Elsewhere, far from the palace walls and grand corridors of Faolinshire, the sun was beginning to set over a quieter estate—nestled by silver-laced trees and gardens bathed in golden hue.
Luciane leaned back in her chair under the ivy-wrapped pergola, a glass of rose tea in her hand. "I told you," she said coolly, raising an eyebrow. "They were bound to get married."
Sebastian, lounging lazily on the opposite end with his boots kicked up on a table, yawned. "You also told me Brooklyn would never confess without being shoved off a cliff first."
She smirked. "That wasn't inaccurate. It just happened emotionally, not physically."
They were halfway through another friendly round of teasing when a well-dressed butler emerged, bowing respectfully. "My lady. Lord Sebastian. This just arrived from the royal court."
He extended a sealed envelope—white parchment bearing the royal sigil in molten gold. Luciane barely turned her head, already assuming it was formal news.
Sebastian, however, lunged for it before she could react.
"Sebastian—!" she huffed, but he was already halfway across the garden, clutching the envelope like stolen treasure.
He tore the seal like a madman, eyes scanning the ink with rapid movements.
Then he froze.
Silence.
Luciane narrowed her eyes. "Sebastian?"
A twitch. Then came the chuckle. Then a snort. Then—
"PFFFFFT—BAHAHAHAHA!"
Luciane's eyes widened as Sebastian doubled over laughing, arms slapping his knees, gasping for air as he all but howled in disbelief. His laugh echoed through the garden like a mad bard in springtime.
"Oh gods—he actually did it! He finally—HAA—!"
Luciane stood, arms crossed. "Would you care to share the hysteria with the class?"
Still wheezing, Sebastian stumbled toward her and waved the letter in her face dramatically.
"The wedding," he grinned from ear to ear. "It's happening! That insufferable, emotionally constipated Duke of Faolinshire is finally tying the knot!"
Luciane blinked, taking the letter gently.
Dear Lord Sebastian,
You are cordially invited to attend the Royal Wedding of His Grace, Duke Brooklyn Harperwood, and Lady Catherine Sprisheare...
She smiled.
"About time," she murmured, looking off into the horizon. "She deserves this."
Sebastian slung an arm around her shoulder. "I'll drink until my boots can't find each other at this wedding."
Luciane rolled her eyes. "You'd do that anyway."
"True," he winked. "But now I have a reason. Let's go dress in something scandalous."
Luciane raised an eyebrow. "For a wedding?"
"Exactly. It's a celebration. And you know what celebrations need?"
"What?"
Sebastian grinned. "Chaos."
Within the serene marble halls of the western palace, the evening was soft and quiet—until a breeze slipped through the terrace windows, rustling the velvet drapes like whispered secrets. King George sat by the fireplace, flipping through a historical journal with little interest, while Queen Marliana embroidered a cloth with golden vines, her needlework delicate and steady.
"It's oddly quiet today," Marliana remarked, threading her needle. "No messenger... no letters... no chaos. Strange."
George grunted. "That means Brooklyn hasn't broken something yet."
They shared a mild laugh—equal parts affectionate and exasperated. The Duke was, after all, many things, but uneventful was never one of them.
Just then, as if summoned by irony itself, footsteps echoed beyond the doors. A courier, dressed in Faolinshire navy, stepped into the royal sitting room and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesties, an urgent letter has arrived from Duke Brooklyn Harperwood."
Marliana perked up. "From Brooklyn?"
George frowned slightly. "What is that boy up to now?"
The courier offered the sealed envelope. The king took it, breaking the wax with a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes scanned the letter silently. Then again. Then a third time.
Beside him, Marliana leaned in. "George?"
No answer. His mouth was slightly agape, the letter lowered.
"George?" she repeated, narrowing her eyes.
Wordlessly, he handed the letter over to her.
Her emerald eyes darted across the inked script. Her lips parted slightly, then curled into a slow, surprised smile.
Dear Their Majesties, King George and Queen Marliana,
You are most respectfully invited to the wedding of Duke Brooklyn Harperwood and Lady Catherine Sprisheare…
Marliana's hands flew to her lips. "He… he proposed?"
"And she said yes." George leaned back in his chair, still stunned. "Without dragging it out for three years."
"I thought he'd wait another decade," she whispered, eyes glimmering. "I didn't think… I mean, not so soon."
"Nor did I." The king chuckled under his breath. "That stubborn fool actually did it. And without tripping over his own ego."
Marliana looked toward the window, eyes distant and full of warmth. "Catherine… She deserves happiness. And he… he's finally choosing joy over shadows."
The king stood and paced once, as if needing to move to process the reality. "We'll need to prepare something. A gift. A speech. And robes—"
"And wine," Marliana added gently. "You know Sebastian will demand it."
George sighed with a smile. "He always does."
Then, suddenly, a warmth returned to the queen's expression—maternal and proud.
"He's not just our Duke anymore," she said softly. "He's going to be a husband."
"And she'll be our daughter in all but name," George murmured.
They stood there quietly, staring at the parchment. Then Marliana leaned closer to her husband, wrapping her hand around his.
"Let's go see them. Unannounced."
George raised a brow. "Won't that ruin the surprise?"
Marliana smirked. "Good. Let them know the crown watches with pride."
He laughed again, heart lighter than it had been in months.
The palace was alive with rustling silks and murmured excitement, the kind that buzzed beneath polished floors and golden chandeliers. Word had spread quickly — not just among nobles but among every servant, knight, and stable boy. The royals were arriving.
And not just any royals.
King George and Queen Marliana.
The gates were flung open as their carriage pulled in — sleek, black, and etched with gold. Guards stood at rigid attention, and the entire front line of staff had assembled for the reception.
Inside, Catherine stood nervously by the grand staircase, dressed in soft lavender, her hair swept into a loose braid. She smoothed her gown again and again, heart pounding. Brooklyn stood beside her, as calm and unreadable as ever — but even he, despite the stoic mask, had adjusted his cuffs twice.
"Are you nervous?" she whispered.
"No," he lied without hesitation.
She raised a brow.
"…Maybe a little," he admitted at last. "They've never come this formally unless it was a coronation or a funeral."
She chuckled under her breath, though her hands still trembled slightly.
And then the doors opened.
A footman announced in a booming voice, "Their Majesties, King George and Queen Marliana of Faolinshire."
Brooklyn straightened like a soldier. Catherine held her breath.
George stepped in first, still tall and regal despite the silver threading through his beard. Marliana followed, graceful and calm, her gaze immediately falling to the pair waiting at the staircase.
The room was silent.
Brooklyn stepped forward and bowed deeply. Catherine followed suit, dipping into a respectful curtsy.
But before formalities could even settle into place, Marliana stepped forward, smile breaking the silence like sunlight.
"My dear," she said, moving toward Catherine. "Come here."
Catherine looked up — startled, unsure — but Brooklyn gave her a tiny nod.
She stepped forward slowly, and just like that, Marliana pulled her into a gentle, maternal embrace.
"You look healthy again," the queen whispered softly. "I'm so proud of you."
Catherine's throat tightened. "I… thank you, Your Majesty."
"'Mother' will do soon," Marliana said with a wink.
Catherine's cheeks went pink as she stepped back.
George clapped Brooklyn on the shoulder, hard. "Didn't think you had it in you."
Brooklyn smirked. "Neither did I."
"You did well, son."
From behind them, the rest of the hall began to fill — Luciane, Anderson, even Baron and Sebastian (dragging in a barrel of wine behind him), entering with teasing grins and loud greetings.
Sebastian shouted as he entered, "I hope no one minds if I brought my own dowry — it's made of grapes and very bad decisions!"
Everyone laughed.
Luciane rolled her eyes but smiled at Catherine with a wink. "Ready to become the duchess officially?"
"I'm trying to be," Catherine replied sheepishly.
George turned to Brooklyn. "When is the wedding ceremony?"
Brooklyn replied, "Two weeks from now. Everything's in motion."
"Good," Marliana said. "That gives me enough time to make sure this place isn't entirely styled like your moody soul."
Brooklyn sighed. "Please, not the curtains again."
Sebastian leaned toward Anderson and whispered, "It's good to see him like this, huh?"
Anderson nodded. "I've waited for it longer than anyone."
As the laughter and greetings filled the halls, Catherine stood back for a moment and simply watched.
She had once been a girl forgotten in a dark basement, chained and voiceless.
Now, she stood in the light — surrounded by laughter, warmth, and people who loved her.
And the man she loved most was standing right beside her.
A sudden hush fell over the palace hall. Catherine froze mid-breath, the echo of King George's words ringing louder than any trumpet ever could.
"You… what?" Brooklyn's voice was low, almost too quiet for such a declaration.
George crossed his arms, casting a knowing smile toward his son. "You heard me. Once the two of you are married, your mother and I shall begin the formal transition. Faolinshire will be yours."
Marliana stepped to his side, chin raised with proud elegance. "It is time, Brooklyn. You have led battles. You have protected the people. You've grown into a man capable of more than cold calculation. And above all…" she looked at Catherine, her eyes warm, "…you've chosen a woman with both strength and heart. A future queen."
Catherine's mouth was still open, stunned into silence.
Sebastian was the first to break the pause. "Now we're talking!" he hollered, tossing his arms wide and nearly knocking over the wine cask he'd brought. "Your Highnesses!" he added with a flamboyant bow toward Brooklyn and Catherine. "Or should I say, Your Majesties in training?"
Brooklyn blinked, as if still processing.
Catherine took a small step back. "Wait—I—Queen? Me?"
Luciane grinned. "Of course. The position comes with the man and a palace full of paperwork. Congratulations."
"But I… I never—" Catherine stammered, looking up at Brooklyn.
He turned to her then, brushing a hand softly through her hair before resting his palm atop her head. "Looks like you'll be my Queen."
"But I'm—I'm just—"
"Not just anything," Brooklyn said quietly. "You are the strongest person I know. You've been through hell and still smile like you own the sun. And you've taught me to feel again." He turned to face the rest of the room, his tone sharpening. "Everyone, get ready. In a few weeks, Faolinshire will see its new Duchess…"
Then he glanced back at Catherine, a wicked glint in his eyes. "No—its Queen."
The hall broke into applause, cheers, and playful whistles.
Anderson stood silently, his usual calm expression replaced with a proud smile. Baron clasped his hands behind his back with a respectful nod.
Sebastian made an exaggerated gesture of wiping away a fake tear. "I feel like a mother at a wedding."
Catherine, overwhelmed, finally managed to laugh—half in joy, half in disbelief. "Queen Catherine… that's going to take getting used to."
Brooklyn leaned down, his lips close to her ear. "You don't have to get used to anything alone. I'll be right there."
She looked up at him, her heart swelling with a warmth too large to put into words.
In that golden light of the hall, with the people she had come to love all around her, the chains of her past finally felt like nothing more than a distant whisper.
She was no longer broken.
She was rising.
And now… she would wear a crown.
The grand study of Faolinshire Palace was thick with the scent of aged oakwood and fine wine. The fireplace crackled lazily, casting long shadows on the polished floor as three men lounged in the crimson armchairs—Brooklyn in his night shirt and black velvet robe, George in a finely embroidered tunic, and Sebastian, ever relaxed, with his boots on the table and a goblet dangerously tilted in his grip.
The bottle of aged Faoliner red had already been half-emptied. Sebastian swirled what was left in his goblet and shot a glance at Brooklyn.
"So," he said with an unmistakable smirk, "Catherine."
Brooklyn raised a brow. "What about her?"
King George chuckled, sipping slowly from his own glass. "Don't act like a stranger, son. The entire kingdom is whispering already. The cold duke who never smiled is marrying a woman who used to flinch at every breath, and now… she's blooming. The people are curious." He looked over the rim of his glass. "We are curious."
Sebastian leaned in, pointing with the tip of his wine goblet. "Yes, the once heartless Brooklyn now sighs when she frowns, practically writes poetry in his head if she twitches."
Brooklyn groaned and reached for the bottle. "You both need to find a better use of your time."
George didn't let it go. "Come on. Just tell us. What is it about her? Why her, of all people?"
For a long moment, Brooklyn didn't answer. He stared into his glass, the firelight glinting off the rim. When he spoke, his voice was low, thoughtful—nothing like the proud declarations he gave to his army.
"She's not like anyone I've ever met," he began. "When we found her, she was… broken. Bones shattered. Voice shaking. Terrified." He paused, the memory clenching at his chest. "She looked at me like I was just another enemy."
Sebastian watched quietly now, all teasing gone.
"But even then," Brooklyn continued, "she asked me not to hurt her. Not to be cruel. And I wasn't." He gave a soft, half-smile. "And since that day, every time I saw her—every wound, every tremble, every moment she tried to smile when it was hard—I felt something I had never felt before. Guilt, protectiveness… admiration."
George nodded slowly. "And now?"
Brooklyn exhaled. "Now she laughs in the sunlight. She dances barefoot in the garden like no one is watching—except I always am. She's stronger than any sword I've held. She taught me to stop being stone."
Sebastian poured another glass. "And you love her."
"I do." Brooklyn said simply. "More than I thought I could ever love anything in this world."
There was a silence, long and warm, filled with the quiet hum of fire and the creak of old wood.
George leaned back with a peaceful sigh. "You're ready, then."
Brooklyn nodded. "I'm ready."
Sebastian clinked his glass to Brooklyn's with a grin. "Then to the Queen who melted the Duke's heart."
"To Catherine," George echoed.
Brooklyn lifted his goblet. "To my future, then."
The three of them drank.
Outside, the palace lights flickered in the breeze, and the moon hung full and proud over Faolinshire—a quiet witness to the night that marked the rise of a new King and the love that would guide his reign.
The moon had risen high, casting silver light over the marble corridors of Faolinshire Palace. In the east wing, a golden drawing room glowed softly with the warmth of candlelight. Silk drapes swayed gently in the night breeze as laughter echoed within.
Catherine sat on a velvet settee in a pale lavender nightgown, her feet tucked beneath her. Beside her, Queen Marliana in soft sapphire robes, and Luciane, now fully rested and radiant, sat cross-legged on the floor with a glass of fruit wine in hand.
They had spent the last hour talking about everything and nothing—flowers for the wedding, ridiculous court gossip, Luciane's complaints about Sebastian's snores—but eventually, the conversation curled toward the one topic waiting quietly in all their hearts.
"So…" Marliana tilted her head with a knowing smile. "Tell us, Catherine. How is Brooklyn? The real Brooklyn. Not the one who barks orders or glares people into silence."
Luciane leaned forward eagerly. "Yes, yes. We've seen him break swords, end wars, and give speeches that make nobles tremble, but we want to know the one who sneaks into the kitchen for pastries at midnight."
Catherine blinked, then laughed softly. "Oh, he still barks. He's still cold, arrogant, impossibly stubborn." She tucked a strand of her scarlet-blonde hair behind her ear, a blush rising on her cheeks. "But... he's different when it's just the two of us."
"How so?" Luciane grinned, nudging her knee against Catherine's like a sister teasing a sister.
Catherine's eyes softened. "He's gentle. Quiet. Thoughtful in ways he doesn't let others see. Sometimes when I wake in the middle of the night, I find him sitting by the window, just watching me sleep. Like he's scared I might disappear."
Marliana's expression turned warm, nostalgic. "Sounds like love to me."
"It is," Catherine whispered. "But it's also more. He understands me. My silence, my fears. Even when I'm unable to speak, he doesn't rush me. He waits. He listens."
Luciane sighed dramatically. "And to think, this is the same man who once said emotions are a distraction in battle."
Catherine giggled. "He still says that. And then he blushes every time I kiss his cheek."
"Oh dear heavens, he blushes?" Marliana gasped with a mock gasp, pressing a hand to her heart.
"Deeply," Catherine said, her smile now full and bright. "Like crimson. And don't tell him I told you or he'll probably find a way to ban blushing."
Luciane laughed, leaning her head on Catherine's shoulder. "I like you like this," she murmured. "Happy. Glowing. Free."
Catherine's gaze drifted to the window, where the stars twinkled above the palace gardens. "I never thought I would be. There was a time I believed I'd never smile again. But now... he's the light after all my storms."
Marliana reached over and gently squeezed her hand. "Then you'll make a fine queen, Catherine. Not just because you survived, but because you loved even after."
The room quieted, the warmth of understanding wrapping around them like a blanket.
Luciane clapped her hands suddenly. "Enough softness! We're planning your wedding dress next. Marliana and I have ideas. Dangerous ideas."
"Oh no," Catherine groaned, laughing. "What have I gotten myself into?"
"A crown, a throne, and far too many tiaras," Marliana teased.
And as laughter filled the chamber once more, Catherine smiled into the night, thinking of him—and the quiet promise in his amber eyes that she would never face darkness alone again.