Chapter 25-26

Chapter 25: The Flowers of Gratitude

The roads of Eastmoor, once lifeless and heavy with silence, were now blooming with joy..

Lantern strings were being tied from rooftop to rooftop. Tables were scrubbed clean and laid out across the square. The scent of fresh bread and drying garlands filled the air. And for the first time in years—the smiles were real.

Not practiced.

Not cautious.

But warm, open, and free.

From children to elders, everyone joined in preparing the royal feast.

Even the royal family blended into the crowd—not in royal regalia or behind a line of guards, but shoulder to shoulder with the people, dust-smudged and smiling. Their old travel-worn clothes had been traded out for clean ones gifted by a kind-hearted cloth shop owner. They weren't made of silk or embroidered in gold, but they were soft, fitting, and fresh—and to the townsfolk, they'd never seen their royals look more radiant.

Tia wore a soft outfit of pink and green, simple yet blooming like spring.

Celestine's was a gentle violet paired with silver trim that caught the light.

Aina wore deep red with rolled-up sleeves—practical, powerful, and striking.

Whispers filled the air.

"They're beautiful," someone murmured.

"And so kind," said another. "Like they're one of us."

They didn't stand apart.

They knelt to help little girls with flower garlands.

They carried crates and strung banners.

They belonged.

Tia was sitting cross-legged on the stone path, helping two shy girls tie marigolds into loops. She laughed when they accidentally wrapped one around her wrist. "Now I'm a magical flower knight," she declared, and the girls giggled with glee.

Beside her, Celestine was weaving tiny wildflowers into the archways with a few teenage girls. She gave quiet advice, her fingers sure and steady, her presence so calm that the girls mirrored her grace without realizing it.

Aina was further off, helping the guards carry crates of firewood and heavy tables. She lifted each one with ease, sleeves pushed up, a quiet confidence in every step.

Small children watched her with awe.

"She's stronger than my uncle," one whispered.

"She could fight a dragon," another gasped.

They weren't wrong.

Meanwhile, the Crown Prince and Lucien worked in near silence, moving supplies and helping villagers wherever needed. Alaric never stopped to rest, his focus unwavering. Lucien, though quiet, had an uncanny way of knowing when someone needed a hand—catching falling ladders, steadying old men, handing out ropes before anyone asked.

They didn't speak much.

They didn't need to.

Their presence was solid comfort.

And then… there was the second prince.

Kaelen had rolled up his sleeves with absolutely no subtlety, tossing crates over his shoulder with just a little too much flair.

A group of young girls nearby burst into laughter every time he flexed while lifting something.

"Oh my stars, did you see that?"

"His arms! Is he glowing?!"

Kaelen gave a wink that wasn't exactly accidental.

Aina, passing by with a bundle of firewood, didn't even glance his way.

But the moment the girls squealed louder, her eyes flicked to him.

The glare.

It was brief but lethal.

Kaelen didn't even notice.

Lucien, passing by, murmured under his breath, "Dead in five steps if he keeps flexing."

Tia nearly choked on laughter.

The scene was chaotic, warm, and full of life. The royals—once distant figures wrapped in velvet—were now part of the very heart of the town. They laughed. They worked. They played.

And the people watched with a kind of wonder they didn't know they still had in them.

A wonder that whispered—

Maybe this is what a kingdom is meant to feel like.

---

As the sun dipped low, the lanterns across Eastmoor flickered to life—casting soft glows over rooftops and cobbled paths.

The feast had begun.

Tables lined every street, covered with warm stew, golden flatbreads, crispy root fritters, glazed fruits, and honey-drenched pastries. The scent of roasted grain and woodfire filled the air.

And for the first time in many years—

The streets rang with the laughter of children.

Some danced barefoot to the music played by village bards. Others chased each other between benches, flower petals flying behind them. Elders sat close, holding bowls with trembling hands, eyes wide with disbelief.

One woman whispered, "It's been so long since we ate together like this."

A man beside her had tears welling up—not from grief this time, but joy. He looked across the square.

There sat the royal family—not on golden thrones, but among the crowd, sharing stories and food, laughing alongside young villagers like old friends.

Someone whispered, "Look how they smile with us."

And slowly—those who hesitated began to eat.

First with caution. Then with hunger. Then with full, open hearts.

On one side of the square, Tia and Celestine were already seated together on a bench, bowls in hand, giggling over how spicy the stew had turned out.

Aina was still standing nearby, arms crossed, scanning the area like a hawk.

"Ainaaa," Tia called, waving her over. "Come sit!"

"I'm fine," Aina said, shaking her head. "I'll stand watch—"

"Oh hush," Tia said, patting the bench beside her. "There are enough guards for tonight. You've been working since morning. Sit."

Aina opened her mouth to object again, but Celestine stood and gently touched her arm. "Let it go. For just tonight. You've more than earned this."

Aina hesitated.

But then she looked at both of them—Tia's cheek smudged with flower dust, Celestine's violet eyes kind and unwavering—and saw nothing but sincere warmth.

So she sighed, shook her head lightly, and sat with a soft, amused smile. "Alright. Just for tonight."

Tia clapped. "Victory!"

Meanwhile, across the square, the Crown Prince and Lucien stood among a group of energetic village youths, chatting about ideas for better grain storage and winter food routes.

"Instead of stone silos," one boy was saying, "we used clay-lined barrels last year—they stayed cooler."

Another chimed in, "We marked storm-safe routes on bark maps. They won't smudge like ink!"

Alaric, who had been listening silently, gave a thoughtful nod.

Later that night, those same boys would find letters with the royal seal inviting them to intern under the Crown's council.

Lucien, standing beside the prince, said with a small grin, "They're sharp."

"They're the future," Alaric murmured.

And as for the second prince...

Kaelen was absolutely surrounded by young girls, all listening with sparkling eyes as he leaned dramatically over his bowl of stew.

"So then I said—'That's not a wolf, that's my mother's dog, and if it bites again, I will marry into the pack!'"

Gasps.

Laughter.

A girl clutched her chest. "So brave!"

Another said, "So charming!"

From across the square, Aina gave a long, slow blink of utter disbelief.

Tia nearly snorted into her drink.

Celestine just chuckled. "He's hopeless."

"Delusional," Aina added.

"He can hear you, you know," Kaelen said loudly, grinning over his shoulder.

"Good," Tia grinned. "You'll stay humble."

But before he could offer another dramatic tale, two small girls approached the trio with something in their hands—three simple flower crowns, woven with daisies, clover, and wild roses.

One shyly stepped up to Tia. "For you, princess , u will look like a forest spirit."

Tia's heart melted. "Thank you, sweetheart."

The second girl offered hers to Celestine with trembling hands. "For you , u look like those storybook princess ."

Celestine bowed her head gracefully. "Thank you, I love it "

The two little girls were smiling ear to ear after the two of them accepted the crowns.

Then came the brave one.

A boy, maybe seven or eight, marched up to Aina with a crown made of marigolds and tiny sprigs of green.

He stood tall—well, as tall as he could—and offered it with both hands.

"You were amazing today," he said, eyes wide with admiration. "You lifted that barrel like shhhhp! and didn't even grunt!"

Aina blinked.

Then slowly took the crown.

"…Thanks."

She placed it gently on her head.

The boy's face lit up like a lantern.

But his moment of joy was short-lived—because not far behind Aina, Kaelen was glaring at him like he'd just threatened national security.

Lucien leaned in beside him. "Please tell me you're not plotting against a child."

"He's too smug for someone in crocs," Kaelen muttered.

Celestine, watching the exchange, sighed. "And here we thought you were the mature one."

The square roared with music again as the feast continued. Lanterns bobbed in the wind, laughter echoed through alleyways, and for one glorious night—

The kingdom felt whole.

---

The feast had ended, but no one returned to their homes.

Not yet.

Instead, people gathered around the bonfires lit throughout the square, drawn to the warmth like moths to a long-forgotten sun. Children lay curled up in their parents' arms, sleeping peacefully—bellies full, hands still sticky with honey.

For the first time in years, their sleep was safe.

Elders leaned on one another, their cheeks glowing red from laughter. Deep lines around their eyes and mouths stood proud—not from weariness, but from joy. Wrinkles carved from smiling, not sorrow.

And the young women—so often cautious, shoulders tense, eyes darting—were now laughing openly, spinning with each other around the fires without fear. No catcalls. No leers. Just music, freedom, and starlight.

Tia sat for a long time in the grass, just watching it all—her people bathed in joy and peace.

Then her gaze drifted upward.

Lucien was standing alone on the balcony of the nearby inn, watching over the square like a quiet guardian. Lanternlight flickered behind him, casting his silhouette in gold.

She rose without a word and made her way toward him.

Lucien turned just as she reached the top step. He didn't speak—only stepped aside, creating space at the rail beside him.

Tia joined him in silence.

Below them, the town glowed.

"You looked really happy today," Lucien said, his voice low, carrying gently on the breeze.

Tia smiled, her eyes softening as she looked out over the lantern-lit people below. "I was," she said. "I still am."

She turned her face toward him, smile still lingering.

"I think… I've never felt this kind of happiness before. Like I'm watching something grow after a long, cold season."

Lucien didn't reply. He didn't need to.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in silence—

Not the awkward kind.

Not the loud kind.

But the kind that settled around them like a warm blanket, humming with quiet comfort.

Elsewhere, near the edge of the square, Aina stood with her arms folded, eyes half-closed as she listened to the distant crackle of firewood and the fading notes of music.

Kaelen appeared beside her without warning.

He took one look at the slightly crooked flower crown still resting on her head and smirked.

"Well, well. Looks like someone gained a few admirers tonight," he drawled, arms crossed as he leaned casually beside her. "Careful, Commander. The kingdom might fall for you before you even draw your sword."

There was a note of something… odd in his voice. Teasing, yes—but tinged with something sharp and restless. Jealousy, though he hadn't realized it himself.

Aina, however, blinked at him and answered plainly, "I wasn't the only one. I saw your little flower harem."

Kaelen recoiled. "Harem?!"

She shrugged. "It's what it looked like."

"They were just—listening to my battle tales!"

Aina raised an eyebrow. "Right. Because that story about wolves and wedding into their pack was definitely a historical account."

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Then scowled. "You're cruel."

"You're dramatic."

They both fell into silence—though neither moved away.

And somewhere nearby, on a wooden bench surrounded by sleeping children and half-finished cups of tea, sat Crown Prince Alaric and Lady Celestine.

They said nothing.

They didn't need to.

Celestine's head rested on Alaric's shoulder, her hand gently tucked into his.

Together, they quietly watched the people—their people—wrapped in safety and love.

There were no speeches left to make.

No grand declarations.

Just the soft, steady rhythm of peace blooming quietly in the aftermath.

And in that silence, beneath a starlit sky and flickering lanterns…

The kingdom felt peaceful.

---

Chapter 26: A Crown of Farewells

The morning sun crested over Eastmoor in a golden blaze, casting soft light across the town that now pulsed with new life.

Birdsong drifted through the air. The cobbled roads had been swept clean, and fresh garlands were hung across balconies. Children darted between houses, barefoot and laughing, faces still sticky with leftover honey from last night's feast.

At the inn where the royal family had stayed, the windows were thrown open. Steam rose from warm basins. Travel gear was being buckled and checked. The scent of fresh breakfast—millet cakes, fruit jam, spiced tea—wafted from the hearth.

Tia adjusted the last loop on her satchel as she stepped outside.

The town square was already waiting.

No one had gone to work.

No one had stayed indoors.

The entire town had come to say goodbye.

Banners waved high on every rooftop. Drummers stood lined up along the streets, hands hovering over stretched hide. Old women held baskets of rose petals. Young boys crouched near long, coiled fuses, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

And then—

The moment the royal family stepped out, the drums boomed.

One, two—then a rush of rhythm that sent vibrations through the ground.

"LONG LIVE THE PRINCESS!"

"LONG LIVE THE CROWN!"

The people chanted as firecrackers began to snap and sparkle along the sides of the road. Bright red papers burst with gold sparks, climbing like lightning vines into the morning air.

Tia blinked at the sight of it all, completely taken aback. "This is… this is for us?"

Aina, beside her, stared with arms crossed, lips twitching in stunned amusement. "Apparently."

Celestine reached out and plucked a falling petal from Tia's hair. "You earned this," she said gently.

Alaric stepped forward first, dressed once again in his practical royal coat, his hair swept back, silver glinting at his collar.

When he raised a hand, the crowd grew still.

"People of Eastmoor," he said, voice carrying over the drums. "You have endured more than anyone should. And yet—you stood tall. You reclaimed your voice. This celebration belongs as much to you as it does to any crown."

He bowed deeply.

And the people roared.

The guards lined the carriages, but none pushed the people back. This farewell was not for show. It was the exhale after a storm.

Villagers stepped forward with parting gifts—bundles of dried herbs, wooden charms, flower pouches for luck. Children raced up to hug Tia, pulling at her sleeves.

"Come back soon, flower knight!" one girl cried.

Tia crouched with a laugh and ruffled her hair. "Only if you promise not to grow taller than me."

Celestine received a hand-stitched sash from the weaver's wife, who whispered tearfully, "For the calm you brought my daughters."

Even Aina found herself face-to-face with the same little boy from the feast. He stood proudly, holding a rock painted with her face and a stick figure sword.

"It's your battle portrait," he explained. "For your sword queen wall."

Aina blinked. "...Thanks."

Kaelen, already up on his horse, leaned over to smirk. "You're collecting fan art now?"

"I will stab you with this rock," she muttered.

Lucien, quiet as ever, helped a small girl tie her sandal before she slipped away through the crowd. When he stood up again, his eyes briefly met Tia's.

She smiled.

He didn't look away.

The drums beat louder now.

The horses were ready. The roads stretched open.

But no one moved—not yet.

Because no one wanted it to end.

The townspeople kept waving, shouting their blessings, sending the royals off like stars riding into the morning sky.

And as the gates opened, a cascade of petals rained from above—white, gold, and pink—fluttering down like the quiet promise of spring.

A farewell not of sadness.

But of hope.

---

The carriages rattled gently along the countryside road, leaving Eastmoor behind in a cloud of flower petals and distant drums.

Inside the lead carriage, the royal siblings—and their not-yet-partners—sat together, legs stretched out, arms occasionally bumping with the sway.

It was the first quiet moment in hours.

Tia leaned against the window frame, chin in hand, watching the fields blur by. The golden sunlight warmed her cheeks, and a soft smile still lingered on her lips from the farewell.

Beside her, Celestine sat with her hands folded neatly, but her eyes were twinkling with amusement.

"Someone's glowing," she teased gently.

Tia blinked. "Me?"

"You," Celestine confirmed. "You've been dreamy-eyed since breakfast."

Aina, seated across from them with her boots half-untied, glanced up. "She's thinking about flower crowns and her fan club."

Tia laughed. "Please. You had your own fan club, Miss Sword Queen."

Kaelen, lounging like a king on the far corner seat, grinned. "She even got a battle portrait. Painted rock and all."

Aina rolled her eyes. "At least I didn't tell fictional wolf wedding stories to a flock of swooning girls."

Lucien, quiet until now, mumbled, "She has a point."

Kaelen sat up dramatically. "You wound me, brother-in-arms."

Celestine looked over sweetly. "You're not even armed."

"I'm armed with charm, my lady."

"You're armed with delusion," Aina muttered.

Tia covered her mouth to stop from laughing too loud. "This is the most peaceful ride we've had in days."

Lucien, seated beside her, gave a soft chuckle.

"You didn't say much at the farewell," Tia said quietly, glancing his way.

Lucien shrugged lightly. "You said enough for all of us."

There was a pause.

Then Kaelen leaned forward suddenly, eyes narrowed. "Wait. What did you say to Lucien during that balcony moment?"

Tia blinked. "What—nothing!"

"Exactly," Kaelen said. "Nothing is suspicious. What kind of world are we in where you're quiet?"

"She was smiling," Lucien offered mildly.

"She's always smiling!" Kaelen protested.

"Not like that," Celestine chimed in, her tone teasing.

Tia flushed. "Okay, all of you are unbearable."

"Wait, are we talking about feelings now?" Kaelen asked, mock-shocked. "Should I prepare a poem?"

Aina kicked him lightly in the shin. "Should I prepare a muzzle?"

"You wound me again!"

Celestine leaned against Alaric's side with a long-suffering sigh. "They'll never grow up."

The Crown Prince, sitting beside her in quiet amusement, simply sipped from his canteen and murmured, "And yet they rule a kingdom."

The carriage burst into laughter.

Outside, the fields stretched wide and green, wildflowers nodding along the edge of the road.

Inside, it was warmth, teasing, stolen glances, and tangled knees—quiet proof that no matter the storms ahead or behind, this little group was a fortress all on its own.

And somewhere in that noisy, teasing carriage—

Peace found a seat.

---

As the carriage rocked gently along the road, the noise inside had settled into soft conversation and quiet snickering.

Tia and Lucien, still seated beside each other, had begun quietly chatting—nothing dramatic, just little things: the shape of a cloud outside, how the jam at breakfast had tasted like wild berries, whether Lucien always tied his satchel knots backwards.

No one else paid attention at first.

Until Celestine caught the way Lucien bent down a little when Tia laughed—just enough so he could hear her better.

Or how Tia's shoulder kept brushing his and for once, she didn't scoot away.

Celestine smiled knowingly.

Kaelen, however, squinted.

Alaric looked up from his map just in time to see Tia laugh at something Lucien said and gently nudge his arm.

Both brothers froze.

"…Did she just nudge him?" Kaelen whispered.

"She did," Alaric said, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Did he just smile back?"

"He did."

"Did she just giggle?!"

"She did," Alaric confirmed grimly.

Celestine, sitting between them, blinked. "Are you two okay?"

Kaelen leaned toward her like a man deeply wronged. "That's our baby sister."

"She's seventeen."

"Exactly! Practically an infant."

Alaric folded his arms. "Lucien's five years older. Five."

Celestine tilted her head. "You're six years older than me."

"That's different," both brothers said in unison.

Across from them, Lucien handed Tia a small wrapped sweet he'd saved from breakfast.

She accepted it with a soft "thank you," their fingers brushing again.

Kaelen narrowed his eyes. "He touched her hand."

Alaric's jaw twitched. "I trained him better than this."

Aina, watching all this from her seat, slowly pulled a piece of dried fruit from her pouch and muttered to no one in particular, "This is better than theatre."

Celestine leaned into Alaric's side, clearly enjoying herself. "You know, if you act any more obvious, she'll notice."

Kaelen hissed. "She mustn't notice."

"Why?"

"Because if she notices, then he'll notice that we noticed, and then it becomes real."

Aina snorted. "It's already real."

Tia, meanwhile, turned toward her brothers with the most innocent expression in the world. "You two are staring. Is something on my face?"

Lucien opened his mouth to respond.

Kaelen beat him to it. "Yes. Suspicious softness. We're monitoring it."

Tia blinked. "What does that even mean?"

"It means Lucien is sitting too close," Alaric said flatly.

Lucien, completely unfazed, leaned back in his seat with the faintest smirk. "I can move closer to you, if it helps."

Celestine choked on a laugh.

Aina muttered, "I like him."

Tia tried and failed to hide her grin as both her brothers groaned into their palms.

And just like that—the teasing started all over again.

But beneath it all, one truth settled quietly into the corners of their hearts:

The little princess they had sworn to protect was growing up.

And whether they liked it or not…

She was starting to choose who stood beside her.

---

The sun was just beginning to set when the royal carriages rolled through the palace gates.

Golden light bathed the stone walls and long crimson carpet rolled out from the main steps. Guard salutes, blooming jasmine, and lanterns flickering to life—it was everything expected of a royal welcome.

But what awaited at the top of the steps wasn't formality.

It was family.

Emperor Kael stood tall but calm, hands clasped behind his back. Beside him, Empress Seraphina—face warm, eyes sharp—was already moving before the horses even stopped.

The moment the carriage doors opened, she was flying down the stairs.

Tia jumped down first.

"Mama!" she laughed, arms open.

Seraphina pulled her into a tight hug, then pulled back and began inspecting her face, her arms, even her elbows.

Tia huffed. "Mama, I'm not a toddler!"

"You are exactly a toddler in my eyes."

Celestine stepped down next, already smiling. Seraphina hugged her close, whispering, "You're always so steady. I hope my sons are worthy of you."

"I think they're trying," Celestine said, eyes sparkling.

Then came Aina.

She landed lightly on her feet, her stance instinctively formal. She nodded toward the Empress, ready to offer a stiff soldier's greeting.

Seraphina walked right up to her.

Without a word, she began gently inspecting Aina—hands on her shoulders, checking her cheeks, brushing a faint mark from her sleeve.

Aina stood frozen.

No one… had ever touched her with such care.

Her back straightened into a perfect line. Her jaw locked. She didn't dare breathe too loud.

Seraphina frowned slightly. "You haven't been resting well."

Aina opened her mouth, then shut it again.

Tia leaned toward Celestine and whispered, "She's glitched."

Kaelen, of course, could not let the moment go.

He strode forward and clutched his chest dramatically. "Mother! Your sons have returned from battle, weary and wounded, and yet! Not even a glance for us?"

Seraphina didn't look at him. "Kaelen, you're covered in dust, your shirt's backwards, and you've got jam on your jaw."

Kaelen's mouth dropped open.

"I—how did you even—!"

Lucien, casually stepping down behind him, gave a low whistle. "The jam's been there since the second inn stop."

Kaelen spun around. "Lucien! Traitor!"

Lucien raised an eyebrow. "What? I assumed it was a fashion choice."

Tia snorted. Celestine turned her face away, laughing into her sleeve.

Aina was still a statue, though her lips did twitch.

Kaelen turned desperately to his older brother. "Alaric. Help me. You must stand for justice."

Alaric didn't even blink. "You're an idiot."

Lucien leaned toward Kaelen and added in a deadpan whisper, "Maybe if you cry a little, she'll pat your head too."

Kaelen dramatically collapsed onto the nearest step. "I risked my life for this kingdom!"

Lucien: "You risked your dignity every time you opened your mouth."

Tia: "Still an active threat."

Celestine: "Truly, the bravest act of all."

Aina: "He's trying his best."

Lucien: "His best got jam on his eyebrow."

Even Emperor Kael let out a chuckle.

Seraphina finally turned to her sons with a long, sighing look of amused affection.

"Dinner's ready. Bathe first—all of you smell like campfire and trouble."

As everyone turned toward the palace, Aina lingered at the edge.

Lucien, passing by, looked at her.

"You survived your first royal inspection," he said quietly.

"I think I blacked out," she murmured.

"You blinked once," he nodded. "It was impressive."

She let out a breath of laughter.

Tia slipped her arm through hers again. "Welcome to the family chaos."

And with laughter, footsteps, and a thousand unspoken threads weaving between them…

The royals finally returned home.

---