Vellurian Palace, one month later
The palace had descended into peace. Gone were the days of frantic plots and poisonings — mornings were now quiet, serene, almost tender in their calm. It was one such morning, the sun rising over the horizon with slow, golden light. Inside the emperor's study sat Gabriella Lancaster, queen mother and current regent in lieu of the emperor. Scrolls and documents were piled neatly at her side, reports from border villages and word from Altheria stacked across the desk. The war — the war that had threatened to swallow everything but had never come in full — was finally over. All that remained for both empires now was the long work of recovery.
A month had passed since the night Aiden left. The signet ring — the one he had laid on Elliott's desk before going — still rested there, untouched. But it did not sting with abandonment when Gabriella's eyes fell upon it. No, looking at it now brought her the faintest of smiles. The boy had not left them behind. He had only gone to claim what was already his.
Elliott still lay in his chambers. He was pale, fragile, but healing — climbing slowly, steadily toward recovery. Those first days after Aiden's departure had been tense, unbearable almost. Both the uncertainty of Elliott's condition and the peril of Aiden's coup pressed heavy on everyone in the palace. Organizing such a thing was never clean. Anything could have gone wrong. Yet in the end, both had pulled through. Elliott had survived the poison, and Aiden... Aiden had finally ended it all.
Though Elliott was recovering, he had not yet woken. The healers called it a "healing coma," but they had no clear sense of how long it would last. His body was redirecting everything it had into fighting off the remnants of poison, they explained. He is actively fighting, they said. He wants to live. The thought always drew a small, wry smile to Gabriella's lips.
She still carried the weight of duty — endless documents, endless matters of state — but she visited Elliott every few hours. She would sit by his bedside, touch his forehead, check his condition. For once in her life, she allowed herself to simply be a mother. A mother who fussed, who whispered, who worried. She didn't have to be a strategist before she was a parent now. Even though she knew he could not hear, she spoke softly to him all the same.
"The treasury is stable," she would murmur, brushing stray strands of hair from his face. "The betrayers have been caught. The southern harvest is content. Your boy won. He's safe. He's winning. So you too... wake up soon."
Elliott, of course, never replied. But his breathing did — steady, even, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. That was enough for her.
This morning was no different. After visiting Elliott early, she returned to the study. In her hand were the final records of the coup. She had not read them in full until now — only the brief confirmation that Aiden had been victorious. Slowly, carefully, she scanned the lines.
It had unfolded with precision. Cyrus had sent his armies to the border, deceived into believing Velluria was declaring war. He was not aware Aiden was James- he believed Aiden, furious and reckless by Elliott's poisoning, had declared the war. They made it seem that way. So Cyrus rushed to defend himself. And then — the revelation. Aiden, revealed as James Corvette. The lost heir of Altheria. Once dressed in the traditional regalia of silver and deep blue, his midnight hair and pale features had struck like lightning. He was the very image of the lunar heirs from the old stories, and his legitimacy was undeniable.
But it hadn't just been blood or claim. Aiden was no lost princeling stumbling home. He was a trained warrior, scarred and sharpened, carrying himself like a man who had always been destined to rule. First, the loyalists to the corvette bloodline moved, the ones carefully placed for this moment. Then, the moon artifact — flaring to life at Aiden's touch, as it had only ever done for the blood of a Corvette. That had been the final proof.
The floodgates opened. The public rose. Cyrus's own court, long exhausted by his cruelty and tyranny, turned on him in a wave. His orders carried no weight. Even his knights abandoned him. In the end, Cyrus was cornered and slain in his throne room.
The account ended with simple, stark finality:
The usurper was executed by His Highness, Prince James Corvette, bringing a just end to his tyranny. Until the coronation, the prince will rule Altheria as regent.
Gabriella exhaled softly. It was finally done.
Of course, the next scroll reminded her that nothing was ever so neat. The aftermath was messy — tangled in grays. Resistance pockets still had to be broken, loyalist holdouts put down, and the monumental task of steadying an empire that had lived under cruelty for decades was only just beginning. The prince would not be returning to Velluria soon.
A messenger entered then, his pace brisk. In his hands, balanced on a gilded tray, was a letter. The seal upon it bore the crest of Altheria's monarch — a crescent moon above a mountain range. But the parchment was not stiff official paper. And the handwriting — sharp but elegant — struck her immediately. Familiar. Aiden's hand.
She broke the seal and unfolded it. The words tumbled across the page, neat but hurried, a king's authority struggling to veil a lover's worry:
Gabriella,
I hope you and Elliott are well. The business here is concluded, though the work is far from ever finished. I will not be able to leave for some time.
How is he? Has there been any change? Has he woken? Please tell me as soon as he wakes. The last report said bn his color was better and he is able to consume fluids. Is his breathing steady? Are the healers ensuring he takes enough broth? He loses weight so easily when he is unwell and not eating enough. Please, tell me everything. Even if it seems unnecessary or small.
Yours,
Aiden.
Gabriella's lips curved faintly. The questions ran into one another, tripping over themselves even on paper. She could only imagine how they would have sounded spoken aloud — Aiden barely able to contain his worry. This was not the boy who had led a coup and toppled a tyrant. This was simply Aiden, raw and bare, undone by distance.
She picked up a quill and began to write her reply:
Aiden,
Your victory is noted. Congratulations. It was the correct move.
Elliott remains in the coma. The healers say it is necessary for deep healing. His color is good. He is pulling through. His breathing is steady. He is not in any pain. He can ingest broth and vegetable pastes. He is also being given multiple nutrient tonics. He has not lost significant weight. He is stable. Do not worry yourself too much.
Focus on securing and solidifying your throne. I will send word the moment there is another change.
She paused. The quill hovered over the page. For a long moment she weighed whether to add another line. In the end, she did.
—If he were awake, he would have been very proud of you.
Yours,
Gabriella
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AN: this was smth i contemplated for a long time. Like I could have elaborated the coup but that just felt like filler chapters. So I just timeskipped over it lol. Imagine it happened off camera. Imagine it being very regal and dramatic.