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The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow casting a faint, flickering light across the modest room we shared at the Academy. The quiet hum of the world outside filtered in through the cracked window—rustling leaves, the distant murmur of students returning to their quarters, the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards beneath hurried footsteps. It was a peaceful life, one Rae and I had carved out for ourselves after the revolution. A life I had grown to cherish more than I ever thought I could.
But peace, I had learned, was fragile. And tonight, I was about to shatter it.
I sat at the small desk tucked into the corner of the room, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. Rae was seated on the edge of her bed, her legs crossed and her head tilted slightly as she toyed absentmindedly with a small, worn trinket in her hands. A gift I had given her. She always seemed to fiddle with it when she was lost in thought.
The sight of her like this—relaxed, content—made what I had to say even harder. I had thought about not telling her, about keeping it to myself until the day I left. But she deserved better than that. She deserved the truth, even if it hurt.
“I got a letter today,” I said finally, breaking the silence.
Rae glanced up, her brown eyes meeting mine. She didn’t say anything, but her expression shifted slightly, her brows knitting together in quiet curiosity. I could tell she was waiting for me to continue.
“It was from Bauer,” I said, each word heavier than the last. “From the council.”
Her fingers stilled, the trinket slipping from her hands onto the bed. She straightened slightly, but still didn’t speak. Rae was never one to push, never one to demand answers. She would let me tell her in my own time, in my own way. That was how she had always been—with a patience that was equal parts comforting and maddening.
“They’ve asked me to return,” I said, my voice soft but steady. “To help rebuild the kingdom. To take on a leadership role. They think… they think I can bring stability. That I can help restore what was lost after the revolution.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the floor. Her hands rested loosely in her lap, her fingers curling slightly as if she were holding something fragile. Still, she said nothing.
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “I haven’t made a decision yet, but… I think I have to do it, Rae. For the people. For the kingdom.”
She looked up at that, her eyes searching mine. There was no anger in her expression, no accusation. Just quiet understanding, and something else—something I couldn’t quite place. Sadness, perhaps. Or resignation.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Then Rae shifted, leaning forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost hesitant.
“Is there… nothing I can do to change your mind?” she asked, her words careful, as if she already knew the answer but needed to ask anyway.
Her question cut through me like a blade. I opened my mouth to respond, to tell her that it wasn’t about her, that it was about duty and obligation and the weight of the expectations placed on me. But the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, I knew that wasn’t the whole truth. A part of me wanted to stay, wanted to choose this life with her over the one I had left behind. But another part of me—the part shaped by years of tradition and responsibility—knew I couldn’t.
I looked away, unable to meet her gaze, and the silence that followed was louder than any words I could have said.
Rae nodded slowly, as if she understood what I couldn’t bring myself to say. “I see,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She leaned back, her hands gripping the edge of the bed as she stared at the floor. “I figured as much.”
Her tone was calm, but there was something in it that made my chest ache. She didn’t argue, didn’t plead. She just… accepted it. That was who Rae was. She didn’t fight battles she knew she couldn’t win. Instead, she let the weight of the world settle quietly on her shoulders, carrying it without complaint.
“I love you, Claire,” she said softly, her eyes still fixed on the floor. “I always have.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt tears sting my eyes. “I love you too,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “More than anything.”
She nodded again, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles—a sad, bittersweet smile that broke my heart. “Goodnight, Claire,” she said, her tone gentle but final.
“Goodnight,” I echoed, though the word felt hollow in my mouth.
She rose from the bed, crossing the room to extinguish the lantern before slipping beneath the covers. I watched her turn away, her back to me, and though the room was dark, I could still see the outline of her figure, still hear the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing.
I wanted to reach out to her, to hold her, to tell her that I didn’t want to leave, that I wanted to stay here with her and forget about the rest of the world. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
—
When I woke, the sun was streaming through the window, bathing the room in soft light. For a moment, everything felt normal, as if nothing had changed. But then I turned to Rae’s side of the room and found it empty.
Her bed was neatly made, her belongings gone. Panic surged through me as I sat up, my heart racing. I searched the room, then the halls, asking anyone I passed if they had seen her. But no one had. It wasn’t until later, when one of the instructors handed me a note she had left behind, that I understood.
The note was simple, written in her familiar, careful handwriting:
“Claire,
I can’t stay here knowing you’re leaving. I’ll only get in your way. You always did have a way of making me want things I can’t have.”
“I’ve decided to leave. The Nur Empire is recruiting soldiers, and it seems as good a place as any to start over. Maybe I’ll find something there. Maybe I won’t. But either way, I’ll be fine.”
“I love you. That hasn’t changed. That will never change.”
“Yours, Rae.”
The paper trembled in my hands as I read her words, over and over, until the ink blurred through the tears in my eyes.
She was gone. And though I had made my choice, though I had convinced myself that I was doing the right thing, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had lost something far more precious than any kingdom.
—
The grand hall was bathed in golden light. Hundreds of candles burned brightly, their flames reflected in the polished marble floors and the glittering crystal chandeliers overhead. The air was thick with the scent of roses, arranged meticulously in towering bouquets that lined the aisle, their blooms impossibly perfect.
All of it—every detail—was a portrait of opulence, a testament to the unity of Bauer Kingdom and its new king. My soon-to-be husband, Thane, stood at the end of the aisle, his expression serene, regal. He wore his crown as if it had always belonged to him, his posture unshakable. He looked every inch the king the people had longed for after the revolution, and I—adorned in silken white, with a train that stretched for yards—was the queen they expected at his side.
I moved forward, step by step, the weight of my gown and the eyes of the crowd pressing down on me. My heart should have been steady, my resolve unshaken. But it wasn’t.
Because then I saw her.
Rae stood near the back of the hall, tucked into the shadows just beyond the crowd. She wasn’t wearing the polished uniform of a guard today—just a simple, unremarkable tunic—but there was no mistaking her. Her dark hair was tied back loosely, though a few strands framed her face, and her brown eyes, so achingly familiar, were fixed on me.
My breath hitched, my steps faltering for the briefest of moments. No one noticed—they couldn’t, not when all eyes were meant to be on me. But I noticed. And Rae noticed.
Why was she here? She wasn’t supposed to be here. She shouldn’t be here. I had made my choice. I had let her go. And yet, the sight of her standing there, so still, so quiet, sent a sharp pang of something I couldn’t name tearing through my chest.
I forced myself to keep moving, though my gaze flickered back to her, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her face was expressionless—or was it? There was something there, something I couldn’t quite place. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her jaw tight, but her eyes… Her eyes betrayed her. They shimmered faintly in the candlelight, and I wondered if they were wet with unshed tears. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell.
I wanted to stop. I wanted to run to her, to take her face in my hands and demand to know what she was thinking. Was she angry? Sad? Did she hate me for this? Did she hate me for standing here, draped in white, walking toward someone else?
I reached the altar, and Thane turned to face me. His smile was kind, his red eyes warm and steady. He was everything a king should be—everything the kingdom needed. He reached for my hand, and I gave it to him, though my fingers trembled faintly in his grasp.
The priest began to speak, his voice echoing through the vast hall, but the words blurred together, lost amid the pounding of my heartbeat. I could feel Rae’s presence like a weight in the room, even though she stood so far away. My mind was consumed by her, by the question that refused to leave me alone.
What is she thinking?
The priest’s voice sharpened, pulling me back to the present. He asked me to repeat the vows, the sacred words that would bind me to Thane in the eyes of the gods, the people, and the crown. My lips moved, forming the words, though they felt foreign, hollow. I spoke of love, honor, and devotion, though the weight of each promise felt like a chain tightening around my chest.
“I do,” I said at last, my voice steady despite the emptiness I felt.
For a moment, the hall was silent, the weight of my words hanging in the air. And in that silence, my eyes found Rae’s again.
Her expression hadn’t changed. She was still watching me, her eyes dark and unyielding. But then, so faintly I almost missed it, the corner of her lips turned upward. A smile. Not a joyous smile, not a mocking one, but something softer, sadder. It was the kind of smile you gave when you were trying to be brave, when you were trying to let go of something you had no choice but to lose.
She knew. She had always known. That was the cruelest part, wasn’t it? Rae had always known this day would come. And yet, she was here, standing in the crowd, watching me vow myself to another man, watching me embrace a life that had no place for her in it.
What was she thinking? I wondered again, desperately. Was she wishing me happiness? Was she cursing me for my cowardice? Or was she simply reminding herself—reminding me—that she had loved me once? That she still did?
The applause of the crowd broke the moment, loud and thunderous, as Thane and I were pronounced husband and wife. He leaned down, brushing a kiss against my cheek, and I forced myself to smile, to play the part of the radiant bride. But my chest was tight, my heart heavy, as if it were sinking into the depths of the earth.
When I glanced back at the crowd, Rae was gone.
I searched for her, my eyes scanning the rows of faces, but she had disappeared into the sea of people, into the shadows. My chest ached with the realization that I would never know what she had been thinking, what she had felt as she watched me stand at that altar and give myself to someone else.
Thane took my hand, leading me down the aisle to the cheers of the guests. My smile never wavered, my steps never faltered. I was every bit the queen they needed me to be.
But in the quiet corners of my heart, where my secrets lived, I mourned. For Rae. For myself. For the life we could have had if only I had been brave enough to choose her.
—
The meeting had ended hours ago, but the tension lingered, wrapping around me like a vice. The polished decorum of diplomacy was suffocating, and I needed air. The Nur Empire’s garden beckoned, its stillness a reprieve from the ceaseless demands of my title.
The moon hung low, casting a soft silver glow over the neatly trimmed hedges and blooming roses. My steps were slow, deliberate, the faint click of my heels against the cobblestones the only sound accompanying me. I wasn’t sure what I sought out here—a moment of silence, perhaps, or some semblance of clarity. But as I turned a corner, the quiet night offered me something else entirely.
Her.
Rae stood by the fountain, her figure illuminated by the moonlight. Her back was to me, but even from a distance, I knew it was her. I would have recognized her anywhere. Her dark hair, now longer than I remembered, framed her silhouette as she stood motionless, her posture rigid, as if the weight of the years had settled heavily upon her shoulders.
My breath caught. It had been so long. Too long.
“Rae,” I said, her name barely more than a whisper carried by the night air.
She turned at the sound, slowly, like someone surfacing from a deep, unreachable place. When her face came into view, it was as though the ground shifted beneath me. The Rae I knew—bright, teasing, unrelentingly affectionate—was gone. The woman before me was older, wearier, her brown eyes shadowed with something I couldn’t place. And yet, the faintest flicker of her old self surfaced in the corner of her lips, curving into the barest hint of a smile.
“Miss Claire.” Her voice was soft, steady, and far too composed. She always used to say my name with a teasing lilt, but now it was spoken with a quiet reverence, as though she were addressing a memory rather than a person.
The title stung, even though it shouldn’t have. She had always called me that. But now, after years of silence, it felt like a chasm between us. My throat tightened as I took a step forward, the distance between us feeling unbearable.
“You…” I faltered, my voice betraying me. “You’ve changed.”
Rae’s faint smile lingered as she tilted her head, her gaze meeting mine with a calm that unnerved me. “So have you,” she said. Her eyes flickered briefly over the intricate embroidery of my gown, the glitter of jewels at my throat, the weight of the crown I didn’t wear but always carried. “You wear it well, Your Majesty.”
The words were meant to be polite, perhaps even complimentary, but they cut deeper than I expected. I pressed my hands together to steady them, my nails biting into my palms. “You could have told me you were here.”
“I didn’t hide,” she replied simply, her tone maddeningly even. “I’m just a guard now. A face in the crowd. Why would you notice me?”
Her words held no malice, but they struck like a blow nonetheless. Rae had never been just a face to me. She had been everything—my confidant, my anchor, my… My what? The word lodged in my throat, unwilling to take shape.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, the sharpness in my voice betraying the turmoil beneath the surface. “Why are you acting like we’re strangers?”
Rae’s faint smile returned, softer this time, tinged with something I couldn’t quite name. “I’m not acting, Miss Claire. We are strangers now. You’re a queen. I’m just a soldier.”
“You’re not—” My voice cracked, and I forced myself to stop. The words felt inadequate, tangled with emotions I had buried long ago. “You’re not just a soldier to me.”
Rae tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought she might say something, but instead, she let the silence stretch between us, heavy and suffocating. The only sound was the soft trickle of water from the fountain.
Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never stopped, you know.”
I blinked, my heart lurching in my chest. “Stopped what?”
“Loving you.” The words hung in the air, fragile and unguarded, as if they might shatter if I dared to breathe. Rae’s brown eyes softened, and for the first time that night, I saw her—not the distant guard, not the stranger, but the Rae I had once known. “I always have. I always will.”
The moonlight caught the faint glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes, but she smiled—a quiet, bittersweet smile that broke something inside me. “But you’re married now. To a king. To your kingdom. To your people. And I…” She took a small step back, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “I wish you the best, Miss Claire. Truly.”
“Rae,” I started, my voice shaking as I reached out instinctively. But the look in her eyes stopped me cold. She wasn’t pulling away to punish me. She was freeing me. And it was unbearable.
“I hope he makes you happy,” she said softly, her smile unwavering even as her voice wavered. “You deserve that.”
She turned before I could respond, her dark hair swaying gently as she walked away. The sound of her footsteps against the cobblestone path faded into the night, leaving me standing there, frozen, my outstretched hand falling limply to my side.
I wanted to call out to her, to chase after her, to tell her that I didn’t deserve her love, that she had been my happiness. But the weight of the crown pressed down on me like a leaden shroud, reminding me of the vows I had made. To Thane. To Bauer Kingdom. To my people.
I stood there in the moonlit garden, my heart aching with every beat, and let her go. Again.
The roses around me seemed to wilt in the cold night air, their fragrance no longer sweet but cloying, suffocating. I turned my gaze to the fountain, the rippling water reflecting the pale light of the moon. It was too late for anything now.
I had chosen my path, and there was no turning back.