The carriage rolled past the silver gates of House Evandelle, and the air itself seemed to sigh in recognition.
Zelene pressed her gloved hand against the carriage window, her reflection wavering with every cobblestone.
"Are you nervous?" Kael asked beside her, his tone unreadable.
She exhaled softly. "No. Maybe. It's been weeks."
Across from them, Ray lifted his gaze briefly from the window. His posture was relaxed, arms crossed, one boot propped against the carriage wall. "You'll be fine," he said simply. "You're Zelene Evandelle. You walk into chaos and leave it kneeling."
Zelene smiled faintly. "That sounds like flattery."
"It's observation," Ray replied, gaze drifting back outside. "I don't flatter."
Kael's lips curved — barely. "No, he doesn't."
Darius chuckled from his seat near the door, brushing invisible dust off his coat. "He also doesn't talk much, so take that as the highest praise possible."
"Then I'm honored," Zelene said lightly, though her heart was already thudding faster as the estate loomed ahead.
The sprawling gardens stretched endlessly on either side — rows of white lilies swaying in the dusk wind, fountains whispering against marble basins. The estate itself gleamed in soft gold and ivory hues: alabaster walls laced with ivy, and tall windows that caught the fading light like mirrors of memory.
Zelene pressed a hand against the glass window as the carriage slowed, watching the manor grow larger until it filled her entire view. The gentle rhythm of the wheels quieted, and the familiar chime of bells from the western tower drifted faintly in the air.
It was the sound of home.
And yet, her chest tightened — too many years, too many ghosts between then and now.
The horses came to a halt before the marble steps. The air smelled faintly of lavender and rain — clean, crisp, comforting.
Before the footman could even open the door, movement at the top of the staircase caught her eye.
"Father!"
The word tore from her like a prayer.
Lord Alaric Evandelle — tall, broad-shouldered, and dignified as ever — froze mid-step. His expression faltered for only a second before he descended, his stride purposeful but unsteady with disbelief.
When Zelene ran to him, the years fell away. The usually composed lord let out a breathless laugh as he caught her, strong arms circling her shoulders. The scent of parchment, steel, and the faint spice of his cologne filled her senses — grounding her in a way no magic could.
"Zelene…" His voice cracked faintly. "By the stars, you're really here."
"I'm home," she whispered, her voice trembling as she clung to him. "I made it back."
When she pulled away, tears glimmered in his steel-gray eyes — though his jaw set quickly, masking it with the kind of restraint Evandelles were famous for.
Behind him, the manor's great doors opened wider, spilling golden lamplight across the steps.
Lady Seraphine Evandelle descended like moonlight incarnate — silver-blonde hair woven into a coronet braid, pearls threaded between the strands. Her gown was a soft sky-blue trimmed with lace, every step deliberate and graceful.
"Darling," she breathed, hand rising to her chest. "You look pale. Have you been eating? Sleeping properly?"
"Mother," Zelene groaned, laughing. "Please, not in front of—"
But Seraphine was already cradling her face, eyes glistening. "You've always looked too much like your father. Stubborn in the jaw, soft in the eyes."
Lord Alaric sighed. "She gets her disobedience from you, my love."
Seraphine smiled sweetly. "And her talent for surviving impossible men."
Zelene covered her face. "I'm right here."
Then came a familiar, teasing drawl.
"Well, well. Our Zelene returns from slaying monsters and cursing fate itself."
Caelan Evandelle, her brother, leaned lazily against a marble pillar — all effortless charm and golden-haired arrogance. The torchlight caught the mischievous glint in his eyes, his tailored navy coat perfectly crisp. "I was starting to think you'd run off for good."
"Maybe I did," Zelene shot back, wiping at her cheeks. "But you'd miss me too much."
He smirked. "Absolutely not. I was enjoying the silence."
"Liar."
Their laughter broke the tension that had been building like a held breath.
And then — a blur of pale blue silk and bouncing curls.
"Zelene!"
Her little sister, Elara, darted down the stairs, her excitement so bright it outshone the chandeliers. She collided with Zelene, nearly knocking her off balance.
Zelene laughed, kneeling to catch her. "Elara, look at you — you've grown taller!"
Elara pouted, though her eyes sparkled. "I wrote you letters every week! You never wrote back!"
"I didn't have a quill where I was," Zelene murmured, brushing a curl from her forehead. "But I thought of you every single day."
Elara sniffled and hugged her tighter. "You smell the same. Like jasmine and old books."
Zelene smiled, her throat tightening. "And you still talk too much."
Laughter rippled through the steps again — light, warm, alive.
Only when it softened did Zelene notice the one person who hadn't spoken.
Kael.
He stood a few steps behind her, tall and steady, his black cloak dusted faintly with road dust. His posture was perfectly formal — hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable. Yet the golden light of the setting sun caught in his dark hair and softened him, as if even the world refused to let him remain made of stone.
Lord Alaric's gaze shifted toward him, sharp and appraising. "Duke Dravenhart."
Kael bowed low, voice quiet but resolute. "My lord."
When the family's attention finally turned toward him, Lord Alaric stepped forward. "Duke Dravenhart," he said, voice firm but not unkind. "My house owes you a debt for protecting my daughter."
Kael bowed slightly. "She required no protection, my lord. I merely stood where I was needed."
"Modest," Lady Seraphine said approvingly, her lips curving. "And far too handsome for his own good."
"Mother!" Zelene gasped, horrified.
Caelan chuckled, the sound rich and amused. "Handsome, yes. But I'll reserve judgment until I see how he fences."
Kael's mouth lifted faintly, almost a smirk. "I'd be honored, Lord Caelan. Though I should warn you — I don't go easy on brothers."
"Oh, I like him," Caelan said, clapping Kael's shoulder a bit too roughly. "You've got a spine. That's rare around here."
"Caelan," Seraphine chided, though her laughter betrayed her fondness.
As they made their way inside, the great hall of Evandelle Manor unfolded before them — high-arched ceilings painted with constellations, chandeliers suspended like captured stars. Every corner smelled faintly of lavender and parchment, and the polished marble reflected the amber light of countless candles.
Servants hurried forth, bowing deeply. "Welcome home, my lady."
Trays of wine and sweet honeycakes followed, music rising faintly from the courtyard beyond.
Zelene paused on the threshold, letting it all wash over her — the warmth, the chatter, the weight of belonging. It felt unreal, too perfect.
Then she glanced behind her.
Kael stood a few steps back, his presence commanding yet distant — like a portrait come to life. The lamplight painted the sharp lines of his jaw, the glint of silver embroidery on his coat. His gaze wandered, not toward the grandeur of the hall, but to her — brief, steady, before it turned away again.
"Kael," she said softly, falling into step beside him as her family moved ahead. "You're quiet."
His eyes shifted toward her, cool and calm as deep water. "It's your home, Zelene. You should have your peace."
"Peace doesn't mean silence," she replied, her tone gentle.
A flicker of something — sorrow? fondness? — passed through his expression. "Then I'll try to make less of it," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
But he didn't move closer.
And somehow, that distance — that careful, aching restraint — felt heavier than any battlefield they had survived together.