Helio froze, his breath catching in his throat. He felt the faint tremble in her shoulders, the scent of smoke and dried blood clinging to her dark longcoat, and the warmth of her cheek pressed against his neck. The shock melted from his face instantly.
"Aefia..." he whispered softly.
He wrapped his arms securely around her waist, wincing only slightly as his bandages stretched, but burying his face into her dark hair all the same.
Aefia buried her face against his shoulder, holding onto him as if he were the only solid thing left in a world that had been burning around her all day. After a long, quiet moment, a faint, breathless chuckle escaped her lips, vibrating against his chest.
"What's funny?" Helio asked softly, his tone laced with gentle warmth.
Aefia pulled back just enough to look up at his face, a genuine, tired smirk curving her lips. Her garnet eyes flickered with a quiet, mischievous light despite the dark circles beneath them.
"Look at us," she laughed softly, shaking her head. "We are both bloodied, exhausted, and beaten to a pulp... and here I am, practically on the verge of collapsing from a stab wound, still finding the energy to stand on a staircase and scold you like a child."
Helio let out a soft, melodic laugh of his own, his green eyes crinkling at the corners as he gently wiped a speck of dried blood from her cheek with his thumb.
"Well," he murmured, his smile bright and completely untainted by the bloody war they had both just survived, "would you really be the Third Aethalgard if you didn't yell at me first?"
From the top of the stairs, Rosetta cleared her throat loudly—a sharp, deliberate sound intended to break the domestic fog.
"If you two are quite finished recreating a tragic romance on my clean steps," Rosetta said dryly, crossing her arms as she looked down at them, "some of us have actual medical supplies to prepare before His Grace decides to rip his stitches open all over again."
Helio blinked, pulling back just enough to shoot Rosetta an unamused look. "Whose side are you on, exactly?"
"The side that doesn't want to clean fresh blood off the mahogany banister twice in one day," Rosetta retorted smoothly, turning on her heel and heading back toward the upper quarters.
Before Aefia could fire back a characteristic retort, the heavy oak front doors swung open behind them, letting in a fresh gust of autumn wind.
Cedric stepped into the foyer, peeling off his leather gloves and tossing them onto the entryway table with a soft clatter. He took one look at the two of them—tangled together on the staircase, both looking as though they had just crawled out of a battlefield blender—and let out a slow, deeply amused whistle.
"Ah, touching," Cedric drawled, leaning against the doorframe with an infuriatingly relaxed grin. "Nothing says true love quite like mutual organ failure and a fresh layer of dried mud. Though if you are quite done turning my front steps into a recovery ward, I do have a spare room that doesn't block the hallway."
Aefia narrowed her eyes at him, though the sharp edge was entirely gone, replaced by a profound, bone-weary contentment. She loosened her grip on Helio's waist, stepping back half a pace while keeping one hand firmly anchored to his uninjured arm.
"Shut up, Cedric," Aefia muttered, though there was no real anger behind it. She looked up at Helio, her expression dropping into soemthing strict. "Alright come on. Let's go get those bandages changed before you bleed on my boots."
Helio offered a soft, lopsided grin, leaning his weight against her as they slowly navigated the remaining steps. "Only if you let me tend to that side first. You look like you took a souvenir straight from Kazimir's private collection."
"Oh, now you want to speak? Hush," she murmured, though she didn't deny it as they disappeared down the warmly lit hallway.
***
The grand audience hall of the Smod Imperial Palace was usually reserved for monumental state declarations, foreign treaties, and the occasional trial of a traitorous duke. It was an intimidating cavern of white marble, towering gilded pillars, and velvet drapes so heavy they seemed to suppress the sound of human breathing.
At the far end of the hall, seated upon the High Throne, was the Empress—a woman whose cold, violet gaze had quelled three rebellions and whose terrifying presence made seasoned generals break into a cold sweat.
And currently, walking straight toward her down the center carpet, was her only daughter.
Aefia looked... well, she looked like she had been dragged through a meat grinder, patched up with low-grade linen, and dressed in the first clean longcoat she could find. Her side was still tightly bandaged from where she had casually stabbed herself with a star-steel dagger three days prior, and her garnet eyes bore the faint, dark shadows of someone who had spent seventy-two continuous hours filling out Mides surrender ledgers.
The Empress leaned her chin on her gloved hand, her violet eyes narrowing as her daughter stopped at the base of the dais.
"Aefia," the Empress spoke, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling like smooth marble striking glass. "I received the dispatches. Mides is effectively annexed, the usurper Kazimir is dissolved into ash, and the southern border is secure. I must admit, even for you, ending an entire corrupted kingdom in under a week is efficient."
"Thank you, Mother," Aefia said, keeping her posture straight despite the sharp sting in her ribs. She took a deep, steady breath, clasping her hands neatly behind her back. "Which brings me to the primary reason for this audience."
"Oh?" The Empress raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Are we discussing the victory banquet? Or perhaps the official coronation ceremony to formally declare you the Crown Heir before the High Council?"
"Neither," Aefia said flatly. She cleared her throat, smoothed down her pinafore, and looked her mother dead in the eye. "I am resigning."
Silence—deafening, absolute, and utterly suffocating—descended upon the grand hall.
The Imperial scribes standing near the pillars froze mid-script, their quill pens hovering in the air. The imperial guards stationed at the doors held their breath so hard their faces began to turn a faint shade of blue.
The Empress slowly unclasped her hands. "I beg your pardon?"
"I am resigning," Aefia repeated, her tone as casual as if she were declaring her preference for morning tea. "From everything. The title of Crown Princess, the imperial succession, the military command, and... well, I already gave the Duchy of Trinvina to Helio, so he keeps that. But as for the crown, I am officially handing in my notice. Effective immediately."
The Empress stared at her daughter for three long, agonizing seconds. Then, she let out a slow, heavy sigh, pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose.
"Aefia," the Empress said, her voice dropping into the terrifyingly calm register she used when dealing with problematic ministers. "You are my only, smart-enough daughter. You just single-handedly dismantled our nation's greatest rival nation, which none of your brothers could. You cannot simply 'hand in a notice' like an overworked kitchen maid."
"Why not?" Aefia tilted her head, folding her arms over her chest. "I did my job. I protected the border, exposed the necromancy, and killed the guy who tried to turn the continent into a farm for soul-craft. The cement has dried on Smod's political foundation, Mother. You have the ledgers, the territory, and the garrison codes. My work here is done."
"And who, pray tell, is supposed to inherit the throne of this Empire when I step down?!" the Empress demanded, leaning forward, her violet eyes flashing.
"I don't know," Aefia offered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I mean... clearly you can still grow Henry into a promising person. But honestly, Mother, you have a court full of nobles who spend twenty hours a day scheming for a grain of royal influence. Give it to one of them. They will be thrilled."
The Imperial scribes in the corner looked as though they were about to suffer a collective heart attack.
"You are being ridiculous," the Empress declared, resting her chin back on her hand. "Where would you even go? What would you even do?"
"I am the Guardian of Death," Aefia replied smoothly, with a quiet, regal pride. "I belong to the higher realms now. An entity of my standing doesn't need to be shackled titles, tax audits, or endless state dinners."
She took a subtle step closer to the throne, lowering her voice just a fraction, though her garnet eyes flickered with a sudden, faint edge of quiet desperation.
"...Besides, as a Guardian, I don't need to worry about mundane things like money."
Although...
... She was completely broke.
In truth, Aefia's personal bank account as Crown Princess was heavily monitored by the Imperial Treasury. The moment she officially resigned her title, her royal stipend would be frozen instantly. Furthermore, while the Guardian Realm granted immense authority, cosmic domain over souls, and the ability to manipulate the fabric of time... it noticeably did not pay a monthly salary.
She had spent her entire private savings on high-tier magic stones, specialized weapons, and paying off Smod border scouts to keep quiet during her secret operations. At this exact moment, the Third Aethalgard, Guardian of Death, possessed roughly twelve silver coins, a half-used bottle of hair oil, and a very expensive star-steel dagger that was currently legally classified as evidence.
If she didn't secure a comfortable exit package from her mother right now, she was going to be living off Helio's ducal allowance for the rest of her life—a fact that her pride as a supreme being found deeply, profoundly humiliating.
"You don't worry about money?" the Empress repeated, her eyes narrowing as she caught the subtle, micro-expression of panic crossing her daughter's face. The Empress had governed an empire for thirty years; she could smell financial desperation from a league away.
"Is that so?"
"Indubitably," Aefia said quickly, maintaining her stiff, noble posture. "The Realm provides all that a Guardian requires. Gold is merely an illusion."
"I see," the Empress hummed, a cruel, amused smirk slowly spreading across her sharp features. "In that case, since gold is a mere illusion to a Guardian. I assume you won't be needing the ten-thousand-gold-piece retirement grant traditionally awarded to retiring royal commanders? Or the private estate in the quiet southern hills of Trinvina that comes with royal severance?"
Aefia's eyes widened by a fraction of a millimeter. Her left pinky finger twitched.
Ten thousand gold pieces?! A private estate in the southern hills?!
She swallowed hard, her mind rapidly calculating how many years of quiet, luxurious living that would fund. She could buy an entire library of ancient grimoires. She could buy high-grade tea that didn't taste like swamp grass. She could buy a farm just to grow flowers and never look at a tax ledger again!
"Well..." Aefia cleared her throat, suddenly adjusting the collar of her coat with great precision. "While it is true that Guardians don't need currency... it would be rude to refuse a mother's generous gift. It would... set a bad precedent for imperial tradition."
The Empress let out a rich, melodious laugh that echoed through the vast hall, the cold tension melting away entirely. She shook her head, looking down at her daughter with a mixture of fond exasperation and quiet pride.
"Very well, Your Imperial Highness—or should I say, former Crown Princess," the Empress said, leaning back into her throne. "I accept your resignation. Under three conditions."
Aefia's ears perked up instantly. "Name them."
"First, you will stay in the palace for two weeks to properly sign over the administrative transition of Mides to the High Council," the Empress stated, holding up a gloved finger. "Second, you will attend the victory banquet next month—in a proper formal dress, not that stained suit coat—to reassure the public."
Aefia winced slightly at the mention of a dress, but nodded. "Acceptable. And the third?"
The Empress's gaze shifted toward the new ring on her finger, her violet eyes softening into something warm and genuinely motherly.
"Third... you will take your ten thousand gold pieces, your estate in the southern hills, and that stubborn Archduke of yours, and you will go live a peaceful life." The Empress smiled softly, her voice dropping into a quiet, gentle tone. "You have bled enough for this continent, Aefia. As your Empress, I accept your resignation. As your mother... I am telling you to go be happy."
Aefia froze. For a moment, the sharp, witty retorts died in her throat. She looked up at her mother, the garnets of her eyes flickering with a rare, soft warmth.
She bowed her head—not the stiff, formal bow of a soldier or the grand gesture of a Crown Princess, but a deep, genuine bow of a daughter to her mother.
"Thank you, Mother," Aefia murmured softly.
"Now," the Empress said, her voice instantly returning to its sharp, commanding business register as she gestured toward the imperial scribes. "Get out of my audience hall. You have two weeks of paperwork waiting on your desk, and I expect those Mides border ledgers finished by dinner!"
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty!" Aefia snapped a crisp salute, turned on her heels with smooth grace, and began marching back down the center carpet toward the grand exit.
As soon as the heavy double doors swung open and she stepped out into the quiet, sunlit corridor—well out of earshot of the throne room—Aefia let out a massive, unceremonious sigh of relief. Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned her weight heavily against Helio's side—who was currently leaning against a wall.
"Ten thousand gold pieces," Aefia whispered, a sudden, bright, victorious grin spreading across her face. "Helio! Ten thousand gold pieces!"
Helio laughed softly, wrapping his arm securely around her waist to support her as they walked down the marble hallway. "For a supreme Guardian of Death who doesn't care about currency, you look extraordinarily thrilled about a bag of gold."
"Shut up, Helio," Aefia giggled, pressing her cheek against his shoulder as they walked together into the afternoon light. "I am a retired Crown Princess now. And retired noble need tea money."