The palace woke slowly the next morning.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the eastern wing, painting gold stripes across marble floors. No alarms. No urgent summons from the throne room. No System notifications flashing in Draven's vision. Just the soft chirp of birds in the garden and the distant clatter of servants preparing breakfast.
Draven opened his eyes first.
Seraphina was still curled against him, head tucked under his chin, one leg thrown over his. Her breathing was slow and even, hair spilled across the pillow like dark silk. The sheets were tangled around them—evidence of last night's quiet passion. He didn't move right away. He just watched her sleep, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest against his.
For the first time in years, he woke without the curse's cold burn in his veins. No black veins crawling under his skin. No constant ache. Just warmth. Just her.
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
She stirred, murmuring something incoherent, then smiled without opening her eyes.
"Morning already?" she whispered.
"Morning," he replied, voice still rough from sleep. "And it's quiet. No world-ending quests today."
She laughed softly, nuzzling closer. "Good. I want coffee. And you. In that order."
They stayed in bed another half hour—lazy kisses, whispered nonsense, fingers tracing lazy patterns on each other's skin. Eventually hunger won. They dressed simply—Draven in a loose black shirt and trousers, Seraphina in a soft cream dress that hugged her curves without trying too hard.
They walked hand-in-hand to the small private dining room overlooking the northern gardens. Thorne was already there, feet up on a chair, tearing into a massive plate of eggs, bacon, and bread. Elowen sat across from him, sipping tea and reading a thin book. Sylara leaned against the window frame, sharpening an arrowhead with slow, rhythmic strokes.
Thorne looked up and grinned. "Finally. Thought you two were going to sleep through the day."
Draven pulled out a chair for Seraphina, then sat beside her. "We earned it."
Elowen closed her book. "The wards are stable. No signs of the queen's spies. She's… unusually quiet."
Sylara snorted. "She knows something happened. She's waiting to see what."
Draven poured coffee for Seraphina, then himself. "Let her wait. Today we train. Eat. Talk. Nothing more."
Thorne raised his mug in salute. "To ordinary days."
They ate slowly—laughing at Thorne's exaggerated story of how he once wrestled a bear in his youth (which Sylara immediately called a lie), teasing Elowen about her habit of falling asleep with books on her face, and sharing quiet glances between Draven and Seraphina that said everything without words.
After breakfast, they moved to the training courtyard.
The sun was climbing higher, warm but not oppressive. The courtyard was empty except for them—no guards, no servants. Just the four walls of stone, the sandy floor, and the open sky above.
Draven stretched first—arms overhead, back arching, feeling every muscle wake up without the curse's drag. Seraphina watched him, smiling.
"You look… lighter," she said.
"I feel lighter."
Thorne cracked his knuckles. "Let's see if you can still swing that fancy blade without the curse holding you back."
They started with basic drills.
Thorne and Draven sparred first—slow at first, testing. Thorne's axe was heavy, but Draven moved with new fluidity. Soulreaver sang through the air—clean, precise. No black energy leaking. No pain in his joints. Just pure skill.
Thorne laughed when Draven ducked a swing and countered with a quick slash that stopped an inch from Thorne's throat.
"Not bad, lad. You're faster without the curse weighing you down."
Seraphina trained with Sylara—archery and staff work. Seraphina's holy light flickered around her staff as she blocked Sylara's arrows, then countered with a gentle push of healing energy that made Sylara laugh.
"You're cheating," Sylara teased. "That tickles."
"It's not cheating," Seraphina replied with a grin. "It's strategy."
Elowen worked alone—staff twirling in slow, graceful arcs, silver mana tracing patterns in the air. She occasionally glanced at the others, smiling faintly.
After an hour, they switched partners.
Draven sparred with Seraphina—gentle, playful. He let her land hits, laughing when she swept his legs and pinned him to the sand.
"Yield?" she asked, straddling his waist, staff across his throat.
"Never," he grinned, then flipped her underneath him in one smooth motion.
She laughed breathlessly. "Cheater."
He leaned down and kissed her—slow, deep, right there in the middle of the courtyard. The others whistled and cheered.
Thorne called out, "Get a room, you two!"
Elowen smiled. "They already did last night."
Sylara smirked. "And probably will again tonight."
They broke apart laughing.
Lunch was simple—fresh bread, cheese, fruit, cold meat, eaten picnic-style on the grass under a large tree. They talked about nothing important.
Thorne told a story about the time he tried to cook for his wife and nearly burned down their house. Seraphina shared how she used to sneak into the library as a child and read forbidden romance novels. Elowen admitted she once tried to brew a love potion and accidentally made everyone in the mage tower sneeze for a week. Sylara confessed she still kept her brother's old arrowhead in her pocket.
Draven listened—really listened. For once, he didn't feel the need to carry the conversation or the world. He just… belonged.
In the afternoon, they rested.
Draven and Seraphina wandered back to the northern gardens—alone this time. They sat under the same silver rose tree from last night. She leaned against him, head on his chest. He wrapped an arm around her, fingers playing with her hair.
"Do you think we can have this every day?" she asked softly.
"I think we can try," he replied. "The queen is still here. The System is quiet but not gone. Lord Vicky's power is inside me now. But… we can choose these moments. Every day, we can choose them."
She tilted her face up. "Then let's choose more."
They kissed again—slow, lingering. His hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer. She sighed into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair.
The sun dipped lower.
They walked back to the palace hand-in-hand.
Dinner was in the small dining room again—same group. They ate, laughed, shared wine. No politics. No plans for tomorrow. Just stories. Just company.
After dinner, Thorne and Sylara went to check the walls. Elowen retreated to her books.
Draven and Seraphina slipped away quietly.
They returned to the pavilion in the garden.
The lantern was lit. The bed still smelled faintly of them from last night.
This time there was no hurry.
They undressed each other slowly—buttons undone one by one, kisses pressed to newly revealed skin. He traced the curve of her spine with his lips. She kissed the scar on his shoulder that had once been from the curse. They fell onto the bed together, bodies tangling, hands exploring like it was the first time and the thousandth.
He worshipped her—kissing down her neck, across her breasts, lower. His tongue teased her until she was trembling, whispering his name like a prayer. When she came, it was soft, shuddering, her fingers gripping his hair.
Then she pushed him onto his back—straddling him. She took him in her hand, guiding him inside her slowly. They both moaned as she sank down, taking him fully. She rode him gently at first—slow rolls of her hips, hands on his chest. He gripped her waist, thumbs stroking her skin, watching her face—eyes half-closed, lips parted.
"Draven…" she breathed.
He thrust up to meet her, matching her rhythm. Faster now. Deeper. Their bodies slapped softly together, sweat slicking skin. She leaned down, kissing him hard as she ground against him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they moved together.
When she tightened around him again, crying out softly, he followed—spilling inside her with a low groan, hips jerking.
They collapsed—her on top of him, both breathing hard.
He held her tight, kissing her temple, her cheek, her lips.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you more," she replied.
They fell asleep tangled together, silver roses glowing outside, the world quiet for one more night.