The grand doors of the Palace of Lumeria opened with a whisper of ancient magic and gold.
Warm air spilled out — perfumed with lavender, polished marble, and nostalgia. For Lysandra, it was like stepping into another lifetime. The white hall stretched endlessly, lit by chandeliers that shimmered like captured stars. The walls were carved with runes of ice and moonlight — marks of her bloodline.
Every corner held a memory. Every echo carried her name.
Ryn walked beside her, silent, his gloved hands tucked behind his back, the frost of his aura carefully restrained. Even he seemed awed, though he'd never admit it.
Servants gasped, guards bowed, and whispers followed them through the corridors.
The princess has returned.
She's alive!
And who's the masked man beside her…?
The throne room doors loomed ahead, tall enough to swallow a mountain. Lysandra hesitated.
Her hand trembled slightly as she pushed them open.
Inside, the throne gleamed with pale fire. And sitting upon it, older now, silver hair braided with frostglass, was King Alderyn of Lumeria — her father.
He rose slowly, disbelief softening into joy.
"Lysandra…?"
She ran to him before she could speak, the sound of her footsteps echoing like the heartbeat of the hall. He caught her in his arms, the years of worry dissolving in a single, trembling embrace.
"My daughter," he said, his voice breaking. "By the spirits, I thought I'd lost you."
"I came back," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. "I had to."
He pulled back slightly, studying her face, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "You're thinner… harder in the eyes, perhaps. But you're still my Lysandra."
She smiled through tears. "I missed you, Father."
He glanced over her shoulder at Ryn, who stood awkwardly near the entrance — half-bowing, half-unsure if he was supposed to exist.
"And this?" the king asked with a smile that was more knowing than kind. "The man who spirited away my daughter?"
Ryn stiffened. "In my defense, Your Majesty, it was… technically an accident."
Alderyn laughed, a deep, warm sound that filled the chamber. "You have courage, I'll give you that."
"Some call it poor judgment," Ryn muttered.
"Both may be true," the king said, smiling. "Come, you are guests of Lumeria now. You'll be treated as such."
They talked for what felt like hours. The king listened to every detail of Lysandra's journey — the forests, the spirits, the elven palace. Ryn filled the gaps with humor that earned both laughter and sighs.
When the meal was finally brought in, Lysandra's smile faded slightly.
A servant mentioned it casually — as though it were a small thing. "Preparations for the royal wedding are nearly complete, Your Majesty."
Lysandra froze. "Wedding?"
Her father's eyes softened with regret. "Yes… your sister, Althea. She is to marry Prince Caelum next week."
The world seemed to tilt. Lysandra's breath caught.
"She's marrying him?" she whispered.
"He still holds alliance with Solvane," Alderyn said gently. "After your disappearance… the council insisted Lumeria couldn't appear weak. The betrothal was offered again. Althea accepted, for the kingdom's sake."
Lysandra sank back in her chair, guilt flooding her face. "I left to protect us. And now she's paying the price."
Her father reached for her hand. "You didn't ruin her life, my child. You saved ours. You gave us time to survive. This is not your fault."
"But she'll be bound to him," Lysandra said softly. "To that man. Because of me."
Alderyn squeezed her hand, his voice a low murmur. "You cannot undo the past. But perhaps, with time, you can change what follows."
Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she nodded, forcing a smile she didn't feel.
The king looked at her, proud yet sorrowful. "Rest, my daughter. The court will want to see you at dawn, but tonight… just be home again."
Meanwhile, out in the corridor, chaos had found Ryn.
He'd wandered off — innocently — to "admire the architecture." Which lasted all of two minutes before a maid spotted him.
"You're the princess's companion, aren't you?" she asked brightly.
"Ah, depends on what 'companion' means in this context," Ryn replied.
Another maid appeared, eyes wide. "You're the Ice Fox! The one who Kidnapped her!"
"'Kidnapped ' is a strong word," Ryn said. "More like 'accidentally prevented a disaster and got blamed for a different one.'"
Then came a third maid, then a butler, then someone carrying a tray of fruit who definitely didn't work there but wanted to listen anyway.
Questions piled up like snow.
"How tall are you?"
"Is your hair silver ?"
"Did you fight the elven princess?"
"Do you breathe ice?"
"Are you single?"
Ryn blinked. "Yes, no, sometimes, only on Thursdays, and—wait, what?"
He tried to back away but bumped into another maid. "You're very popular, sir," she said shyly.
"Please don't say that so close to my personal space."
The laughter and questions grew louder until—
"Ryn!"
Lysandra's voice cut through the crowd like a blade.
The maids stepped back as she marched forward, grabbed him by the wrist, and yanked him down the corridor.
"Can't take you anywhere," she muttered.
"Technically you brought me here," he said as she pulled him around a corner.
"Technically I regret it."
She stopped at a door and shoved it open. "This is your room. Stay here. No wandering. No freezing servants."
He looked around. The chamber was huge — velvet curtains, silver mirrors, a bed big enough for three people and a horse.
He whistled. "You sure this isn't your room?"
She glared. "Sleep."
"Fine. But if I get lost in the sheets, send a rescue team."
Lysandra shut the door behind her with a sigh.
Outside, the palace of Lumeria glowed softly under moonlight.
Inside, the thief in noble's clothes sat on the edge of his borrowed bed and let the quiet settle.
For the first time in weeks, he wasn't running. But somehow, peace felt more dangerous than any chase.