Nearly a year had passed since their marriage, and life between them had deepened in ways Daphne had never thought possible.
Alaric's obsession, though ever-present, had softened into something gentler with her; steady devotion, not the storm it once was.
He held Daphne through nights, woke with her every morning, showered her with flowers, letters, and stolen kisses that never seemed to lessen in intensity.
A year into their marriage, and still she blushed as though they were newlywed.
Life in the Empire, too, was steadying.
The Rose Home had bloomed into something greater than Daphne had ever dreamed.
With Alaric's endless resources, five thousand new souls had been welcomed; women, children, men once broken by the world and now found safety behind its gates.
Construction had finished, the halls furnished, and every room echoed with new beginnings.
