The marble steps of the palace echoed with the sound of heels.
Queen Bianca, surrounded by her handmaidens, descended the stairs in grace and silence—until her eyes landed on the figure standing just beyond the gates.
She stopped.
Her breath caught for a moment.
Daemon.
He stood tall, cloaked in worn clothes, white-haired, flanked by unfamiliar faces. He had returned—and not alone.
Bianca's expression remained unreadable for a heartbeat.
Then she smiled.
A soft, warm smile—queenly and gentle—and walked forward.
Daemon approached, calm and composed.
They embraced before the gates.
"I'm glad you're fine," she said, placing her hands against his cheeks.
"Me too, Mother. It's been two years."
She examined him, her fingers brushing along his jaw. "You haven't eaten well. You're so thin… What happened to you?"
Daemon smiled faintly. "Nothing, Mother. I've just been training."
