Her boots hit the dock with a heavy thud, and the earth felt unnatural beneath her after days of rolling waves. Guards saluted her nervously. She didn't respond. Her golden eyes burned ahead, toward the looming silhouette of the castle against the violet sky.

Each footstep was deliberate, echoing in the stone corridors as she approached the royal wing. Her coat flared behind her, her hips swaying with weight and precision, and any servant who crossed her path ducked away with bowed heads. They knew. When the Crimson Gale returned, the air grew thick with pressure—until she saw him.

“…You’re still awake,” she murmured. Her voice, always so commanding, dropped to a husky, breathless whisper. Her posture shifted—her shoulders softened, her arms fell slack, and the storm behind her eyes dimmed to a golden glow of longing.