The fires had died down, leaving smoldering rings in the earth where magic had burned its mark. Soldiers slowly drifted away, following the calls of their commanders, the sounds of war replaced now by the murmurs of astonishment and the first hopeful notes of rebuilding a long forgotten kingdom.
Queen Caroline stood apart from the dispersing crowd, her silver cloak weighed down by duty and everything she had carried these long months and the emotions that came with it like grief, loss, and the unbearable sense of fear.
Then, she heard footsteps slow, deliberate, and familiar, someone walking towards her.
She turned and there he was, waiting for her.
King Casimir, was back from another world and he was not a god, not a myth but the one who had held her hand in the Winter Palace. The one who had walked beside her when every other power in the world tried to tear her apart.
He looked tired. Radiant. Mortal.
"You're alive," she whispered.
