The carriage rolled to a stop before the grand staircase, its wheels crunching upon gravel that glittered in the torchlight. Elion inhaled once—slow, steady—letting the cold night air settle his pulse. Dozens of nobles waited in tense formation before the palace doors, their faces unreadable masks. The same stone walls that once felt like prisons now loomed before him as silent witnesses to his return.

He stepped down.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Court protocol held everyone in place, their gazes fixed on the prince who had vanished from their world for twelve long years. Elion felt the weight of it—expectation, doubt, curiosity—all pressing on him like unseen hands. His fingers curled at his sides.

Then a soft gasp broke through the murmurs.

Someone stepped out from the crowd. A woman in a teal gown, the movement so sudden it startled even the guards. Her head turned toward him, and the torchlight caught her face—

—and the years fell away.

Mirelle.

But not the girl he remembered. She had grown into a vision so breathtaking that the entire court seemed to blur behind her. Long black hair spilled in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the gold glow of the lamps. Her skin was pale, luminous, her features delicate as watercolor brushstrokes. Light eyes—still that familiar, warm shade—widened, filling with tears that sparkled like crystals.

Before Elion could draw breath, she ran.

The court gasped. Someone called her name, but she didn’t hear it—or didn’t care.

She reached him at full speed, skirts flying, and threw herself into his arms. Her momentum forced him a step back, but his arms wrapped instinctively around her waist, steadying her as she clung to him fiercely, desperately, as though afraid he might vanish again.

Her arms slipped around his neck. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder. Her breath trembled. So did his.

“Mirelle…” His voice came out raw, unexpected. “I– I didn’t think—”

“You came back,” she whispered, the words shaking with relief. “Elion, you came back to me.”

For a moment, the court ceased to exist. There was only the scent of her hair—clean, floral, achingly familiar. Only the warmth of her body against his, holding him like she never intended to let go. Only the realization sinking like a stone into his chest: she hadn’t forgotten. Not one piece of him.

He pulled back just enough to see her face.

Her eyes—light, luminous—were brimming with emotion. Her red lips parted slightly, breath unsteady. The jewels at her throat glimmered, the red teardrop pendant rising and falling with each rapid beat of her heart. Her gown, teal and patterned with flowers, brushed softly against his coat as she clung tighter, unwilling to release even an inch of distance.

“You’re real,” she said, reaching up to touch his cheek with trembling fingers. “By the stars, you’re real.”

Elion swallowed, the pressure in his chest almost painful. “I never forgot you.”

Her smile broke open—bright, unguarded, radiant. It transformed her, turning every delicate feature into something alive with joy.

Behind them, the nobles whispered, scandalized and stunned. A lady gasped. A minister cleared his throat. Protocol had shattered like glass, but Mirelle gave not a single breath of care to any of them.

She curled her fingers into his coat, pulling herself close again, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “Don’t leave again,” she whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

Elion exhaled and rested his cheek briefly against her temple, something inside him finally—finally—coming home.

“Never,” he murmured. “Not as long as you’re here.”

The court watched, frozen. The palace waited. But in that moment, Elion needed only her—and the knowledge that despite everything he had lost, she had remained.