Tied to the Throne

chapter fifty

The memory lingers like a shadow, haunting me even as I blink and take in the hospital room around me. It feels surreal, like waking up from a dream you can't quite shake, the edges still sharp enough to cut. My chest tightens as I force myself to focus on the present—on the here and now.

It's been days since I first remembered. Days since the dam holding back the truth finally broke, flooding me with everything I'd lost, everything I'd been forced to forget. But now, it's over. The doctors have cleared me, and I'm finally going home.

It was more than a relief to finally be out of this god awful place — these stupid white walls.

It reminds me too much of what happened.

What was lost.

"Ready?" His voice pulls me from my thoughts, warm and steady, a grounding presence in the chaos of my mind.

I look up to see him standing in the doorway, my husband, Nik. His smile is soft, encouraging, but his eyes betray his worry. He's been like that ever since I told him what I remembered—calm on the surface, but I can see the questions brewing underneath. He doesn't press, though. He never does.

I nod, offering him a weak smile. "Yeah. Let's go."

He steps forward, his hand brushing against my arm as he helps me to my feet. The motion is so familiar, so gentle, that for a moment, I almost forget the weight of everything swirling inside me. Almost.

As we step into the hallway, the hospital smell—antiseptic and something faintly medicinal— leaves my system.

But it's not ling filled with the longingly familiar scent of vanilla and cedar wood.

Nik.

I had been meaning to ask him about the whole mask thing, but it just never felt like the right time. Maybe I could ask him when we get back to our room.

"Bella!" A high-pitched, excited voice cuts through the noise of the hallway, catching me off guard.

I whirl around to find Tina, her face lighting up with joy as she rushes toward me. Before I can react, her arms are around me, pulling me into a tight hug. It's the kind of hug that squeezes the breath out of you, but you don't mind because it's filled with so much love.

"Oh my goodness, I've missed you," she says, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and desperation. "I'm so glad you're okay."

Her words hit me harder than I expect, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. Blinking back the sudden sting of tears, I manage to say, "I've missed you too, Tina." My voice cracks a little, but I don't care.

We spend the next while catching up, her questions coming rapid-fire as though she's afraid to waste a single moment. I answer what I can, letting her chatter fill the silence I didn't realize was weighing on me. Eventually, though, we part ways—her reluctantly, and me with a glance toward Nikolai. He's standing nearby, quiet but clearly worn out. I know all he wants right now is to go to our room, to finally lie down in his own bed and let the weight of the past days fade away.

When we step into our bedroom, the sight of it wraps around me like a warm blanket. It's exactly as I remember—familiar and inviting, a haven I've missed more than I realized.

I let out a gasp as my eyes fall on the figure waiting for us on the bed. "Daisy! Baby!" My voice is filled with excitement as I rush forward. Our little grey and calico tabby is curled up in the middle of the bed, her soft green eyes blinking at me as though to say, What took you so long?

Nikolai chuckles softly behind me, his own exhaustion easing just a little at the sight of her. Picking Daisy up, I press my face gently against her fur, inhaling the faint, comforting scent of home. She purrs in response, a soft vibration that makes my chest ache with how much I've missed her.

The room feels alive in a way I hadn't expected. The glow of candlelight flickers on the walls, casting warm, golden shadows that stretch and sway. The bed, bigger than I remember, looks impossibly inviting, the soft blankets practically calling my name. The air is scented faintly with vanilla and cedarwood, a combination so distinctly Nikolai that it immediately soothes me.

Still holding Daisy, I wander to the glass doors that lead to the balcony. She stays in my arms, well-behaved as always, her gentle purring never faltering. I push the doors open, and the room floods with soft afternoon light. It spills across the floor and catches on the edges of the furniture, transforming the space into something almost magical.

Stepping onto the balcony, I feel the cool breeze kiss my skin as I take in the view. The sunset stretches across the sky like a painting, impossibly vibrant and breathtaking. Streaks of molten gold spill across the horizon, fading into fiery orange and deep, passionate red. Wisps of pink and violet swirl through the clouds, their edges glowing like the remnants of a dream.

The sun hangs low, dipping toward the horizon, its warm light scattering over the rooftops and trees below. Shadows grow long and soft, while the air hums with the gentle stillness of a day coming to its end. In my arms, Daisy shifts slightly, her head tilting as if she, too, is mesmerized by the view.

I let out a slow breath, my chest swelling with an odd mix of emotions—relief, gratitude, and the faintest ache of something I can't quite name. For now, though, I let it be. I let myself exist in this moment, with the sunset painting the sky and the weight of home finally settling around me.

I think I could get used to this: to us, to our little family.

I loved every bit of it.

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