The palace was nothing like the dukedom.
Where the dukedom had been warm, familiar, filled with gentle laughter and blooming gardens, the royal palace stood vast and magnificent — a world sculpted from marble, gold, and ceremony.
Yet Ophelia bloomed within it effortlessly.
Sunlight poured through towering windows, bathing her chambers in honeyed light. Silken curtains swayed lazily, and the scent of fresh lilies lingered in the air — her request, always her request.
Even queens were allowed small comforts.
Ophelia sat near the balcony, ivory skirts pooled around her like soft clouds. Beyond the railings, the kingdom stretched endlessly, rooftops glimmering beneath the morning sun.
It was beautiful.
Peaceful.
But peace, Ophelia had learned, carried its own peculiar loneliness.
A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Your Majesty."
Ophelia turned, her expression immediately warming.
"Come in."
A servant entered, bowing deeply before extending a silver tray. Upon it rested a single envelope.
Ophelia's breath caught.
Because she already knew.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she took it.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Selara.
For a moment, the grand palace faded, replaced by memories of sunlit gardens, shared laughter, and fierce embraces.
Ophelia smiled.
Softly.
Almost wistfully.
She broke the seal.
Sister,
The battlefield is uglier than poets ever dare describe.
Mud, smoke, steel — a world stripped of elegance. Victory tastes nothing like glory; it tastes of survival.
Yet I remain unbroken.
You would laugh if you saw me now. The men whisper strange names behind my back, as though I were something carved from war itself. I suspect they fear me more than they respect me.
Good.
Fear keeps soldiers alive.
Still, even amidst bloodshed, I find fragments of beauty.
The sunrise over the eastern ridge yesterday… it almost reminded me of your sunsets.
Almost.
Do not worry for me.
No blade has proven worthy yet.
Tell me, does the palace treat you kindly?
Does your king keep his promises?
And most importantly…
Are your gardens worthy of you?
— Selara
Ophelia's lips parted in silent laughter.
Of course Selara would write like this.
Blunt.
Sharp.
Yet somehow still tender in ways only Ophelia could recognize.
Her gaze drifted toward the distant horizon.
Selara, standing beneath a sky of smoke instead of silk.
Selara, wrapped in armor instead of warmth.
Selara, alone.
Ophelia pressed the letter gently to her chest.
"I miss you," she whispered.
"You speak to paper now?"
Ophelia startled slightly.
Then smiled.
Because she knew that voice.
Merideth stood near the doorway, amusement dancing in her eyes.
She was elegance wrapped in charm — dark curls cascading down her shoulders, features delicate yet striking. Her presence carried a natural confidence, the kind Ophelia found both comforting and refreshing.
"My new friend," Ophelia said warmly.
Merideth approached, curiosity glinting.
"From the legendary sister?"
Ophelia nodded proudly.
"She writes like she fights."
"I imagine that must be terrifying."
Ophelia laughed softly. "Only to her enemies."
Merideth studied Ophelia for a moment.
There was admiration there.
But something else flickered briefly beneath it — something subtle, fleeting, unreadable.
Then it vanished behind a polished smile.
"You must reply."
"Yes…"
Ophelia moved gracefully to her writing desk.
Quill poised.
Heart light.
My dearest Selara,
Your letters are always so dramatic.
The palace, I assure you, is nothing like your grim descriptions. It is lively, radiant, endlessly filled with music and laughter. Though grander than the dukedom, it has begun to feel like home.
Your king has indeed kept his promise.
The gardens are magnificent.
You would hate them.
Too peaceful. Too beautiful. Too lacking in danger.
Ophelia paused, smiling.
I have made a friend.
Her name is Merideth, and before you ask — no, she is not intimidated by your reputation. In fact, she seems endlessly amused by you.
She has been my companion through court gatherings, lessons, and endless royal obligations. Without her, I fear palace life would feel terribly lonely.
You see?
Even warriors can be replaced.
Though never truly.
Come back safely.
The sunsets are not the same without you.
— Ophelia
Ophelia sealed the letter with a contented sigh.
Merideth watched her.
Quiet.
Thoughtful.
"You love her very much," Merideth said softly.
Ophelia smiled without hesitation.
"She is my other half."
Merideth's gaze lingered.
Something unreadable flickered again.
"Yes…"
Her voice was smooth.
Perfectly pleasant.
Yet beneath that sweetness, something unseen quietly stirred.
"Your Majesty," Merideth added lightly, slipping her arm through Ophelia's.
"The gardens are particularly beautiful today."
Ophelia brightened instantly.
"Then we must not waste them."
Together, they stepped into sunlight.
Unaware that destiny, silent and patient, had already begun weaving threads neither of them could yet see.