Chapter 51
The courtyard of Valla was alive with the buzz of expectation. Servants lined the walls, nobles whispered behind fans, and the family stood at the palace steps, eyes fixed on the approaching carriage bearing the sigil of the Citadel.
When the doors opened, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Alissa stepped out, and time slowed.
She stood tall, cloaked in a soft emerald-green mantle lined with silver. Her gown, embroidered with delicate patterns that shimmered faintly in the sun, trailed behind her like ivy in the wind. Her long black hair was pinned at the sides with silver clips in the shape of hawk feathers, and her green eyes scanned the crowd before landing on her family. She was no longer the girl who had left, but a woman now—graceful, composed, and striking in her beauty.
"Alissa," Mathias whispered, stepping forward. His voice broke as he wrapped her in a firm embrace, holding her like a man anchoring himself after a storm. "My heart is whole again."
She held him tightly. "I missed you, Papa. More than words."
When they pulled apart, Alistair stepped forward next. He said nothing at first, only looked at her as if she were a dream that had returned. Then he smiled and opened his arms. "Sister."
She stepped into his hug, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "I'm back."
Beside him stood Jasmine, her hand resting on her swollen belly. She offered a quiet nod and soft smile as Alissa approached. Alissa took her hand gently and gave a slight curtsy, her eyes full of warmth. "You look radiant."
"And you," Jasmine said, "have become something else entirely. Welcome home."
But then Alissa noticed the small figure hiding behind Alistair's cloak.
A boy of four winters, his hair a soft shade of chestnut, but his eyes—those unmistakable green eyes of the Valois bloodline—peeked out curiously. He clung to his father's leg, clutching the edge of the cloak tightly.
Alissa lowered herself to the child's level. "And who might this be?"
Caelen didn't answer. He turned his head shyly and pressed his face into Alistair's leg.
Alissa smiled, unoffended. "You're Caelen, aren't you?" she asked gently. "I've heard stories about you… very brave ones."
A peek.
Then another.
She reached out her hand, palm up. "I'm Alissa. Your aunt. Would you like to say hello?"
He hesitated, glancing up at his father. Alistair gave him an encouraging nod. Slowly, Caelen stepped out from behind the cloak and took her hand, his tiny fingers brushing hers.
"There you are," Alissa whispered. "I've waited so long to meet you."
The boy didn't speak, but his shoulders relaxed. Alissa opened her arms, and after a moment's pause, Caelen walked into them.
She picked him up gently, cradling him against her. He was light and warm, and he smelled of honey and sun-drenched fields.
"Hello, little one," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
And there it was—a smile.
Caelen wrapped his arms around her neck, and Alissa laughed, holding him tighter.
"I think he likes you," Alistair said with a crooked grin.
"Good," Alissa replied, her eyes shining. "Because I already love him."
And in that embrace, beneath the proud gaze of their family, something old and something new found its place again.
Valla had its daughter back. And in her arms, a legacy of the future.
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The sun had begun its slow descent when the news reached the Grendy estate. Servants whispered from corridor to corridor, the city stirred with talk of Lady Alissa Valois' return, yet within the quiet halls of the house, Adam Grendy remained still.
He sat upon the edge of a carved wooden bench near the tall arched window, hands resting in his lap, gaze fixed upon the marbled floor. The soft swish of silk skirts announced his mother's entrance long before she spoke.
Lady Elena entered with quiet grace. Her hair, still dark and lustrous, had been braided with care, and her posture remained regal as ever. She regarded her son with calm eyes, though they bore the knowing weight of a mother's worry.
"You have heard," she said softly.
Adam gave a small nod. "Aye," he murmured. "I did not go. I thought... she would be with her kin. Her father, her brother... her place is with them tonight."
Lady Elena moved closer, pausing just before him. She regarded him for a moment before speaking again. "What troubles you?"
"Nothing," Adam said quickly, his voice low.
But she did not turn away. Her gaze narrowed—an old look she had used many times when he was a boy, a look that saw far deeper than words. He sighed, and the faintest smile touched his lips.
"You still know how to look through me," he said.
"You are still my son," she replied gently.
He lowered his head. "I am afraid, Mother."
Her hands folded before her, patient.
"I am afraid things may not be as they once were," Adam admitted, his voice raw. "I fear I may not know how to face her... should she no longer feel as she did."
Lady Elena stepped forward then, and with a mother's tenderness, took his hands into her own. She kissed them—soft, reverent—then cupped his face in her palms, lifting his eyes to meet hers.
"Do not let fear steal what your heart longs for," she said, her voice firm but kind. "If it is love you bear, then let it be brave. Let it rise."
She smiled—a quiet, wise smile that seemed to banish the chill from the air.
"And I know Alissa," she continued. "She is not a maiden who is swayed by passing winds. Her heart is not light nor fickle. And she is no fool—she would not cast aside something of worth."
Adam breathed a laugh, the heaviness in his chest easing slightly. He rose, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close.
Lady Elena embraced him, then pressed a kiss to his brow as she had done when he was small. She whispered, her words soft as a prayer:
"She has returned. That is the gods' mercy. Now, you must meet her with truth and courage, my son."