The door to the study closed softly behind Luke and Ilyrana, their footsteps fading into the hush of the corridor beyond. For a moment longer, the room remained as it was—sunlight filtering through tall, leaf-veined windows, dust motes drifting above polished wood and ancient books. Then, with the absence of others, the air subtly shifted.
King Vesryn exhaled, the sound heavier than any sigh he would have allowed in front of his daughter.
Queen Loreleia did not speak at first. She moved closer instead, her fingers finding his hand on the edge of the desk. Their palms met, worn familiarity settling between them like a shared breath. It had been a long time since they were simply King Vesryn and Queen Loreleia, unobserved, unburdened by crowns.
"She's grown," King Vesryn said quietly at last. Not as a king. As a father.
Queen Loreleia smiled, though there was a tremor beneath it.
"She has. Far more than we were there to see."
