[POV Liselotte]

I had never felt so out of place as I did in that hall—and that was saying something, considering I had crossed dimensional portals and faced abominations that defied logic.

It wasn’t the first time my boots struck the marble floors of the royal castle of Whirikal, but it was the first time I didn’t feel simply like a passing guest… nor like an intruder who needed to watch her back. The high walls, covered in ancient tapestries that told a thousand years of history, seemed to watch us with a heavy, almost conscious attention. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax and royal incense, and the silence was so deep that I felt the entire kingdom was holding its breath, waiting for the royal family’s heart to beat again.

Leah walked a few steps ahead of me. Her back was straight, a line of steel that reflected her lineage, and her hands rested calmly at her sides. Still, I knew her better than anyone; I could see the tension in the curve of her shoulders and the way her breathing was methodical, almost forced. What emanated from her wasn’t fear, but something far more fragile and dangerous: hope.

King William stood beside the dais of the throne, stripped of his heaviest ceremonial robes, looking more like a man than a monument. At his side stood Queen Miah. Both turned the moment we crossed the threshold of the private great hall.

For an instant, time froze. No one spoke. The silence was an open wound that hurt more than any insult.

Then Miah stepped forward, breaking the rigid protocol. Her face—one I had always imagined composed and regal—collapsed into an expression of pure agony and longing.

“Leah…” The Queen’s voice broke as she spoke the name, as if it were a sacred word she feared to profane.

Leah stopped dead in her tracks. I saw her lips tremble slightly and her fingers curl into fists. She seemed unsure whether to advance, retreat, or simply fall apart right there.

“Mother…” Leah replied, in a thread of a voice that carried ten years of loneliness.

That was the catalyst. Miah didn’t wait any longer; she closed the distance with a speed unbefitting a queen and wrapped Leah in an embrace so fierce it seemed she wanted to fuse with her. She held her as if afraid that, if she let go, Leah would turn to ash or return to that shadowed dimension we had discussed with Ronan. Leah took a second to react—a second of pure shock—and then clung to her mother, burying her face in her shoulder and letting the armor of the princess fall to the floor.

William remained motionless for a few seconds longer, watching the scene with misted eyes. Then, with slow steps, he moved forward as well. He was no longer the King who had spoken to me coldly weeks earlier. He was a father reclaiming his soul.

He placed a large, weathered hand on Leah’s back with extreme care, as if touching an ancient crystal on the verge of breaking.

“Forgive me,” William said in a whisper heavy with weight. “For not recognizing you immediately. For letting doubt cloud my sight. For failing you when you most needed your home to be a refuge.”

Leah took a deep breath, her voice muffled by Miah’s dress. “I… was afraid too, Father. I thought that if I came back after so long, there would no longer be a place for me. That I would be a stranger in my own home.”

Miah pulled back just enough to cradle Leah’s face in her hands, wiping away her tears with her thumbs. “There was always a place, little star. It was we who, in our blindness and pain, forgot how to keep the light on for you.”

William nodded with renewed firmness. “It will never happen again. I swear it by my crown and by my life. We will never turn our backs on you again. We will trust you, Leah. No matter what happens, this is your place.”

Leah closed her eyes and, for the first time since I had rescued her from that demonic camp, I saw her cry without restraint. These were not tears of pain or rage; they were tears of relief, the sound of ice breaking under the first sun of spring.

I remained several steps back, feeling like a spectator to something too intimate, almost sacred. And yet, in the middle of the family embrace, Leah turned her head slightly and searched for my gaze. She gave me a small, sincere smile. She didn’t need to say anything; that look was a “thank you” that echoed in my own chest.

William noticed the exchange. His gaze moved from his daughter to me, and in that moment I understood that the King saw exactly what I felt: a loyalty that went beyond guild contracts.

The King cleared his throat, regaining a bit of his casual composure.

“Lotte.” He called me by my name, without titles, with a familiarity that caught me off guard.

I stepped forward, squaring my shoulders by instinct. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Miah was looking at me now as well. Her eyes, once clouded by tears, shone with deep gratitude. “We want to formally thank you, Lotte. Not only for protecting our daughter on the battlefield, but for being the anchor that kept her sane when we were not there. Thank you for bringing her back.”

I immediately shook my head, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the attention of royalty. “I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have done in my position, Your Majesty. Leah is my companion.”

William raised an eyebrow, wearing that analytical look he used in council. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lotte. Not just anyone would have faced demons, crossed dimensions, and risked their soul without asking for a single gold coin in return. Loyalty is not something ‘just anyone’ possesses these days.”

I swallowed, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “I did it because it’s Leah. She’s my family now.”

There was a brief silence. A different one from before. It was a silence of recognition. The King clasped his hands behind his back and took a step toward me.

“Precisely because of that,” William said calmly, “I want to offer you a reward befitting your deeds. I wish to grant you a noble rank within Whirikal. A title of baroness or viscountess, with fertile lands on the frontier and the political protection that comes with being a direct ward of the crown.”

My heart lurched violently. Nobility? Me? The girl who not long ago was sleeping in bedrolls and eating travel rations?

“What?” I blurted out, completely forgetting protocol.

Leah turned to her father, surprised. “Father—”

I took a step back, raising my hands as if someone were aiming a crossbow at me. “No, no, wait a moment. I—I can’t accept that.”

William frowned, amused and confused at the same time. “Refusing a royal honor and lands is not something done lightly, Lotte. It would give you a status that would protect you from any future investigations about the breach.”

“I know,” I replied with brutal honesty. “But accepting a title means stepping into a world of politics, courts, and power games that I don’t understand and, frankly, don’t want. I’m not a noble, Your Majesty. I’m an adventurer. My freedom is worth more than any county.”

Leah stepped forward until she stood between us, placing a hand on my arm. “There’s no need to force her, Father. Lotte doesn’t need a title to be important. She’s already part of us without parchment and seals.”

William studied his daughter carefully, measuring her resolve. “What do you want, then, Leah? If your savior refuses gold and land, how do you intend for the kingdom to repay its debt?”

Leah didn’t hesitate for a single second. Her gaze was steel.

“I want her to stay with me officially. Not as a noble guest, but as my personal guardian. My support. Someone who has the legal right to be at my side in every council, every journey, and every room of this castle. I trust Lotte more than any knight of the royal guard.”

I felt the air leave my lungs. Guardian of the princess? That was… total commitment.

William fell silent, weighing the proposal. Miah watched the scene with a gentle smile, understanding that what Leah was asking for was not only physical protection, but the permanence of the one person who knew her true self.

“You would work directly for Leah,” the King explained, looking at me. “You wouldn’t have to deal with land administration or court balls, but you would have limited authority within the palace and access to all our resources. You would be close to politics, but your only loyalty would be to her.”

My mind spun out of control. It was the chance to not be separated from my best friend—but it was also a formal step into the eye of the hurricane that was Whirikal.

“I need time,” I finally said, my voice a little shaky. “To think it through. It’s too big a life change.”

William nodded with respect. “That’s fair. A decision like this should not be taken lightly.”

He gestured to a servant waiting in the shadows of the corridor. “Prepare the best guest room for Lotte. She will stay tonight. We want you to feel at home while you make your decision.”

Leah looked at me with a mix of relief and a vulnerability that broke my heart. “Thank you for considering staying,” she whispered.

The room was immense, silent, and frankly far too elegant for someone accustomed to the smell of straw in inns. I sat on the edge of the bed—so soft it felt like a cloud—and stared at the fire in the fireplace for hours.

Accepting meant staying in Whirikal. It meant leaving behind the wandering life of an adventurer to become the shield of a princess in a kingdom full of conspiracies. It meant entering the world I had always avoided for fear of losing my essence.

But refusing… refusing meant walking away from Leah just as the world was becoming dangerous again with dimensional breaches and scheming nobles. It meant leaving her alone in a nest of vipers.

My chest tightened. I didn’t know which path to take. My survival instincts told me to run, but my heart remembered Leah’s hand holding mine in the darkness.

That was when I heard the door open with a soft click.

“Lotte.”

I looked up. Leah was there, without her royal cloak, wearing a simple tunic. She looked like the same girl with whom I had shared campfires in the forest, but with a light of hope I had never seen in her before.

“May I come in?” she asked timidly.

I nodded in silence. She entered, closed the door, and sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, just like we used to when we didn’t have a castle. Silence wrapped around us again—but this time it was heavy with an inevitable certainty. Nothing would ever be the same again, but maybe—just maybe—that wasn’t a bad thing.

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