“Did that make you angry?” Hazel asked what she suspected, unable to mask the curiosity in her voice.

“No,” Fretia admitted, her smile growing warmer, as if at some private memory. “I think... I respected it. He was loyal, unwavering, and I saw in him a strength that I hadn’t seen in anyone since... since your father.” Her voice faltered, and she looked away, but not before Hazel noticed the flush deepening on her mother’s cheeks.

“Tell me more ,?” Hazel pressed gently.

Freya nodded. “When I was well enough, he left. Without a word, without a promise to return, he simply walked away. But not before he looked back, just once, and I...”

She stopped, the words trailing off, and Hazel’s eyes widened as she saw the faintest shimmer of emotion in her mother’s eyes—an emotion she had seen when her father had still been around.

Fretia quickly composed herself, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, but Hazel knew what she had seen.

A silence settled between them, heavy and fragile. Hazel felt the room shift, as if the very air had taken on a different tone—a tension, a longing that she hadn’t expected.

“Mother,” Hazel said softly, almost hesitantly, “What did he say before he left?”

Fretia’s gaze remained distant, and she spoke the words as if they had stayed with her all this time, unspoken. “He said, ‘The King’s order binds me, but I will remember.’ And then he was gone.”

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For a moment, Hazel saw a different side to her mother—a woman who had lost much but was beginning to find something unexpected.

Hazel reached across the table, her fingers finding her mother’s, and for the first time since the assassination, they both shared a moment of silent understanding.

A soft knock interrupted the quiet moment, and both Hazel and Fretia looked up as a young servant stepped into the room, bowing low. “Your Majesties,” the servant said, her voice respectful, “King Ren is waiting outside. He wishes to see you both.”

Hazel blinked, her surprise visible. Ren, waiting outside? Her father would have strode in without a second thought, without asking permission, as if the entire palace were his by birthright alone.

Yet Ren, the man who now held the throne, stood outside like any common visitor, awaiting an invitation.

“Let him in,” Hazel said, her voice steady, though a soft warmth touched her eyes.

She glanced at her mother, who seemed equally taken aback. Fretia’s lips parted slightly in disbelief, but there was a flicker of respect in her gaze—a silent acknowledgment of this unexpected humility.

The servant bowed again and disappeared, and a moment later, Ren stepped through the doorway.

He moved with a calm confidence, his presence filling the room without overwhelming it. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, met Hazel’s, and for a brief second, she saw the hint of a smile.

“Thank you for letting me in,” he said quietly, his voice warm and sincere.

“Of course, Ren. But we’re married now , there’s no need for all this…reverence ,” Hazel replied, her voice steady but softer, almost tender.

She took a step forward, her hand gently resting on her mother’s, as if to ground them both in this new reality. Fretia, still seated, gave a slight nod to Ren—a gesture of acceptance that spoke more than words.

“I’ll remember that the next time. But for now , there’s an important matter and I need the both of you to help. Aropia’s future is greatly tied to this,” he told her.