VIVIAN’s POV
Years pass softly, like petals falling from an unseen bloom.
Our home lies just beyond the capital’s edge, surrounded by hills that glow gold every dawn and burn crimson every dusk. Dani built it himself—stone walls, a sturdy roof, and a porch that creaks when the wind turns. It isn’t a palace, but it’s ours.
And it’s quiet, blessedly quiet.
Every morning, Elara runs barefoot through the garden, chasing the birds that never let her catch them. Her laughter carries across the fields like music I never knew I needed. She’s grown taller—hair tangled, cheeks flushed, always asking questions. She doesn’t remember Verdana, nor her parents, nor the war that tore her world apart. And for now, I let her stay in that gentle unknowing.
Sometimes, I think innocence is the only form of peace this world still allows.
***
The day begins like most do—sunlight spilling through the window, Dani’s arm draped around me. He wakes first, as always, brushing a kiss against my temple.
“Morning,” he murmurs.
“Already?” I groan, half-asleep.
He chuckles softly. “You say that every day.”
“And yet you keep waking me.”
“Because if I don’t, you’ll sleep through breakfast.”
I roll over, smiling despite myself. “You mean you’ll burn breakfast.”
He grins. “Unlikely. I’ve improved.”
“That’s what you said before you nearly set the pan on fire.”
“That was once.”
“Three times,” I correct.
He laughs, the sound warm and familiar, like sunlight caught in a voice. I’ve learned to love these small moments—the way he leans against the doorframe while I braid my hair, the way he talks about the garden as if it’s an army he’s training. Peace sits well on him, even if I know his heart still carries the weight of two kingdoms.
A child’s giggle cuts through our teasing.
“Mama!”
Elara bursts into the room, clutching a wooden doll. Her curls are wild, her tunic smudged with flour.
I sit up. “What happened now?”
“Alastor said I could help bake the bread!” she declares proudly.
Dani’s eyebrows rise. “Alastor said that?”
A deep, amused voice answers from the hallway, “She’s persuasive.”
Alastor steps in, his robes slightly dusted with flour, smiling like a man who’s forgotten how to frown. “Good morning, my dear sinners. I’ve brought chaos in the form of dough.”
I laugh. “You’re still the temple’s reverend. You should preach, not bake.”
He shrugs. “Even saints need hobbies. Besides, Elara makes an excellent assistant.”
Elara beams, lifting the doll. “She helped too!”
Alastor bows to the doll. “A blessed team, indeed.”
The kitchen fills with laughter. For a brief moment, I forget the world beyond these walls—the thrones, the wars, the crowns. All that exists is the smell of home.
By noon, the bread cools on the table, and Elara hums while feeding crumbs to the sparrows outside. Alastor sits with Dani and me on the porch, sipping tea, the hills stretching before us.
“She’s grown fast,” Alastor says softly.
“Too fast,” I murmur. “I blink, and she’s another inch taller.”
He smiles faintly. “She reminds me of you.”
I glance at Dani, who nods in agreement. “Stubborn, brave, always talking back.”
I give him a mock glare. “She gets that from you.”
“Unlikely,” he says with mock dignity. “I’m known for my calm temperament.”
Alastor nearly chokes on his tea laughing. “Oh yes, I recall the calm you showed when Vivian broke your ribs with a training sword.”
Dani smirks. “She cheated.”
“You underestimated her,” Alastor counters.
“I was distracted.”
I raise a brow. “By what?”
He looks at me, eyes glinting. “You know exactly what.”
Alastor sighs. “I’m too old for this.”
The laughter returns, light and full. But behind it lingers something quiet—unspoken gratitude that we’re here at all.
***
Later, when the afternoon wanes, I ride to the capital.
The palace gates open easily now; the guards know me by name. I walk through halls that once suffocated me, and I breathe freely.
Queen no longer, Arinelle lives in the east wing, watched but not caged. Darius keeps her close—not out of weakness, but hope. Perhaps he still dreams that love might cleanse the rot power left behind.
I don’t judge him for it. We all cling to ghosts in our own ways.
Caden and Kaela have grown a little, too, bright and promising even if still kids. Caden trains with Solomon’s knights sometimes, Kaela studies with court scholars. Every time I see them, I think of the days when they were much smaller and frightened, hiding from their mother’s temper and their father’s absence.
Now, they bow politely when they see me. “Lady Vivian,” Kaela says each time, voice soft, trying to act all grown.
I tell her not to call me “lady,” but she never listens.
Darius greets me briefly today, his hair streaked with silver. “Vivian,” he says. “You look well.”
“I am, Your Majesty.”
He nods. “And Dani?”
“He’s gone north,” I reply. “To Verdana.”
A shadow passes his face. “Still loyal to that kingdom?”
“To the people in it,” I say gently. “Not the crown.”
He exhales. “War still festers there. Alexander refuses surrender.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But Dani believes peace will come one day.”
Darius’s eyes soften slightly. “Perhaps he’s wiser than we ever were.”
***
By evening, the hills glow with sunset when I return home. Elara runs to greet me, her laughter echoing through the valley.
“Did you bring stories, Mama?” she asks eagerly.
“Always,” I say, kneeling to meet her gaze. “But first, wash up. Supper waits.”
Dani returns later, weary but smiling, dust still clinging to his boots. I can tell the journey to Verdana has been hard, yet he says little about it.
We sit outside under the stars, Elara sleeping nearby, her small hand curled around the wooden doll.
“How was Verdana?” I ask quietly.
He stares at the horizon, eyes shadowed. “Bloody. Alexander’s forces grow bold. Dorian fights still, but the war hasn’t chosen its victor yet.”
“Did you see him?”
He nods. “He sends his gratitude. And his hope.”
“Hope for what?”
“For a world that doesn’t break his daughter’s heart when she learns the truth.”
The words linger between us, fragile as glass.
I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “She’ll learn when she’s ready.”
He squeezes softly. “And when she does?”
“We’ll be there.”
He leans back, looking up at the stars. “Do you ever wonder what comes next, Vivian?”
“All the time,” I say. “But I stopped fearing it.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever the future holds,” I whisper, resting my head against his shoulder, “we’ve already survived the worst.”
He laughs quietly. “You always sound certain.”
“I am,” I reply, closing my eyes. “For now, that’s enough.”
The wind hums through the grass, carrying the scent of rain and earth. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles—a reminder that peace never lasts forever.
But tonight, the fire glows warm, Elara sleeps safe, and Dani’s arm anchors me to this fragile calm.
For now, the wars can wait. For now, the world can turn without our hands. And for now—we are home.