Elena’s POV
Three months…
Three months had passed since the night of the wedding, since the blood on the ballroom floor and the fire in the gardens. It had taken time, effort, and an army of dedicated staff, but the physical scars of the attack had been erased. The windows were replaced, the furniture restored, and the entire reception hall, where the ballroom had been, had been meticulously polished, ready to host celebrations once more.
The emotional healing, however, was a slower process.
I stood on the balcony of our room that’s now fully restored and repaired, watching the sunrise. The air was fresh and cool, carrying the scent of newly bloomed lavender and the distant aroma of breakfast cooking downstairs.
The kingdom was now at peace. Glenda was a forgotten nightmare in the desolate Southern Wastelands. Bryson was gone, a silent, humble exile. The political fallout had stabilised, cementing Deacon’s position as a King who was fair but absolute in judgment.
But the most critical healing was happening inside the palace walls, in our small, fiercely protected family unit.
Rafael was thriving.
His recovery had been remarkable. The initial terror was a lingering shadow, mainly manifesting in nightmares that required us to sleep with him for the first few weeks. But he wasn’t broken. He had found strength in the knowledge that he had been brave.
I heard the soft, familiar sound of leather hitting padded canvas and smiled.
I walked through the room and into the attached, private training room Deacon had installed months ago, which was the same room where Rafael had declared his need to be strong.
Deacon was there, of course, already working out before the sun was fully up. He was wearing sweats, his muscles moving like oiled steel beneath his skin as he delivered powerful, precise kicks into a heavy bag.
And next to him, wearing miniature sparring gloves, was Rafael.
“Keep your guard up, little wolf!” Deacon instructed, his voice firm but encouraging. “Hands high! Elbows in!”
Rafael, looking sharp and determined as he moved quickly and continued to throw a solid jab into a small speed bag hanging at his level. He wasn’t focused on hurting anyone. Instead, he was focused on having control and discipline. He wasn’t just learning how to fight or to use brute force; he was being taught to use fear to fuel his strength and keep fighting
Deacon realised I was in the room and met my eyes, offering me a tired but genuine smile.
He stopped his workout, walked over, and kissed the top of my head, his skin warm and damp with sweat.
“He’s doing well,” Deacon whispered. “He told me he saw Glenda in his dream, but this time, he wasn’t running. He was standing his ground,”
“That’s all that matters,” I replied, watching Rafael punch the bag with serious concentration,
Indeed, it brought fear to Rafael, but if there’s any blessing in it, it’s that it also became a tool that glued Deacon and Rafael’s relationship. They became even closer to each other than ever.
After having breakfast, we all went to our new routine. Deacon began handling political matters as he continued in his role as the prince, while I helped Rafael with his studies. When bored, we’d stroll around the palace, then in the evening, we’d have dinner as a family.
It all felt normal and peaceful.
Chapter 19
+25 Bonus
One afternoon, I sat in the study room, reviewing notes for a proposal to build a state–funded orphanage a project born directly from my experience and Glenda’s desperate roots–when Deacon found me.
He sat on the arm of my chair, tracing the bruised line on my jaw where Glenda had struck me. The bruise was faint now, fading into a pale yellow, but the memory was sharp.
“The Kingdom is now stable, Elena,” Deacon said, his voice low. “Everything is functioning perfectly. The rogue threat has been neutralised, and Glenda is completely out of our lives.”
“Good,” I smiled, looking up at him. “It sounds like we did our job.”
“We did,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss me, a long, deep kiss that still made my heart race. “But now, I think it’s time to stop fighting and start living.”
He pulled me up and led me to the window. “Look out there. The world is waiting for us to celebrate. We have a marriage that was interrupted. We need a wedding night.”
His brows were wiggling with implication, making me laugh out loud. Leaning against him, I uttered, “We had one. A best one, don’t you think? We survived a siege.”
“I mean a proper one. One without blood and chaos.”
Deacon was right, we shouldn’t let Glenda’s attack be the remembrance of our wedding.
So, later that evening, after tucking Rafael into bed, Deacon led me back to our restored room. He had replaced the shattered vanity, hung new drapes, and filled the room with thousands of white lilies.
He looked at me, his golden eyes blazing with tenderness. “This is our room, Elena. Not a battlefield. Not a refuge. Our home.”
He walked over to the closet and opened the door. He knelt where Rafael had been hiding months ago and pulled out a small, intricately carved box.
“I found this the morning after the attack,” Deacon said, walking back to me. “It was under the bed, near where Glenda had kicked the tranquilliser gun.”
He opened the box. Inside, resting on a blue velvet cushion, was a diamond necklace, a stunning piece that glittered under the lamplight. It wasn’t the jewellery Glenda had sold; it was heirloom quality, something Deacon must have intended to give me on our wedding night.
“I was going to give you this,” Deacon murmured, taking the necklace out. “But I think I gave you something better that night.”
“What’s that?”
“A fighter’s spirit,” he said, gently sweeping my hair aside. “But now that the war is over, let me give you the diamond.”
He fastened the cool metal around my neck. It felt heavy, a symbol of the wealth and power we now shared. But it was also a simple symbol of his love.
“Thank you,” I breathed, touching the stone.
Deacon pulled me into his arms, kissing me softly but it also felt like a seal of promise. The past was gone and we were healing. There’s only a future ahead of us, and it’s a bright one.
And as we finally settled into the our house, I knew that the proper foundation of our lite was finally set.
25
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
