Chapter 63: Qazaethel Went To Eiravelle’s Palace

The wedding ceremony had concluded hours ago, yet the grand hall of the palace still thrummed with celebration. Nobles and dignitaries from across the realm mingled beneath glittering chandeliers, their laughter and chatter filled the vast space as servants wove between them, carrying trays of wine and delicacies.

Musicians played a gentle melody from the corner, something traditional and elegant that befitted a royal union.

Qazaethel sat upon her elevated throne at the head of the hall, her posture was rigid and her expression was carved from stone. She had not touched the food before her, though her wine glass had been refilled more times than she cared to count.

Each sip burned going down, but the warmth did nothing to ease the cold emptiness settling in her chest. Around her, the celebration continued with relentless cheerfulness that felt like salt in an open wound.

This was supposed to be her wedding, her union. Yet she felt nothing but hollow.

Her eyes swept across the crowd without truly seeing anyone, registering faces and colors and movement but not allowing any of it to penetrate the numbness she had wrapped around herself like armor. Nobles approached to offer congratulations, and she acknowledged them with curt nods and empty words that she would not remember when the morning comes.

She was going through the motions, performing the role expected of a newly wedded sovereign, but her mind was elsewhere.

Dawn sat beside her on a smaller throne, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The younger woman was making a valiant effort to appear happy, smiling at the guests who came to offer their well wishes and accepting their blessings with grace.

This was her first marriage after all, and Qazaethel knew she deserved to experience some measure of joy on such an occasion. Even if the circumstances were far from ideal, even if this union had been born of political necessity rather than love, Dawn was trying.

Qazaethel could not bring herself to match that effort.

She watched Dawn from the corner of her eye, noting the way her new wife’s smile never quite reached her eyes. The omega was nervous. Qazaethel could smell it beneath the layers of perfume and ceremonial oils against her pheromones, that subtle undertone of anxiety that clung to her skin.

Dawn knew what awaited them after the celebration ended. She knew what the consummating ritual would require of her, and the knowledge sat heavy between them like an unspoken confession.

Guilt twisted in Qazaethel’s stomach, sharp and unwelcome. She should have been able to give Dawn more than this hollow ceremony and a night she clearly dreaded.

But there was nothing left inside her to give. Whatever warmth she had once possessed had been spent long ago, poured out into hands that had ultimately let it slip through their fingers.

She lifted her wine glass again and drank deeply, hoping the alcohol might dull the ache that had taken up permanent residence behind her ribs.

That was when her eyes found Eiravelle across the crowded hall.

The alpha’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, the noise of the celebration faded into a distant hum. Eiravelle stood near one of the side entrances, her pink hair was catching the candlelight in a way that made Qazaethel’s chest tighten painfully.

She was speaking with one of the minor nobles, her expression was polite but distant, the same carefully neutral mask she wore whenever they happened to occupy the same space.

Eiravelle had been avoiding Qazaethel. It was difficult to tell anymore, when every interaction between them had become a careful dance of distance and restraint.

They had not spoken properly in months, not since the engagement had been announced and everything between them had shattered into pieces that were too jagged to reassemble.

Eiravelle’s gaze flickered toward the throne, and for one breathless moment, their eyes met across the length of the hall. Qazaethel felt something crack open inside her chest, something she had been desperately trying to keep sealed shut.

The connection lasted only a heartbeat before Eiravelle looked away, her expression was unchanged, and turned to make her way toward the exit.

She was leaving.

Qazaethel watched as Eiravelle moved through the crowd with the effortless grace that had always defined her, nodding politely to those who acknowledged her but never pausing long enough to engage in conversation.

Saye appeared at her side, the ever-present shadow, and together they slipped through the side door and disappeared from view.

Something inside Qazaethel broke.

She did not know why. She had known Eiravelle would not stay for the entire celebration. There was no reason for her to remain, not when every moment in this hall served as a reminder of everything they had lost. Yet watching her leave, watching her walk away without so much as a farewell glance, felt like a wound being torn open all over again.

Qazaethel reached for her wine glass and found it empty. She gestured for a servant to refill it, and when the young beta hurried over with a pitcher, she did not bother to moderate her intake.

She drank as though the wine might fill the void Eiravelle had left behind, knowing even as she did so that it was futile.

Dawn noticed.

Of course she noticed. The omega had been watching Qazaethel all evening with those observant eyes that missed very little, even when she pretended otherwise.

Dawn’s expression remained neutral, betraying nothing of what she might be thinking, but Qazaethel could feel the weight of her attention nonetheless. There was no judgment in that gaze, no jealousy or resentment, only a quiet understanding that somehow made everything worse.

Qazaethel did not deserve Dawn’s patience. She did not deserve the consideration the omega continued to show her despite the circumstances that had bound them together.

Dawn had been thrust into a marriage with someone who could not love her, could not even pretend to love her, and yet she endured it with a dignity that Qazaethel found both admirable and deeply humiliating.

Across the hall, far from the elevated thrones and the press of noble bodies, Liv stood alone near one of the towering windows that overlooked the palace gardens.

The beta had positioned herself at the edge of the celebration as though she were merely another guest observing the festivities, but her attention was fixed on a single point with unwavering intensity.

She could not take her eyes off Dawn.

Qazaethel noticed this too, though she made no indication that she had. Liv’s feelings for Dawn were an open secret among those who knew where to look, a quiet devotion that had never been spoken aloud but was evident in every glance, every protective gesture, and every moment of silent vigilance.

Liv loved Dawn. She had loved her long before this political marriage had been arranged, and she would likely love her long after.

Yet Dawn was now Qazaethel’s wife, bound to her by law and ceremony, and Liv could do nothing but watch from a distance as the woman she loved sat beside another.

Qazaethel understood that particular pain far too well.

The hours dragged on, each minute was stretching into an eternity as the celebration continued around her. Qazaethel lost track of how many times her glass was refilled, lost track of the faces that approached to offer congratulations, and lost track of everything except the persistent ache that had settled deep in her bones.

She was tired. Not merely physically exhausted, though that was certainly part of it, but tired in a way that went far deeper than the body could comprehend.

She wanted to leave. She wanted to retreat to her chambers and close the door on all of this, to hide away from the expectations and obligations that pressed down on her from every direction.

But leaving meant facing what waited for her in those chambers. Leaving meant the consummating ritual, the final sealing of this union that she had never wanted in the first place.

She could not do that to Dawn. Not tonight.

When the musicians finally began to slow their tempo, signaling that the celebration was drawing to its natural conclusion, Qazaethel rose from her throne.

The movement drew the attention of those nearest to her, and gradually, the hall fell silent as guests turned to watch their Sovereign. Qazaethel kept her expression impassive, betraying none of the turmoil churning beneath the surface.

"We shall go," she announced, her voice was carrying across the suddenly quiet hall.

Beside her, Dawn stiffened. Qazaethel heard the sharp intake of breath, smelled the spike of anxiety that flooded the omega’s scent, and felt another twist of guilt in her gut.

She knew what Dawn was thinking. She knew the fear that had seized the younger woman’s heart the moment those words left Qazaethel’s lips.

Dawn’s heart raced faster. Qazaethel could hear it, the frantic rhythm of a pulse that had spiked with panic. The omega’s hands clenched in her lap, fingers twisting into the fabric of her ceremonial robes as she struggled to find her voice.

"Uhm..." Dawn began, and the single syllable trembled with barely contained fear. She swallowed hard, visibly forcing herself to continue. "Your majesty, can... Can I... Stay? For a moment longer?"

The question hung in the air between them, fragile and desperate. Dawn’s voice had dropped to nearly a whisper by the end, as though she was afraid of what the answer might be.

She knew what would happen if she left the hall now. She knew that the marital chamber awaited them, that the consummating ritual could no longer be delayed, and the terror of that knowledge was written plainly across her features.

Qazaethel looked at her new wife and felt something soften in her chest despite the numbness that had consumed her all evening. Dawn was so young. So frightened.

She had been given no choice in this marriage, no voice in the decisions that had shaped her future, and now she was being asked to surrender the last remaining piece of herself to an alpha she barely been with.

Qazaethel understood that fear. She had felt it once, long ago, before she had learned to armor herself against the world.

She sighed, and some of the tension was drained from her shoulders. "Say no instead of making excuses," she said, and though her words were blunt, her tone was not unkind. "I’m tired, so I’ll go there first."

She did not wait for Dawn to respond. She did not want to see the relief that would flood the omega’s features, did not want to witness the gratitude that would only make her feel more guilty for the situation they had both been forced into. Instead, Qazaethel turned and walked away, her steps were measured and deliberate as she made her way toward the exit.

Behind her, she heard Dawn exhale a shaky breath, and she knew without looking that the omega’s shoulders had sagged with relief. Good. Let her have this night. Let her have whatever small reprieve Qazaethel could offer, even if it meant delaying the inevitable for a little while longer.

Dawn watched Qazaethel’s retreating figure until the alpha disappeared through the main doors of the hall, and only then did she allow herself to fully relax.

The tension that had coiled through her body all evening finally began to ease, and she slumped back against her throne with a silent sigh of gratitude.

She had been so afraid. Afraid that Qazaethel would insist on proceeding with the ritual, afraid that she would have no choice but to submit to an alpha she did not love in a union she had never wanted.

The fear had been a constant companion throughout the celebration, a cold weight pressing against her chest that made it difficult to breathe.

But Qazaethel had not forced her. Qazaethel had seen her terror and had chosen to be considerate of her boundaries, and had given her space when she needed it most. It was more than Dawn had expected. More than she had dared to hope for.

She was still afraid, of course. The consummating ritual had only been delayed, not cancelled, and sooner or later, she would have to face it. But for tonight, at least, she could breathe. For tonight, she could pretend that she was not trapped in a marriage she had never wanted to a woman who could never love her.

The hall gradually began to empty as guests took their leave, and Dawn remained on her throne, watching the crowd thin until only a handful of servants remained to begin the long process of cleaning up.

She should return to her own chambers soon. She should rest and prepare herself for whatever tomorrow might bring. But for a few more moments, she wanted to sit here in the quiet and savor the small mercy she had been granted.

Across the hall, Liv still stood by, her gaze was fixed on Dawn with an intensity that made the omega’s heart ache. She knew what Liv was feeling. She knew the pain that must be coursing through the beta’s veins as she watched Dawn sit on a throne beside another woman, bound by vows that could never be broken.

She rose from her throne and made her way toward the exit, careful not to look at Liv as she passed. She could not bear to see the longing in those eyes, could not bear to acknowledge the love that could never be returned.

It was easier to pretend she did not notice, easier to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and making her way back to her chambers alone.

Liv watched her go, and when Dawn had disappeared from view, she finally allowed herself to close her eyes and release the breath she had been holding all evening.

It never got easier. Watching Dawn marry someone else, watching her sit beside another alpha as though she belonged there, watching her endure a fate she had never chosen. It never got easier, and Liv suspected it never would.

But there was nothing she could do. She was the royal General, and Dawn was now the Phoenix Empress. The distance between them had grown too vast to bridge, and all Liv could do was stand at the edge of Dawn’s life and love her from afar.

Until Liv saw that Dawn left her handkerchief. She took it and followed Dawn.

***

Instead of going straight to her chambers, Qazaethel went to Eiravelle’s palace.

She used her wings to get there, launching herself from the balcony outside the main hall and soaring through the cool night air. The palace grounds spread out beneath her, a patchwork of gardens and courtyards and smaller buildings that housed the various members of the royal court.

The night was quiet, and most of the servants had already retreated to their quarters. Only a few scattered lights burned in the windows of the buildings below, and the gardens were empty of all but the shadows that stretched across the manicured lawns.

Qazaethel landed softly on the balcony outside Eiravelle’s chambers, her wings was folding against her back and disappeared like thin air as she took a moment to steady herself.

She should not be here. She knew that. She was a married Alpha now, bound by vows that she had spoken only hours ago, and coming to Eiravelle’s chambers in the dead of night was a betrayal of everything those vows represented.

But she could not help herself. She could not stay away, could not pretend that the sight of Eiravelle leaving the celebration had not shattered something inside her.

She needed to see her. She needed to hear her voice, and needed to be close to her even if only for a few stolen moments. She needed to apologize for everything she had done wrong, she needed to beg for forgiveness that she knew she did not deserve.

The lights were still on inside Eiravelle’s chambers. Qazaethel could see the warm glow spilling through the curtains, and could smell the faint scent of incense that always lingered in Eiravelle’s rooms.

She cleared her throat and raised her hand to knock, but before her knuckles could connect with the wood, the door swung open and Saye stepped out.

The servant froze the moment she saw Qazaethel standing there, her eyes are going wide with shock. "Your majesty!" Saye exclaimed, immediately dropping into a deep bow and squeezing her eyes shut as though she hoped the Sovereign should disappear if she simply refused to look at her.

Qazaethel was taken aback by the intensity of Saye’s reaction. The beta had always been somewhat nervous around her, but this was something else entirely. Saye looked as though she had just seen a ghost, and Qazaethel could not help but wonder what had prompted such a response.

Inside the chamber, Eiravelle heard Saye’s exclamation. Her eyes were widened, and she gasped silently as the realization struck her. Qazaethel was here. Qazaethel was standing outside her door, in the middle of the night, on the very evening of her wedding to another omega.

"What brings you here, your majesty?" Saye asked, her voice was slightly higher pitched than usual as she straightened from her bow but kept her gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

Qazaethel forced herself to maintain her composure, though she could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. "I... I’m here to check on your lady," she said, the words are coming out more hesitantly than she would have liked. "It’s been a long time since the last time we talked, and..."

She paused, struggling to find the right words to explain herself. How could she possibly articulate what she was feeling when she did not fully understand it herself?

How could she explain the desperate need that had driven her here, the ache that had been consuming her for weeks, and the emptiness that only Eiravelle’s presence seemed capable of filling?

Before she could continue, the door opened wider and Eiravelle stepped out. The alpha was dressed simply, her silver hair was loose around her shoulders, and she looked tired.

There were shadows beneath her eyes that Qazaethel had not noticed earlier, and her expression was carefully blank in a way that made Qazaethel’s chest ache.

"Saye, you’re dismissed," Eiravelle said quietly.

Saye bowed again and hurried away without a backward glance, clearly grateful for the excuse to escape the tension that had descended upon the balcony. The beta’s footsteps faded into the distance, and then Qazaethel and Eiravelle were alone.

Eiravelle did not look at Qazaethel. She kept her gaze fixed on some point beyond the alpha’s shoulder, her posture was stiff and formal as she bowed. "Greetings, your majesty," she said, and the words were like a knife to Qazaethel’s heart.

Please rise. Do not greet me like this, Qazaethel wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat. She could see the walls that Eiravelle had built between them, could feel the distance that stretched across the small space separating them.

It was her own fault, she knew that. She had been the one to push Eiravelle away, had been the one to accept the engagement to Dawn, and the one who had chosen duty over love.

But seeing Eiravelle like this, so formal and distant, hurt more than Qazaethel had expected.

"I do not wish to be rude—" Eiravelle began, but she did not get to finish the sentence.

Qazaethel closed the distance between them in two quick strides and pulled Eiravelle into a tight embrace. She held on as though Eiravelle might vanish if she loosened her grip, pressed her face into the curve of Eiravelle’s neck and breathed in the familiar scent that had haunted her dreams for weeks.

"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Stop treating me like a stranger. I’m so sorry, Eiravelle. Please forgive me."

The tears came then, hot and uncontrollable as they spilled down her cheeks. She had been holding them back all evening, had been holding everything back for so long, and now the dam had finally broken—she cried against Eiravelle’s shoulder, her body was shaking with the force of emotions she had been suppressing for weeks, and she could smell the wine on her own breath, could taste its bitterness on her tongue.

Eiravelle stood frozen in Qazaethel’s embrace, her arms are hanging limply at her sides. She could feel the alpha’s tears soaking into her collar, could hear the raw pain in every word, and something inside her began to crack despite her best efforts to remain composed.

"Your majesty, please, I..." Eiravelle’s voice was barely a whisper, and she did not know what she was trying to say. She did not know how to respond to this, did not know how to reconcile the woman crying in her arms with the Sovereign who had chosen another.

Qazaethel did not let go. She could not let go. She needed Eiravelle to understand, needed her to know how sorry she was, needed her to feel the depth of Qazaethel’s regret even if she could not find the words to express it.

And then, before she could stop herself, she kissed Eiravelle.

Eiravelle’s eyes flew open in shock, her body went rigid as Qazaethel’s lips pressed against hers. She tried to push the alpha away, her hands are coming up to press against Qazaethel’s chest, but the kiss deepened and her resistance crumbled.

The familiar taste of Qazaethel’s lips, the warmth of her body, and the desperate way she clung to Eiravelle as though she was the only thing keeping her grounded—it was all too much.

Eiravelle’s hands fisted in Qazaethel’s robes, and she leaned into the kiss despite every voice in her head screaming that this was wrong. She had missed this. She had missed Qazaethel so much that the ache had become a permanent part of her, a hollow space in her chest that nothing could fill.

And now Qazaethel was here, kissing her, holding her, crying against her lips, and Eiravelle did not know whether she wanted to push her away or pull her closer.

A small whimper escaped Eiravelle’s throat as the kiss continued, and the sound seemed to break through whatever spell had fallen over them.

Qazaethel withdrew, her chest was heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy with tears, her cheeks are flushed with wine and emotion, and she looked at Eiravelle with an expression that was equal parts hope and despair.

"Please," Qazaethel breathed, her voice was barely audible. "Just hear me out?"

Eiravelle swallowed hard, her heart was racing and her mind was reeling. She had a feeling she knew where this was going. She had known from the moment Qazaethel appeared at her door, had known from the moment she saw the look in the alpha’s eyes and realized this could not become a simple apology.