Seraya’s POV
“I never thought peace would sound like this,” I said quietly.
Caelum, seated across from me at the garden table, didn’t glance up from the scroll he was reading. “You say that as though you expected peace to be louder.”
“I did,” I admitted. “I expected it to come with more noise. More ceremony. But instead, it came with silence and blooming vines.”
The faint sound of wind rustling through the garden surrounded us. Birds nested in the arches. A month had passed since the council named me Queen Sovereign, and for once, nothing in Virelia threatened to split at the seams.
Trade flourished. The temples had been revived. Priestesses, scholars, and magistrates now sat in council chambers once reserved for noblemen. Their wisdom shaped new policy. Their healing restored broken lands and people alike. The royal court no longer mirrored old power—it reformed it.
Drosmere’s alliance remained strong, but it was no longer rooted in desperation or deceit. It was mutual and deliberate. Caelum had worked closely with the guild lords and the council, forging ties that bound neither side in chains but in conviction.
And with the council’s unanimous approval, he now wore a Virelian crown—one he had not claimed, but accepted. Forged of Drosmere’s shadowsteel and our silver root, it was a symbol of shared strength, not dominance.
He ruled beside me. Not behind. Not above.
Court affairs still took most of our days, but our nights, at last, belonged to us. Our chambers had softened. Laughter had returned. The masks we once wore had long since been set down. No more guarded glances. No more rehearsed replies. Just us.
Theron remained exiled to the cliffs of Nareth. His name was no longer spoken in the council chambers. The servants had stopped whispering about him. The people had stopped asking. He was a ghost now, and I had no need to chase him through memory.
That evening, as twilight spilled across the stones, I left the study and walked the garden path alone. I wore a gown of cream and gold, embroidered with climbing vines. The air hummed with quiet magic. The garden had come back to life in full—flowering with abandon. Wherever I passed, petals unfolded and leaves turned toward me. My magic was stronger now. Not because of vengeance. But because I had finally been allowed to breathe.
I found Caelum beneath the same arbor where he had once offered only silence and shadows. Now, he stood with light on his face and a ring in his hand.
“I thought it fitting,” he said, lifting it between his fingers. “Shadowsteel and living vine. Braided. One does not smother the other.”
I took a step closer, watching the metal glint. “Like us.”
He gave a nod. “Like us.”
He held it out. I didn’t hesitate. I let him slide it onto my finger. It was cold, then warm. Balanced.
“You once told me I would ruin everything I touched,” he said.
“You did.”
“But this…” He looked around the garden, then back at me. “This isn’t ruin.”
“No,” I said. “It’s the beginning.”
He hesitated then, for the first time in days. There was something unspoken in the space between us. Not heavy. Just unshared. And when he finally crossed the last step to meet me, his voice was quiet.
“I love you, Seraya.”
I reached for him without pause, both hands pressed to his jaw. “I know,” I said. “And I love you.”
Then I kissed him, beneath the arches, surrounded by light and bloom. Our magic rose—his shadow, my life. They twined, not in conflict, but in harmony. It wrapped around us, sealed us in warmth.
We kissed not because we were victorious.
We kissed because, at last, we were free.
