It had been a year since the death of the The Great King Gilgamesh, leaving Artizea the crown.
Just Days after he passed, she would give birth to her second child—a baby girl with her father's midnight hair and her mother's crimson fire eyes—
Not even living for half a year before slipping away.
The loss had shattered her in grief, she had distanced herself from her family, including Rhyssand and their children.
Now both four years old.
But even they had begun to notice the cracks in his family.
Seraphina preferred to remain in denial.
But Callisto, Once a cheerful boy.
Now spent much of his time in quiet confusion, asking questions that only do more harm than good.
" Why doesn't Mama eat dinner with us anymore?"
"Did I do something bad?"
Their Farther watched helplessly from the sidelines as his wife buried herself in royal duties, using her responsibilities as a shield.
He had tried to approach her from many different angles.
Gently.
To remind her she wasn't alone in her pain, but every attempt had been met with cold indifference or silence.
Rhyssand knew they couldn't keep going like this.
The promise they'd made to each other—to give their children, a family —the family he never had—was slipping through their fingers.
The doors to the study swung open with a sharp creak. Rhyssand stood in the doorway, watching her, as she sat at her desk.
Surrounded by stacks of documents, the ink of her many broken quills, scratching feverishly against discarded parchment.
She had become a ghost of herself these past weeks, retreating behind walls even he couldn't breach.
Her once fiery spirit, the one that had captivated him, now smoldered beneath layers of pain.
Four months had passed since the death of their daughter. Four agonizing months of silence, distance, and a suffocating emptiness.
Rhyssand had tried, in vain, to reach her—to coax even the faintest flicker of the woman he loved back from the void she had fallen into.
Today, however, he would not be ignored.
"Artizea " he called out, his voice gentle but firm.
She didn't look up, her quill continuing its steady movement.
"Artizea ," Rhyssand said,his voice gentle but firm.
When she didn't respond, he tried again. "Tizea… look at me."
She sighed ,"If this is about the children, tell them I'll see them later."
Still not acknowledging his presence.
"They haven't seen you in weeks," he said, his tone sharpening.
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Artizea's chest tightened, her breath quickening.
The loss of their daughter had been unbearable, but so had the current interactions between them.
Her movements faltered for the briefest moment before picking up the paste.
She didn't need this .
Not now.
Not from him.
"I don't have time for this, Rhyssand. Leave me be."
He slammed his palm onto the desk, startling her into finally meeting his piercing gaze..
"Make time." he growled
"I have work to do," she replied curtly.
"Is that what you call this?" He gestured to the mess of papers. "Hiding behind your throne? Pretending everything is fine?"
he paused trying to find the words,"You don't speak to me. You don't see our children. You're shutting us out, Tiz and it has to Stop."
Her eyes flared with anger, her temper igniting like dry kindling.
"What else would you have me do?" she snapped, rising from her chair. "Sit around and cry like a broken princess? I am the queen, Rhyssand.
"My father is gone, my child is gone and I have to be strong for the kingdom — I don't have time to grieve."
"—grief?" he shot back, his voice rising to match hers. his patience snapped. "If it was grief I could understand —But—You're pushing everyone away. You're pushing ME away."
She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the stone. "Don't you dare lecture me, Rhyssand. Do not pretend to understand what that feels like–"
His eyes flashed with anger. "I don't have to pretend."cut her off, his tone sharp."She was my daughter too!" his voice echoing off the walls and for the first time, Artizea flinched.
"You're not the only one grieving."
She froze.
"But you know what I didn't do?" Rhyssand continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "I didn't abandon the people who needed me. , I didn't shut you out. I didn't shut him out!"Our son—our star, our beautiful boy—he's hurting too. "
Her breathes came in paired.
"Stop." She said breathlessly .
But he didn't .
Enough was enough and he had enough .
"He doesn't understand why his mother won't look at him, why she doesn't hold him anymore,He doesn't understand why his family is falling APART!"
"Stop it," she hissed, her voice shaking.
"No." He stepped closer, his tone sharp as a blade. "Because Callisto needs his mother!, Artizea. And I need my wife!."
Her dragon stirred beneath her skin, the tension in the air crackling with heat.
Her pupils dilated into sharp slits, and a low growl rumbled from her chest.
Rhys didn't flinch.
"Do it" he challenged, his voice like thunder. "Show me something other than the nothing you've been giving me!"
The growl deepened, and the temperature in the room spiked.
The dragon within her clawed for freedom, her grief and anger spiraling out of control.
Her body trembled, her claws beginning to manifest, and flames licked at the edges of her aura.
For a moment, it seemed as though she might give in, her dragon ready to burst free and wreak havoc.
But then—something shifted.
The fire dimmed, her claws retracted, and the growl in her throat turned into a choked sob.
Rhyssand's anger melted away as quickly as it had come.
He stepped forward and knelt in front of her.
His voice quieter now, but no less urgent. "The one thing we promised him was a family. A real family.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she shook her head, turning away.
"I don't know how to be that anymore."
He gently took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him.
"You don't have to do it alone," he said, his voice tender. "Let me help –."
Artizea pushed her chair back with a scrape, standing abruptly.
"Don't touch me, Rhyssand," she warned, stepping back as he reached for her.
hurt flashing in his eyes. "That's not fair."
She couldn't bear the thought of opening herself up again. Not when the emptiness of loss still gnawed at her heart.
"I can't," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, the rawness of her emotions pouring through.
She turned away, unable to face him.
Rhyssand's golden eyes glinted with frustration as he took a step closer to his wife.
His heart tightened with emotions he couldn't let out.
For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze dropping to her hand.
"You don't even wear your ring anymore," he said, his tone cutting, though his voice wavered slightly at the end.
Artizea froze, her hand instinctively brushing against her bare finger where the ring once rested.
She opened her mouth, her lips trembling as though searching for the right words, but all that came out was, "I… I need a break, Rhys."
His wings shifted sharply, the feathers bristling as if struck.
"A break?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "From me?" he asked, his voice hollow. "Or the marriage?"
Her crimson eyes flared briefly, then dulled as she dropped her gaze to the floor.
"Both," she whispered, her voice barely audible but devastating all the same.
The words hit Rhyssand like a physical blow.
His wings flared behind him, radiant and furious. His hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening as he stared at her.
Then he turned away , creating distance once more.
She turned only slightly, enough for her to see the outline of his jaw clenched tight.
But he didn't look back.
"The way this is going," he said, his voice low—too calm—too calm, "I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted a divorce."
And there went the elephant in the room.
Artizea stood frozen, her lips parted, crimson eyes wide. But she didn't speak.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't deny it.
When he did glance at her and she looked at him.
And that was somehow worse.
His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, a strange chill sliding down his spine.
His eyes narrowed as he studied her expression, he was searching—pleading—for something. Anything.
Fury. Shock. Sadness.
But all that remained was silence .
"No," he breathed, his voice cracking. It wasn't defiance—it was disbelief.
Artizea shifted uncomfortably, pain flickering across her face as she opened her mouth.
"Rhys—"
"I SAID NO!" he roared.
The palace shook.
His wings stretched wide behind him, golden and furious, crackling with divine power.
"You made a promise to me at that altar, Artizea!" he bellowed. "Till death do us part! You said those words to me with your hand in mine. Do you remember that? Because I do! I've remembered every day since!"
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her jaw clenched as she fought to steady her voice, but it came out in a hoarse whisper.
"So why does it feel like I already have?"
He staggered as he took a step back, as if struck in the chest. His wings faltered, dimming ever so slightly as the rawness of her words settled over him like ash after a fire.
A long silence hung between them.
His wife.
The love of his life.
Felt dead beside him.
"You want a break?" he asked again, quieter this time, his voice stripped bare. "You want time away… from the man you fought the heavens with ? Whose name is etched into the stars right next to yours? You want time away from our family ?"
Artizea looked away.
"I just… need space," she whispered, her shoulders shaking with the effort to hold herself together.
"And I need my wife…" Rhys whispered.
No answer.
Just silence.
That same empty, cold silence she'd given him for weeks.
He swallowed hard, then turned fully toward the door.
He reached the doorway, but paused—his back still turned, his voice sharper now.
Not cold, not cruel—wounded.