"So that's what happened," Margaret finished softly. "Now… we must go search for the keys."
She released Laury's hands and added, almost lightly, "That was everything—well, maybe I skipped some parts of my conversations with Mister George."
By parts, she meant the moment she had described Laury a little too honestly. She glanced at George and winked.
Laury cleared his throat. "So… what are we waiting for? I've already read about that key in my book."
She frowned slightly. "What book?"
He smiled faintly. "My two days weren't easy either."
"Oh," she said, her voice softening. "Then we lived hard times while being away from each other."
"Maybe, Your Majesty," he replied calmly, "because we share the same duty."
Margaret stood up, pretending not to notice the warmth in her chest.
"Well, that's not what I meant," she said quickly. "Anyway… we should go."
She turned to George, put on her gloves, took her umbrella, and gently wrapped her hands around his arms. Laury followed behind them as they stepped outside.
Waiting there was a carriage Laury had already rented. He opened the door for her.
She turned back to George and hugged him tightly. He handed her a basket full of food—more than she would ever need—just to be sure she would be safe.
"When I win this," she said quietly, "I'll come back."
She stepped into the carriage.
Laury looked at George.
"Don't lose her," George said, his voice heavy. "Whatever it costs."
Laury met his gaze. "If I could handle losing her," he said, "I wouldn't be here."
He climbed into the carriage.
They rode toward the sunset, unaware of how time slipped away from them. George remained behind, watching until they disappeared into the distance. Tears filled his eyes before he finally turned back toward the house.
"What a soft," he murmured, smiling sadly, "young love."
Inside the carriage, Margaret rested her head against the window, letting the rhythm of the road steady her breathing. The sunset stretched across the sky in soft gold and burning orange, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself peace—even if it was fragile, even if it would not last.
Laury's voice broke through gently.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty… for not being there for you that day."
The words reached her deeper than she expected. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat. Too many images, too much pain, too much that could not be undone.
"Oh, Laury," she said quietly, without looking at him. "Let me feel the sunset now. We will have time later. The journey ahead is long."
He studied her face, the light carving softness into her strength. His chest felt tight.
"But why did they—"
He stopped.
Because in that instant, Margaret made a decision.
She turned toward him—not as a queen, not as a symbol of Salvania, but as a woman who had been afraid, poisoned, hunted, and saved. She saw the guilt in his eyes, the way he carried responsibility as if it were a wound. She knew that if he finished that sentence, the moment would break. The sunset would disappear. And the weight would return.
So she leaned forward.
The kiss was brief—soft, almost trembling—but it carried everything she could not say. You are here now. I survived. We are still standing. Her lips touched his just long enough to quiet his storm, just long enough to choose feeling over explanation.
Laury forgot how to breathe.
She pulled back gently, as if nothing had happened, and closed her eyes again. The sunset bathed her face in gold, tracing her features with a quiet, aching beauty.
Laury said nothing for the rest of the road. He couldn't.
That single kiss echoed louder than any words ever could.