, graceful as ever, her white gown trailing softly behind her. She bowed gently.
"My lords," she said, and the men stood, bowing back with a murmur of respect.
Her eyes met Aldric's. She said nothing, but her gaze held something that made Aldric's heart clench.
He stood immediately.
"That will be all for now," he said. "We will resume later."
The lords hesitated, confused—but they obeyed. They filed out slowly, giving sidelong glances, some curious, some suspicious. Kael looked at Aldric, then at Aurora, and gave a half-smile before barking a quick command to the guards.
Within a minute, the hall emptied.
Aldric turned to her, walking forward with a slow, deliberate smile.
"You could not wait till night, could you?" he teased gently.
Aurora's eyes danced. "I did not want to."
When he reached her, he did not say another word. He lifted her—effortlessly—and sat her on the wide oak table. She gasped softly, but her arms wrapped around his neck without protest. He settled between her legs, hands resting on her hips.
"I longed for you today," she whispered.
He traced his fingers along her jaw, voice low. "You saw me this morning."
"I know," she said, "but I long for you even when I see you."
Aldric smiled, forehead resting against hers. "You have ruined me, Aurora."
She brushed her fingers through his hair. "You were never whole to begin with."
He kissed her—soft and searching, like he was tasting her for the first time again. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her legs tightening around him. The kiss deepened, and in that high, sunlit hall, the world outside faded.
Clothes loosened. Armor fell. Aurora's gown slipped from her shoulders as Aldric laid her back onto the table. She arched under him, hands tangled in his hair, mouth parted with soft gasps. His body covered hers, skin to skin, warm and wanting.
"Aldric…" she whispered as he slid into her.
"I am here," he breathed, kissing the hollow of her throat. "Always."
Afterwards, they lay there together, tangled and breathless, the heavy doors of the chamber still locked behind them. Aldric held her close, chin resting on her shoulder, their hands laced.
"You are the only peace I have ever known," he said softly.
Aurora turned her head, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "And you are the only place I feel safe."
He smiled and closed his eyes, wishing this moment could last forever.
-
The sun filtered gently through the high-arched windows of the west wing, where Queen Ava often spent her hours reading, embroidering, or consulting with court women. Today, she sat alone in her chamber, her silver-threaded robe spilling like mist around her, a tray of untouched fruits beside her and a scroll of poetry in her lap.
There was a soft knock at the door.
"Enter," she called, her voice calm as still water.
The door opened to reveal Aurora, her pale dress fluttering softly as she stepped in. She bowed respectfully. "Mother."
Queen Ava looked up—and a faint smile touched her lips. "Aurora. Enter, child."
Aurora walked forward, clutching a tied scroll with both hands. Her maids had stayed behind at her request. This moment was something she wanted to do alone.
"I brought something for you," she said quietly.
Ava studied her for a long moment, noting the glimmer in her eyes, the faint pink in her cheeks—there was a new glow about her, one the queen had observed in recent weeks but never commented on.
Aurora extended the scroll with both hands.
"It is everything I remember from Elareth," she said. "Their farming methods, crop rotations, how they treat the soil. You once mentioned you'd heard of it but never saw it written down. I thought… this might help."
Ava gently took the scroll from her hands. Her fingers brushed Aurora's, light as feathers. She unrolled it slowly, eyes scanning the careful, slanted handwriting. The scroll was detailed—diagrams, seasonal notes, even remedies for sick plants.
Ava looked up, surprise softening into something gentler. "You did all this?"
Aurora nodded. "Yes, Mother."
There was a pause.
Then Ava said softly, "You remembered your roots without bitterness. That is rare."
Aurora looked down, unsure how to respond.
Ava continued, "Many who rise try to bury where they come from. But you… you are shaping it into something useful. That takes wisdom."
"I thank you, Mother," Aurora said quietly, touched by the queen's words.
Ava rolled the scroll back up and stood. Her movement was elegant and purposeful. She reached out and tucked a strand of white hair behind Aurora's ear, then held her chin gently.
"I knew there was something different in you from the day you arrived. You carry storms in your silence—and roots in your fire. Elareth may not have known what it lost… but Velmora will know what it gained."
Aurora's breath caught slightly. It was not a royal compliment—it felt like a mother's blessing.
Ava stepped back and said in her usual serene tone, "We will take this to the council. Let the farmers see it. This may help more than you know."
"I only did what I could," Aurora said modestly.
Ava gave a rare smile. "And that is what makes it valuable."
As Aurora turned to leave, Ava called out, "Aurora."
She paused.
"Thank you, daughter."
Aurora's eyes shimmered, and she bowed low again—this time not just out of duty, but deep affection. Then she left, heart lighter than when she came in.
-
The candles in Aldric's chambers burned low, casting golden halos over the stone walls. The fire crackled gently, giving off a warm glow as the night wind whispered outside the palace.
Aldric sat on the edge of his bed, shirt unbuttoned, fingers mindlessly flipping through a report—though he had not read a word in minutes. His thoughts had wandered hours ago. Toward her.
He did not even flinch when there was a soft knock at the door.
"Your Majesty," came a familiar voice from the other side.
He stood immediately, a smile blooming unbidden on his face. "Aurora."
The door opened, and Aurora stepped in, her dress swaying with her steps, hair loosely tied behind her shoulders. She looked… tired. But radiant. The kind of tired that came after doing something meaningful.
Aldric closed the distance between them with a few steps, his hand brushing against her waist.
"I heard from my mother," he murmured. "You gave her something valuable today."
Aurora smiled softly. "She called me daughter."
He paused, eyes locked on hers. "Did that mean something to you?"
Her gaze shimmered. "More than I expected."
Aldric cupped her face gently. "You deserve it. All of it. Her trust, her pride. The entire kingdom's."
There was a long, golden silence between them. The kind of silence that was not empty—but full of breath, memory, and emotion.
Aurora reached up and touched the side of his neck, tracing the edge of his collarbone. "Sometimes I forget what it felt like to be invisible… unloved… until moments like today remind me how far I have come."
Aldric pulled her closer. "You are not invisible here. Not anymore. And you are certainly not unloved."
She looked up at him slowly, eyes searching. "You truly think so?"
He leaned down, forehead resting against hers. "I know so. I love you, Aurora."
She gasped softly, heart thudding.
He smiled against her skin. "I love you in ways I did not think I was capable of. And if you knew how often I imagine you beside me in every council, every morning, every war, every harvest…"
She leaned up and kissed him gently—just once. "You say it like you mean forever."
"I do."
They held each other for a long time before Aldric guided her toward the bed. Not with urgency but tenderness. Everything about tonight was softer. Slower.
He helped her out of her dress, carefully. She slid the robe from his shoulders. They crawled beneath the velvet sheets and lay side by side, facing one another.
Their legs tangled beneath the sheets. Aldric drew lazy circles on her back with his fingertips. Aurora tucked her head beneath his chin.
"You glow more each day," he whispered, voice raspy. "Even the stars look dull when you enter a chamber."
Aurora smiled against his chest. "You say the most dangerous things when I lie next to you."
"Then stay," he said, kissing her forehead. "Let me say them every night."
She giggled softly, tilting her head to meet his lips again—slower, deeper. Their fingers intertwined beneath the blanket.
That night, they did not rush toward passion. They moved with unspoken rhythm—hands exploring skin they already knew, bodies drawn like magnets. When he finally entered her, it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like breathing or dreaming. Aurora gasped softly against his lips, their movements slow, deliberate, sacred.
When they were done, they lay wrapped in each other again. The moonlight touched her cheek where it peeked through the curtains.
Aldric stared at her like a man who had seen heaven and was not ready to let it go.
"Sleep, my love," he whispered.
Aurora touched his face. "Only if you stay close."
"I will never be far." He answered.
And just like that, they drifted to sleep—wrapped in sheets, in promises, and in each other.