A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Epilogue

Lydia

Around Lydia, the palace buzzed. Servants scurried past, transforming the ballroom into a festive haven lined with candles, vibrant potted trees, and vases of flowers. The servants' bright voices infused the air with a happy anticipation.

It had been four weeks since the palace was reclaimed and Lydia hadn't stepped foot into the ballroom in that time.

She stood absolutely still across from the ballroom doors, forcing herself to breathe slowly. With each inhale, she willed her emotions to calm but her heart spiked in her chest.

Even with the panic she struggled to fight off, she knew the servants around her didn't see it. They didn't even see the barefoot girl who'd ran around the palace. Instead of a shirt and trousers, Lydia wore fitted pants overlaid with one of her mother's dresses tailored to her and split in the middle of the skirt. Queenly but still herself.

But what she wore couldn't help Lydia remember that she wasn't the terrified princess who'd fled from this same ballroom.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't walk into that room and see where...

Breathe. Keep breathing.

Lydia knotted her finger together, trying to remain in control. The rapid beating of her heart made it impossible.

Breathe. Keep breathing.

When Zavier appeared before her, she blinked but found her throat too tight to push words through.

"A servant mentioned you'd been standing here," Zavier said, his polished Lorian accent gradually softened.

He cupped her cheek and Lydia let out a low breath. Encircling her tangled fingers, he brought them to his lips and kissed them. His touch grounded her. Lydia held his caring brown eyes and felt her heartbeat calm.

"I'm right here," he said. "We can do this together."

"Together," she whispered.

Gently, he untwisted her hands and laced his fingers with hers. She clung to the familiarity of it as he guided her forward. They passed through the doorway and into the bustle of the ballroom. Servants barely noticed their presence, focusing on bringing the room to life with decorations that combined West Isles symbols with Lorian ones. Strands of golden fabric wrapped around potted plants. Banners with the sun hanging between columns.

Zavier led Lydia to the center of the room, finding the eye of the storm of servants. Lydia stared at the dais where five thrones once stood.

Where it had happened.

The blood.

The screams.

The metallic smell.

She tried to portray control, tried to keep her head held high. But the memories overwhelmed her, battered against her, threatened to break her.

The light dying in her family's eyes.

The red that spread across their bodies.

Their screams that ripped into Lydia's heart.

She turned into Zavier, curling up and burying her face in his chest. He held her close and whispered to her to keep breathing, that he was there, and he wasn't going to leave her. His words kept the memories from drowning her.

Eventually, she slid her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. As she relaxed, Zavier let out a low breath.

"Tell me," he said, gently.