As she held him, her eyes began to fill with water.
The tears she had held back during the meeting with the generals,
the tears she had refused to shed while being insulted,
and the tears she had saved since the day the news came from the North—they all came rushing out.
She wept silently, her body shaking.
They weren't just tears of sadness; they were tears of overwhelming love and crushing responsibility.
She looked at her son, the only living piece of Alfred she had left, and the pain of missing him hit her like a physical wave.
He should be here, she thought, her heart breaking all over again.
He should be the one picking you up. He should be the one seeing how much you've grown.
"Mommy? Why are you leaking?" Leo asked, pulling back to look at her face with wide, concerned eyes.
He reached out a tiny hand and wiped a tear from her cheek.
Sofia let out a wet, shaky laugh and kissed his palm.
"It's okay, my brave prince. Mommy is just so happy to see you. These are happy tears."
She stood up, lifting him into her arms. He felt so heavy, so real, so full of life.
She realized that no matter how many men at the obsidian table hated her,
no matter how many shadows she had to fight, this was why she stayed strong.
She walked toward the stairs, carrying her son toward the warmth of the nursery.
She looked at the empty hallway, half-expecting to see a tall shadow leaning against the wall, watching them with a proud smile.
"We're okay, Alfred," she whispered into the quiet house.
"I'm taking care of him. I'm holding the line."
In the distance, the wind howled around the stone gargoyles of the mansion, but inside, the light stayed on.
Sofia sat with Leo, reading him a story about a king who went on a long journey but promised to return.
She read until the boy fell asleep, and as she sat there in the dark, she touched the ring around her neck.
She was the Queen.
She was strong.
She was the protector.
And even though her eyes were wet and her heart was lonely,
she knew that as long as Leo was safe, the story wasn't over.
She would wait. She would rule.
And she would never, ever stop looking at the driveway, waiting for the King to come home.
The night was unusually still.
The moon, a silver sliver in the dark velvet sky,
cast long, jagged shadows across the stone walls of the mansion.
Inside, the heavy silence of the house was broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
Max had finished his final rounds, the security systems were hummed with a low, electric pulse, and the guards were stationed at the iron gates. Everyone was asleep—or so it seemed.
In the master suite, Sofia lay in a deep, restless slumber.
Her breathing was steady, her hand resting near the cold, empty space where Alfred used to sleep.
She was dreaming of a black car and a voice that sounded like gravel and silk.
In the hallway, a shadow moved. It didn't trigger the infrared sensors.
it didn't make the floorboards creak.
It moved with the practiced grace of someone who knew every inch of this fortress, someone who belonged in the darkness.
The door to Sofia's room creaked open just an inch, a sliver of moonlight spilling onto the carpet.
A figure stepped inside. He didn't approach the bed.
He didn't reach out to touch her, though his hand hovered in the air for a fleeting second.
Instead, he moved toward the vanity table.
With silent, steady hands, he placed a large bucket of deep red roses on the wood.
The scent of the flowers—rich, sweet, and heavy—immediately began to fill the room, mixing with the scent of Sofia's lavender perfume.
Beside the roses, he laid a small, cream-colored envelope.
He stayed for one more moment, his eyes fixed on the sleeping silhouette of the woman .
He smirked.
and then, as quickly as he had arrived, he vanished back into the shadows.
The morning sun hit the crystals on Sofia's nightstand, refracting light across her face.
She groaned softly, blinking her eyes open.
For a moment, the weight of the previous day's meetings felt like a physical pressure on her chest.
But then, she smelled it.
It wasn't the smell of coffee or old books. It was the unmistakable, overpowering scent of fresh roses.
Sofia sat up abruptly, her heart beginning to drum against her ribs.
She looked toward the vanity.
There, glowing in the morning light, was the bucket of red roses.
They were identical to the ones she had received a year ago—the ones that had started the mystery.
She scrambled out of bed, her feet hitting the cold floor.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the envelope. She didn't call for Max.
She didn't alert the guards. In her heart, a wild, dangerous hope was beginning to roar like a fire.
She tore open the envelope. The paper was heavy, and the ink was dark and elegant.
"I know you are waiting for me, Sof. You've been so strong, but the Queen needs her King. Come meet me at 2:00 AM at the old pier where we first watched the sunrise. Come alone. No Max. No guards. Just you."
Sofia let out a choked sob, pressing the note to her lips.
"I knew it," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears of pure, unfiltered joy.
"I knew you couldn't leave me, Alfred. I knew you were out there."
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sofia moved through the mansion like a woman possessed.
She played with Leo, her laughter sounding brighter and more genuine than it had in half a year.
She even smiled at Borov during a brief phone call, much to his confusion.
Max noticed the change immediately.
He watched her in the dining room, his eyes narrowing.
"You seem... different today, Sofia. Did something happen?"
Sofia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes sparkling with a secret.
"I just had a very good night's sleep, Max. Don't worry so much.
Everything is going to be perfect."