Sunlight spilled across the capital’s white stone streets as banners bearing the royal crest fluttered high above the gates. The air carried the scent of lilacs and fresh bread, and the murmur of a gathered crowd rose like the sea — nobles, guards, and commoners alike drawn to witness the moment the heir returned home.

At the front of the courtyard, Queen Maris Valour stood poised yet visibly softened, her hands clasped as though holding back the urge to reach out. Beside her, King Aldren remained a figure of composure, though a faint smile betrayed the stern mask he wore for ceremony.

A few steps behind them, Princess Serayne shifted impatiently, the sun catching in her auburn curls. “Do you think they’ve changed much?” she whispered to Sir Kael Duren, who stiffened at being addressed so casually during a royal reception.

Kael adjusted his posture, the edge of nervousness clear even beneath his polished armor. “I—ah, I imagine so, Your Highness,” he said, eyes fixed on the approaching carriage as though watching history itself.

Eira Thorn, lounging at the edge of the royal retinue with her hands clasped behind her back, grinned at the exchange. “Let’s hope they’ve kept their sense of humor,” she murmured, earning a quiet chuckle from a nearby guard.

The carriage rolled to a halt. The chatter hushed. Even the birds seemed to pause as the door creaked open.

For a breath, the moment held — expectation, pride, and a flicker of uncertainty all woven together in the air. Only the sound of the wind through the banners filled the silence as the heir stepped forward onto familiar ground once more.