(YEARS LATER)
(Ariel's POV)
The crown didn't feel as heavy as she thought it would.
Years ago, Ariel had imagined that moment the coronation, the throne, the symbolic weight of a kingdom settled across her shoulders. She had expected the crushing pressure, the suffocating burden of legacy and blood. But when the cirlet touched her brow, it had been almost light.
Perhaps it was because, by then, she had already borne so moch worse.
She stood alone now, in the sun-drenched halls of the palace. Her palace. Asura Kingdom had not changed so much it was still rich and gilded, still a viper's nest of nobles and smiling serpents. But she had changed. And so had her court.
Fitz stood quietly by the window. Still faithful, still watchful. Sylphy. Her knight. Her friend. The one who gave up everything home, name, even love for Ariel's ambition.
Ariel's heart twisted with that old guilt.
She had taken Sylphy from the quiet peace she had built. From her husband, from the children she might have had. And for what? A chance at peace for a kingdom that devoured people like meals?
No. Not just a chance. A certainty. Ariel had not gambled blindly.
She had won.
But victories never came clean.
She thought of the years at Ranoa, the assassination attempts, the backroom deals, the careful speeches and gentler lies. She thought of Darius's death cold and necessary. Of the noble factions that finally broke when the king's health failed. Of the silent panic in the courts when Pax was revealed to be a puppet, and the remaining heirs tore into each other like wolves.
And in the midst of that chaos, they had moved.
Every decision was precise. A political waltz across corpses and coin.
She had allies real ones. Not just pawns, not just bought names. Elmore. Luke. Sylphy. The remaining neutral factions in the kingdom. And of course...
Rudeus Greyrat.
She had not expected him to become a cornerstone.
In the beginning, he had been a curiosity. A puzzle. A ghost with power and pain behind his eyes. Ariel had seen that kind of man before wounded, volatile, distant. But unlike the others, Rudeus hadn't wanted anything. Not power. Not influence. He didn't chase women(albeit perverted although i'm not one to talk), didn't care about titles. He didn't even want revenge.
He just wanted space.
But he gave more than he realized.
Rudeus didn't join her court officially not at first. But his advice mattered. His presence deterred threats. His magic? A silent deterrent to every noble who dared plot.
When they returned to Asura, he came with them. Quietly. Strategically. His name whispered through the capital like a warning bell: the man who made a Dragon God kneel. The man who once held the world's deadliest sword at his throat and lived.
And when the time came to strike, he stood by her side.
Not in the spotlight. Not with a sword.
But where it counted.
She remembered the night before the final session of the noble council—when the last obstacle between her and the crown fell.
Ariel had been in her chambers, too anxious to sleep. The vote had been secured, the loyalties confirmed. And yet, doubt had crept in. Doubt always crept in before history.
And Rudeus had knocked.
He hadn't said much. Just stood there awkwardly, one hand in his coat, looking at her like she was something fragile and breakable.
"You'll be fine," he had said. "You always are."
She had laughed, half-nervous, half-exhausted. "And if I'm not?"
"Then I'll do a tactical nuke in the palace and throw the rest of the nobles in the river."
It was absurd. It was exactly what she needed to hear.
It had been a lonely road. But never as lonely as it could've been.
And now, as queen, Ariel stood not as a puppet nor a compromise, but as the architect of a new future.
She had sacrificed more than she wanted to remember. And yet...
She had built something.
With hands bloodied by politics. And hands held by others.
Somewhere in the throne room, the wind stirred the red and gold banners. A reminder: she had won.
But victory didn't taste sweet.
It tasted like memory.
And names she could never speak too loudly.
Not even his.
Not even now.
—
(3 Years After Ariel's Coronation)
The Asura Kingdom was stable now on paper.
The civil unrest had ended. The noble factions were quiet, though not silenced. The outer provinces reported less resistance. Trade flowed through the southern ports like blood through arteries. And Queen Ariel Anemoi Asura sat atop a throne built from compromise, calculation, and carefully whispered threats.
She was hailed as the Iron Bloom regal, calm, untouchable.
But anyone who truly knew her understood: thrones weren't built to be sat on. They were survived.
The court had changed. The old hawks had been replaced with younger blood, some loyal, some useful. House Notos had been neutered. The remnants of House Darius, shattered. The royal palace had turned into a quiet war room, each session a balancing act of diplomacy and fear.
And behind the curtain of every successful policy, every turned vote, every "spontaneous" noble support?
There was always a shadow. Or two.
Sylphy, now known again as Sylphiette Greyrat, remained Ariel's visible right hand. Her ever-loyal guard, tactician, and shield. She had chosen to keep her title as Royal Knight, and though her marriage was quietly acknowledged in certain noble circles, she and Rudeus played their roles perfectly.
Which brought everyone to the question they dared not ask aloud:
Why was Rudeus Greyrat still in the capital?
He had no official title. No seal. No nameplate on the council. And yet, he was present. In court hearings. In war councils. In internal investigations. He would disappear for months and return without warning. Rumors spread like wildfire: He was Ariel's secret weapon. Her arcane advisor. Her hidden consort.
No one dared confirm it.
But they noticed.
He spoke rarely, but when he did, even the Duke of Reida shut his mouth.
He didn't wield his power the way the nobility did. He didn't build coalitions or bribe advisors. He didn't need to. His name had weight. His actions, precedent. In an empire built on appearances, Rudeus was an anomaly a man who had nothing to prove and everything to protect.
And Ariel used that presence with surgical precision.
When the Eastern Lords challenged her land reform policies, Rudeus simply walked in during the council session. He said nothing. Just sat beside Ariel and began casually flipping through a report. The Lords backed down by lunch.
When trade with Millis stalled over a border incident, Ariel "invited" Rudeus to a dinner with their ambassadors. By dessert, the incident had been forgotten.
He was not her knight. Nor her lover. Nor her puppet.
He was her rook on the board silent, steady, and capable of ending the game in a single move.
But the thing about relying on shadows was that eventually, the public demanded light.
"Why doesn't Queen Ariel name him officially?" asked the Nobles. "Why isn't he granted a duchy?" "Does he wield more power than the king's own council?"
Ariel's answer was always the same:
"He serves no one. But he stands with me."
To some, that was romantic.
To others, terrifying.
But none questioned the results.
Years passed, and Ariel's kingdom flourished. Education reforms. Infrastructure projects. Foreign treaties. Whispers of rebellion died out, smothered in coin or silence. The nobles grumbled, but none dared rise.
They called her reign a golden age.
But in private, in quiet rooms untouched by spies and politics, she would smile a different kind of smile.
A glance toward a particular corridor. A hand lingering at her side, brushing her skirts where fingers had once barely touched hers beneath a table. A memory of conversations that had nothing to do with war.
Because outside of the council chambers, away from the throne, Rudeus would still visit her.
No titles. No audience.
Just tea.
Just eyes that understood.
And hands that stayed a little too close on accident.
But only in private.
Because publicly?
She was the Queen.
And he was nobody.
But behind every great monarch...
There is always someone who knows them not by crown, but by heart.
—
The palace gardens had always been manicured to perfection hedges cut like art, flowers blooming in impossible coordination, and guards stationed far enough to keep the illusion of privacy. It was a place meant for noble walks, political whispers, and formal smiles.
But today, it was just for them.
Ariel sat on a marble bench beneath a vine-covered arch, her royal attire replaced with something more breathable. Beside her, Rudeus leaned back with his coat unbuttoned and arms lazily stretched, a book forgotten in his lap.
They weren't supposed to meet like this. Not without an official reason. Not without the ever-watchful Fitz nearby. But the kingdom had quieted for a moment. And they had grown better at carving out slivers of time from the chaos.
"Stop staring," Rudeus muttered, not looking up from the clouds.
Ariel tilted her head, lips curved in a small, teasing smile. "I'm not staring. I'm observing. There's a difference."
"I can feel it. You're using that queenly 'assess and conquer' gaze."
She let out a soft laugh. "Maybe I am. Old habits."
Rudeus glanced at her, eyes full of that dry amusement that somehow made her heart flutter every time. "And what do your royal senses say about me today, Your Highness?"
"That your collar is crooked, your boots are scuffed, and you're still the most tolerable man in this entire court."
He chuckled, low and genuine. "I try my best."
"You do," she said, softer now. Her fingers found his casual, as if by accident. She didn't even glance down. Just let them rest there, barely entwined. A touch no one else would ever see.
Moments like this weren't written in official histories. No bards would sing about them. But they were hers. And his.
"I used to wonder if I'd ever feel... normal," Rudeus said suddenly. "Like I belonged anywhere outside of a battlefield or a lab. But here I am. Sitting next to a queen."
"You say that like I'm the strange part," she replied.
He turned his head toward her. "You kind of are."
They both laughed again quiet, genuine. Not the polished kind used in court, but something easier.
Then silence again. But not the awkward kind. The kind that speajs.
Ariel glanced at his hand in hers. She gave it the faintest squeeze.
"You know," she said after a moment, "I used to plan to have a whole group of lovers. Men, women... alliances and pleasures all bundled into something strategic."
Rudeus blinked. "That's... ambitious."
She nodded. "Terribly. I thought love was a luxury I couldn't afford. That power would always come first."
He looked at her, curious now.
"But then you sat in front of me in that student council room," she continued. "Tired. Closed off. Wounded in a way I recognized. And somehow... you became the only thing I never planned for."
Rudeus was quiet for a long beat.
"I'm not exactly the image of romantic fulfillment, you know."
"I know," she said, leaning her head slightly against his shoulder. "But you're real. You challenge me. You don't treat me like a crown. And even when you try to hide it... you care."
"...Don't go spreading that around. I've got a reputation to keep."
She smiled into the fabric of his coat. "Don't worry. I'll keep your terrible secret. And spread you tonight"
Both laughed as the gentle breeze blew past, carrying the scent of wild lavender. Somewhere distant, a bell rang. Duty was waiting.
But for a few more minutes, they stayed like that shoulders touching, fingers curled, not needing words.
A queen and her shadow.
Not lovers in the public eye.
But something honest, warm, and entirely theirs
—
(Tomorrow in the Morning)
There were days now quiet evenings between meetings, slow mornings before the court woke when Ariel Anemoi Asura would look into the mirror and not recognize the girl who first set out to take the throne.
She remembered that girl vividly sharp, calculating, bold. A mask of regal confidence hiding a gnawing fear of failure. That Ariel believed love was a weakness an illusion for those who had the luxury of not leading a kingdom.
And so she devised her plan.
A harem.
Not for pleasure, not just. But for politics, for control. A rotation of loyal lovers men, women, each chosen to serve a role. It was strategic. It was logical. It was safe.
She never told anyone but herself.
Not Sylphy. Not Luke. Not even Rudeus.
But now, sitting in her private chambers, the candlelight soft against her skin, she could barely believe she once thought that way.
Because somehow, HE had changed the equation.
She glanced toward the sealed envelope on her desk an old letter from Rudeus, written when they are apart. The ink was faded, the words slightly uneven, as if he hadn't known what he wanted to say and wrote anyway.
It made her heart ache, even now.
Not the pain of heartbreak.
But the ache of having something real.
Ariel leaned back, eyes drifting to the window. The moon was high, silver and quiet. Somewhere in the palace, Rudeus was probably reading, or pretending to be asleep. He never did sleep well.
She smiled faintly.
It was strange, how things turned out.
She had gained the throne, yes. She had restructured Asura's politics, balanced the powers, survived the assassins and the plots. She had kept her promise to those who followed her.
But it was in Rudeus's presence that she felt most like herself.
He never tried to change her. He never cowered or bowed too deeply. He challenged her. Argued with her. Understood her.
And he stayed.
That part always surprised her most. He didn't have to. There was no oath. No binding contract. He stayed because he wanted to.
She thought back to the early days, when Sylphy would tease her about her glances. When Luke warned her that playing with Rudeus's heart might be dangerous. When even she wasn't sure if it was real or just loneliness.
But now, she knew.
She was in love.
Not the poetic, sweeping kind she read about in books. Not the politically tidy kind royalty was expected to settle for.
Something smaller. Quieter.
Something that fit into stolen garden walks, shared jokes in policy meetings, and the way he always looked her in the eyes even when she wore her crown.
And maybe... that was enough.
More than enough.
"I'm lucky," she whispered to no one, hand resting on her chest. "I never knew love. But with him... I think I found it."
She didn't need a harem. She didn't need a dozen lovers for convenience or power.
She had Rudeus.
Greedy. Perverted. Honest. Loyal.
And hers.
Not publicly. Not officially.
But in the moments that mattered.
In the space between silence and speech, between duty and desire, between queen and man.
They were real.
And that... was everything.
FIN...