Let her breathe

A few days had passed since that soft night filled with whispers of names and dreams. Elysia awoke before the sun had fully risen, golden light stretching through the curtains like delicate fingers.

Malvoria still slept beside her, an arm draped protectively over her waist, her breaths steady and even.

For a moment, Elysia simply watched her queen, her wife, her impossible protector. And then, gently, she slipped free from her embrace and rose.

Today, she wanted air. Sunlight. A few hours not spent cloistered inside strategy rooms or under the ever-watchful gaze of ministers.

Today, she would walk the gardens.

The palace gardens had been fully restored in the past months. The damage from the rebel attack had been erased with surprising speed—thanks, Elysia suspected, to Malvoria's grandmother and her terrifyingly efficient magic.