The marble halls of the Elarion Palace shimmered with sunlight, every beam fractured by the tall stained-glass windows into ribbons of gold and crimson. The air smelled faintly of lilac and parchment — a strange blend of grace and bureaucracy. Prince Alaric Valen D’Arenthis stood beside his father, King Edrian, as the two rulers spoke in low, measured tones with the King of Elarion.
Alaric had been in such halls before — grand, heavy with history and diplomacy — but something about this place felt… different. Perhaps it was the warmth in the air, or perhaps it was the quiet laughter echoing from the garden courtyard. He turned slightly, his sharp eyes following the sound.
There, framed by an archway of carved stone and blooming vines, stood the Queen of Elarion.
She was radiant in a gown of deep sapphire and gold, the sunlight catching in her long, pale hair like threads of silk. A jeweled crown rested gently on her head, elegant but not ostentatious, and her every movement seemed guided by grace rather than duty. Three young boys clung to her hands and skirts — her sons, the princes of Elarion — each with the same fair hair and bright eyes, laughter tumbling freely from their lips as they played.
Alaric found himself watching in silence. There was no stiffness in her posture, no calculated motion. When one of her sons tugged too hard at her sleeve, she simply knelt, pressing a kiss to his forehead and whispering something that made the child giggle through his scolding. Her smile was not one of performance, but of pure affection.
The sight stirred something foreign in him — a quiet ache he could not name.
While his father and the Elarion King continued their debate on treaties and trade routes, Alaric’s attention strayed further toward her. He watched as the queen guided her children toward a shaded bench, brushing dust from their embroidered coats with motherly precision. When her youngest tripped and scraped his hand, she immediately cradled him close, whispering softly until his tears subsided.
It was… human. Unrestrained.
A moment later, she rose, her children content again, and approached the men at the center of the hall. Her expression was calm but determined, her voice soft when she addressed her husband. “My lord,” she began, “I wished to discuss the matter of the northern villages—”
The King of Elarion didn’t even glance at her. “Not now, Evelyn,” he said, his tone clipped and dismissive. “This is no concern for you.”
The words struck the air like a crack of thunder. For a moment, she stood there — still, unblinking — then inclined her head with quiet dignity. “Of course, my lord.”
Without another word, she turned back toward her sons, her composure unbroken. Yet Alaric saw the faint tremor in her hands as she reached for the smallest boy. The children greeted her with innocent joy, unaware of the dismissal she had just endured. She smiled for them again, radiant as before, bending down to straighten a collar, to fix a loose strand of hair, to laugh at something one of them said.
That smile — he realized — was not for herself. It was for them.
He couldn’t look away.
It wasn’t the kind of beauty that demanded attention; it was the kind that held it effortlessly. She embodied a warmth he had not felt since his mother’s passing — that gentle strength, that quiet resilience wrapped in grace. Every motion of hers seemed to contradict the cold formality of the court around her.
“Alaric,” his father’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp as ever.
He blinked, straightened immediately. “Yes, Father?”
King Edrian cast him a brief, knowing look before turning back to the discussion. “You will remember what is said here today. Words are weapons, and the smallest misstep can undo a century of diplomacy.”
“Yes, Father,” Alaric replied automatically, though his gaze drifted once more toward the courtyard.
The Queen was kneeling again, her sons gathered close, holding a small bird that had fallen from a nearby tree. She guided her eldest’s hands around the creature, teaching him to be gentle.