Arielle and Eiravelle got into a private conversation on the nearby swings. Both sisters are sitting beside each other, looking at the afternoon sun. The swings were old, their wooden seats were worn smooth by years of use, and the chains creaked softly as they swayed.
The garden stretched around them, peaceful and quiet, and the golden light of the setting sun painted everything in warm hues. It was the kind of moment that felt suspended in time, as if the world had paused just for them.
The swings were tucked away in a corner of the garden, partially hidden by a trellis of climbing roses. It was a private spot, a place where they could talk without being overheard, and without being watched.
The servants had been dismissed, and the only company they had was the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant song of evening birds.
"I thought... You would still refuse to see me, Eivy." Arielle used her nickname to call her. The name slipped out naturally, a remnant of their childhood, a reminder of simpler times when they had nothing but each other.
When they were young, before the world had become complicated, before the sickness and the politics and the pain, Arielle had called her Eivy.
It was a name that belonged to a different time, a different life, and hearing it now made Eiravelle’s chest ache with a longing she could not put into words.
Eiravelle stared at the horizon, at the way the sun painted the clouds in shades of orange and pink. She could not bring herself to look at Arielle.
The guilt was still there, buried deep in her chest, and it rose up now like a wave that threatened to pull her under. "It’s... It’s not that I... I don’t want to see you, sister... I... I just think that all the misfortune that happened to you vanished the moment I was away from you." Eiravelle confessed, her voice was small and uncertain.
She had spent so many nights thinking about it, lying awake in her chambers and replaying every moment of their lives together. Every bad thing that had happened to Arielle—the sickness, the pain, and the loneliness—Eiravelle had connected it to herself.
She was the common thread, the constant presence that had brought nothing but suffering. And when she had left, when she had gone to the palace to become the sovereign’s concubine, she had told herself that it was for the best. That Arielle would finally be free of her, free of the burden that she represented.
Arielle nodded as she looked at her little sister. She had expected something like this. Eiravelle had always carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, had always blamed herself for things that were not her fault.
It was one of the things Arielle loved about her, and one of the things that worried her the most. She had watched Eiravelle grow up, had watched her shrink into herself, and had watched her believe the cruel words that others whispered behind her back.
And she had tried, so many times, to convince her otherwise. But Eiravelle’s self-doubt was a deep-rooted thing, a wound that had been inflicted long before Arielle could protect her.
"But you are aware that I will go through a thousand misfortunes if it means protecting you." Arielle admitted. The words were simple, honest, and the kind of words that Arielle had always spoken.
She did not believe in hiding her feelings. She did not believe in pretending. She loved her sister, and she would do anything for her. That was the truth, and she would not apologize for it.
Eiravelle looked at her with her eyes turning red and she shook her head. She was trying not to cry in front of Arielle because she didn’t want to worry her further. "Sister... Please... Don’t say that... I beg you." Eiravelle said. Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling.
She did not want to hear those words, did not want to think about the sacrifices Arielle had made for her, about the pain she had caused, or about the years of suffering that had come because of her existence.
Arielle pulled her hand and shook her head. Her grip was firm, insistent, the grip of someone who would not be pushed away. "Listen to me. I will never abandon you or think you are a misfortune. You are my blood, and I don’t care what others are saying. Always remember that. You deserve to be protected, and you deserve to be loved. This world is to be damned for making you feel small." Arielle said.
The words hit Eiravelle like a wave, crashing over her with a force that she could not resist. She had spent so long believing that she was a burden, that her existence brought nothing but pain to those around her.
She had spent so long trying to make herself small, trying to disappear, and trying to take up as little space as possible. But Arielle had never seen her that way. Arielle had always seen her as something precious, something worth protecting, and something worth loving.
Eiravelle could no longer stop her tears. They came freely now, streaming down her cheeks, and she did not bother to wipe them away. Arielle was always the person who had loved her since from the start, and that love was pure and unconditional.
Eiravelle didn’t even know how she got so blessed with Arielle, and the more her tears streamed, the more she couldn’t hold it all back. She embraced Arielle tight and cried against her sister’s shoulder. The embrace was desperate, clinging, the kind of embrace that came from years of holding everything inside and finally letting it out.
The swing creaked beneath them, swaying slightly with the force of their embrace. Eiravelle’s shoulders shook with sobs, and she buried her face in the familiar warmth of Arielle’s neck.
She could smell the faint scent of jasmine that always clung to her sister’s hair, could feel the steady beat of Arielle’s heart against her own. It was the scent of home, the sound of safety, and for the first time in months, Eiravelle felt like she could breathe.
"Thank you so much~" Eiravelle whispered, and Arielle nodded in understanding.
"Don’t cry, it’s all okay." Arielle comforted her, her hand was moving in slow circles on Eiravelle’s back. She did not tell her to stop. She did not tell her to be strong. She simply held her, letting her cry, and let her feel everything she had been holding back for so long.
Qazaethel and Liv watched from a distance, and Qazaethel felt like Arielle was the purest type of love for Eiravelle because she doesn’t demand anything in return from her little sister.
She did not ask for gratitude, did not ask for loyalty, and she did not ask for anything. She simply loved, and that love was enough. Qazaethel thought of her own relationship with her mother, of the expectations and the demands and the constant pressure to be something she was not.
She thought of the way her mother had tried to control her, to use her, to mold her into a weapon. And she thought of Eiravelle, who had never known that kind of love, who had only ever known Arielle’s unwavering devotion.
It made her feel something she could not name. Envy, perhaps. Or longing. Or a grief for something she had never had and would never have. She had spent five thousand years building walls around her heart, protecting herself from the kind of vulnerability that Arielle and Eiravelle shared so freely.
And now, watching them, she wondered if those walls had been worth it.
Ruthina was still laying her head on Dawn’s lap, and both omegas looked away as they cried watching the two sisters reunite again. The scene was too intimate, too raw, and it made something ache in both of them.
Dawn thought of her own family, of the parents she had left behind in Ashrein, of the sister she had not seen in years. She thought of the way she had been sent away, traded like a bargaining chip, and she felt a pang of longing for the kind of love that Arielle and Eiravelle shared.
She had never had that. Her family had loved her, in their own way, but it had always been conditional. Conditional on her obedience, on her performance, on her willingness to do what was expected of her.
She had never had someone who loved her simply because she existed, or simply because she was who she was. And watching Arielle hold Eiravelle, watching the way she whispered comfort into her sister’s hair, Dawn felt something inside her crack.
"Oh God, why is the breeze so warm? It’s making my eyes wet." Dawn said as she cleared her throat, trying to pretend that she was not crying. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming.
Ruthina wiped her tears and buried her eyes on Dawn’s lap. The empress didn’t mind but she was still crying. The golden rabbit’s fur was soft against her fingers, and she found herself stroking it absentmindedly, drawing comfort from the warmth of the small creature.
The sun continued to set, the sky was shifting from orange to purple to deep blue. The stars began to appear, one by one, scattered across the darkness like diamonds.
The garden was quiet, save for the soft sounds of crying and the gentle creak of the swings.
Arielle pulled back slightly, looking at Eiravelle’s tear-streaked face. She reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her sister’s forehead, her touch gentle and tender. "You look tired," she said softly. "Have you been sleeping well?"
Eiravelle shook her head. "Not really. The baby keeps me up at night. And my mind... it won’t stop racing."
Arielle nodded. "I understand. But you need to rest, Eivy. For yourself and for the child." She paused, her expression was shifting to something more serious. "And you need to eat. You’re too thin."
Eiravelle looked down at her hands, at the small swell of her belly. "I know. I’m trying. It’s just... Hard."
"I know it is," Arielle said. "But you’re not alone. You have me and the Sovereign. We’re all here for you, Eivy. You just have to let us in."
Eiravelle nodded, a small, tentative nod. It was not a promise, not yet. But it was a start.
The two sisters sat on the swings for a long time, talking about small things—the weather, the garden, the food they had eaten.
They talked about memories from their childhood, about the games they had played, the secrets they had shared. They laughed, and they cried, and they held each other. And for a little while, the world felt small and safe, as if nothing bad could ever touch them again.
Qazaethel watched from the pavilion, her heart was full of something she could not name. She had never had a sister. She had never had anyone who loved her the way Arielle loved Eiravelle.
But watching them, she felt something shift inside her. She wanted that. She wanted that kind of love, that kind of devotion, that kind of connection. And she knew, with a certainty that surprised her, that she would do anything to protect it.
She would protect Eiravelle. She would protect Arielle. She would protect the bond they shared. And she would protect the child growing inside Eiravelle, the innocent life that had not asked to be born into this world of politics and power and pain.
Liv stood beside her, silent and watchful. She understood. She had always understood. And she reached out and took Qazaethel’s hand, squeezing gently.
"They’re going to be okay," Liv said quietly.
Qazaethel nodded. "I know. But I’m going to make sure of it."
The night deepened, and the garden was quiet. The lanterns glowed, the stars shone, and the two sisters sat on the swings, holding each other, and holding on.