"General, was the preparation security for welcome celebration of the golden rabbit already set?" Arielle asked, and as they walk, Liv smiled and nodded. The corridors of the main palace were busy with servants and guards moving in every direction, carrying linens and flowers and trays of food in preparation for the celebration.
The air hummed with quiet urgency, the kind of controlled chaos that preceded any major event in the imperial palace. Arielle had been running errands all morning, checking on the decorations and the seating arrangements and the endless list of details that needed to be perfect for the Golden Rabbit’s welcome celebration.
She had not slept well the night before, her mind consumed with thoughts of Ruthina, but she had forced herself to focus on the tasks at hand. There would be time for personal matters later. There had to be.
"Of course. The Empress was strict about it, how could I slack off?" Liv said, clearly sarcastic about it. The general walked with her usual confident stride, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her sword, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of the corridor as they passed.
She had been tasked with overseeing the security for the celebration, a responsibility that she took seriously despite her flippant tone. The Golden Rabbit was a sacred being, and any threat to her safety would be dealt with swiftly and without mercy.
Liv had personally selected the guards, had walked the perimeter of the celebration grounds three times, had made sure that every possible entry point was covered. She was many things—sarcastic, irreverent, occasionally insubordinate—but she was not careless.
"Hahaha, I knew it. You don’t listen much to Qazaethel but listen much to the Empress." Arielle said, and Liv shrugged with an unapologetic grin. It was true. Qazaethel was the sovereign, the dragon ruler, the most powerful being in the realm.
But Dawn was the one Liv had sworn to protect, the one she had loved since childhood, the one who had given her a reason to care about something other than war and duty. The distinction was not lost on anyone who knew them.
"Why? It’s not like I’m the one who never confesses their feelings hahaha." Liv teased, and Arielle shook her head. The words hit closer to home than Liv probably realized, and Arielle felt a familiar flush rise to her cheeks.
She had been thinking about Ruthina constantly, had been replaying their picnic in her mind over and over, had been trying to find the right moment to say the words that had been building in her chest for weeks. But the right moment never seemed to come. There was always something else—a celebration to plan, a crisis to manage, a sister to worry about.
"Stop that, Ruthina doesn’t know anything about my feelings." She said, and Liv nodded in understanding. The general’s teasing was good-natured, but there was a knowing look in her eyes that made Arielle uncomfortable. Liv had always been perceptive, had always been able to see through the masks that people wore. It was one of the things that made her such a good general, and such an annoying friend.
"I don’t know when do you want to confess but if I were you, I won’t stay virgin till thirty." Liv said, and Arielle opened her mouth to retort, to defend herself, to say something that would wipe the smug grin off Liv’s face.
But before she could speak, they got into the throne room entrance, the guards opened the door and the sight that greeted them is not something they had anticipated. The words died on Arielle’s lips, and she felt her heart lurch in her chest.
Dawn and Ruthina was trying to comfort Qazaethel as she cry. The sovereign of Solkanaia, the dragon ruler who had conquered nations and crushed rebellions and ruled with an iron fist for centuries, was sitting on the edge of her throne with tears streaming down her face.
Her shoulders shook with sobs, her hands clutching a handkerchief that was already soaked through, and her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps that echoed through the vast throne room. Dawn stood on one side, her hand resting on Qazaethel’s shoulder, and her expression a mixture of concern and exasperation.
Ruthina was on the other side, her small arms wrapped around Qazaethel’s waist, her face pressed against the sovereign’s side in a gesture of pure, innocent comfort.
Liv immediately close the door behind her and Arielle approached. The general’s playful demeanor vanished in an instant, replaced by the sharp, focused attention of a soldier assessing a threat. She scanned the room, looking for any sign of danger, any indication that the sovereign’s tears were the result of something more than personal distress. But there was nothing. No enemies, no assassins, no threats. Just Qazaethel, crying like a child who had lost her favorite toy.
"Your majesty, are you okay?" Arielle asked, and Qazaethel kept crying against the handkerchief. The sovereign did not respond, did not even seem to hear the question. She was lost in her own grief, consumed by a pain that Arielle could only guess at.
"What happened?" Liv asked, her voice was sharp with concern as she approached. She had never seen Qazaethel like this. In all the years she had served the sovereign, through wars and political crises and personal losses, she had never once seen Qazaethel cry. The dragon sovereign does not cry. She raged, she burned, she destroyed. But she does not weep.
"Well, Eiravelle told her to visit some other time." Dawn answered, and both Liv and Arielle was taken aback. The words were simple, but they carried a weight that made the room feel heavier. Eiravelle had sent Qazaethel away. Eiravelle, who adored Qazaethel, who looked at the sovereign with eyes full of love and trust, had told her to leave.
"That’s it?" Liv was trying to make sense of it. She had expected something catastrophic, something world-shattering. But this? This was just a lover’s quarrel, a minor disagreement that could be resolved with a few words and a sincere apology. Surely the sovereign of Solkanaia, the dragon who had faced down armies and emerged victorious, was not reduced to tears by a simple rejection.
"No, that’s not it. Saintess doesn’t want to see her, and she became cold. Dragon said what happened and now we felt bad for her." Ruthina said as she hug Qazaethel. The rabbit spirit’s voice was soft, filled with genuine sympathy, and she pressed herself closer to the crying sovereign as though trying to transfer some of her own warmth into Qazaethel’s trembling body.
Arielle had to compose herself from jealousy as Ruthina embrace Qazaethel. She knew it was petty, knew it was childish, knew that Ruthina was simply being kind. But watching the rabbit she loved hold another alpha—even in distress—made something ugly twist in her chest. She forced herself to breathe, to focus on the situation at hand, to push the jealousy aside. There would be time to examine that particular wound later.
"I don’t know what I did today, I was just trying to give her a basket of fruits." Qazaethel wailed, she was sobbing loudly. The sound was raw and unguarded, the sound of someone whose heart had been broken in a way they did not understand. Qazaethel had faced down dragons, had crushed rebellion, had ruled an empire with an iron fist.
But a single cold word from Eiravelle had shattered her completely. The realization was almost enough to make Liv laugh, but she held it back. This was not the time for humor.
Liv sigh, "Qaz, you should know that Eiravelle is pregnant. Maybe she’s not in the mood." Liv said, and Qazaethel stopped for a bit. The sovereign’s sobs quieted, replaced by a hiccupping sniffle as she processed the words. Her red-rimmed eyes looked up at Liv with something that resembled hope—fragile, tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, she had not lost everything.
"Really?" Qaz, her voice was small, vulnerable, and it made Arielle’s heart ache despite herself. This was not the sovereign she knew. This was a woman stripped bare, her defenses had crumbled and her walls had collapsed. This was a woman who was terrified of losing the person she loved.
"Oh! Yes, I forgot about that. Pregnant omegas had a volatile mood swings, so it’s not that Eiravelle doesn’t want you, it’s just that her mood swings are not stable these days. Especially she’s almost seven months pregnant." Dawn explained and Qazaethel finally stopped crying and wipe her tears.
But her eyes are still puffy and red. The words were practical, logical, the kind of calm reassurance that Dawn was so good at providing. She had been through this before, had watched omegas in the palace navigate the turbulent waters of pregnancy, had seen how their emotions could shift from joy to despair in the span of a single breath.
"Really? She’s not mad at me?" Qazaethel’s voice was small, hopeful, and she looked at the four of them with an expression that was almost childlike in its vulnerability. The four of them shook their heads and said in unison: "no."
The response was immediate, unanimous, a chorus of reassurance that seemed to finally penetrate the fog of Qazaethel’s despair. The sovereign let out a shaky breath and wiped at her eyes with the handkerchief, though the tears had already stopped.
Liv crossed her arms against her chest, her earlier concern giving way to a more familiar, teasing demeanor. "Qaz, I didn’t know you cry so ugly like this." She said, and both Arielle and Liv laughed about the statement. The laughter was not cruel, not mocking.
It was the laughter of friends who had seen each other at their worst, who knew that sometimes the only way to heal was to find humor in the absurdity of it all. Dawn and Ruthina have to stop themselves from the joke. Qazaethel slightly pout and look away, "shut up, you know nothing." Qazaethel’s voice drop lower, but not the predatory voice she always carry. It was softer, almost petulant, and it made Arielle smile despite herself.
"Come on, stop crying. You look like a fool. Why don’t you go and bring her some flowers? You still have more time to chase her before the start of the welcome celebration for Golden Rabbit." Liv said, and Arielle nodded in agreement. The advice was sound. Flowers would not fix everything, but they were a start. They were a gesture, a peace offering, a way to show Eiravelle that Qazaethel cared without the pressure of a conversation.
"Yes, your majesty. She likes daffodils." Arielle said, and Qazaethel slowly nodded as she take their advice. The sovereign’s mind was already turning, already planning. She would go to the gardens, would pick the most beautiful daffodils she could find, would bring them to Eiravelle with a sincere apology and a promise to be patient. She would not push. She would not demand. She would simply be there, waiting, until Eiravelle was ready to talk.
"Qazaethel, come on. Tough it up. It’s not like you never experience having your omega concubines bear your children." Dawn said, and the words were meant to be reassuring, a reminder that Qazaethel had been through this before, that she knew what to expect. But the sovereign’s response stopped her cold.
"Well. I was never there during their pregnancy." Qazaethel said, and all of them stayed silent. The words hung in the air like a confession, heavy with guilt and regret. Qazaethel had been a distant sovereign, had never allowed herself to be close to her concubines, had never given them the comfort and care that a pregnant omega needed.
She had provided for them, had ensured they had the best physicians and the finest food and every comfort money could buy. But she had not been there. She had not held their hands or kissed their foreheads or promised them that everything would be alright. She had not loved them. And now, with Eiravelle, she wanted to do better. She wanted to be better.
"Then... Uhm..." Dawn tried to say something, her mind racing for the right words. She had not expected this, had not anticipated the depth of Qazaethel’s regret. She had thought she was offering comfort, but instead, she had uncovered a wound that had been festering for years. "Do... Do something about it!" Dawn said, her voice was slightly desperate. It was not the most eloquent advice, but it was all she could think of. Do something. Be better. Be there.
"Yes, I will try." Qazaethel said, and walk out of the throne room. The sovereign’s footsteps were quick and determined, her earlier despair replaced by a quiet resolve. She would go to the gardens. She would pick the daffodils. She would go to Eiravelle’s palace and wait. And she would not give up. Not until Eiravelle smiled at her again. Not until she had proven that she could be the partner that the omega deserved.
"Well, at least we all know she cry ugly." Liv said once again. The general’s voice was light, teasing, but there was a warmth beneath it that spoke of fondness and loyalty. She had seen her sovereign at her lowest, had watched her cry like a child over a lover’s quarrel, and she had not judged. She had simply been there, offering advice and laughter and the steady presence of a friend.
Dawn rolled her eyes and elbowed Liv in the ribs, though there was no real force behind the gesture. "You’re terrible," she said, but she was smiling. They all were. The tension of the moment had broken, replaced by the easy camaraderie that had always existed between them.
They were not just advisors and generals and consorts. They were friends. They were family. And in a palace full of secrets and lies and endless political machinations, that was a rare and precious thing.
Arielle looked at the door through which Qazaethel had disappeared and felt a strange sense of hope. If the sovereign—the dragon sovereign who had ruled for centuries with an iron fist—could humble herself to pick flowers and wait patiently for forgiveness, then perhaps there was hope for all of them.
Perhaps there was hope that love, real and honest and vulnerable, could survive in this palace of power and ambition. Perhaps there was hope that she, too, could find the courage to confess her feelings to Ruthina.
She glanced at the golden rabbit, who was still standing near the throne with a slightly confused expression on her face. Ruthina had not understood much of what had happened, but she had understood that Qazaethel was sad and that she had been there to help.
That was what mattered. That was what made Ruthina special. She did not care about politics or power or the endless games that the court played. She cared about people. She cared about their pain and their joy and their hope. And Arielle loved her for it.
"Come on," Arielle said, reaching out to take Ruthina’s hand. "We should finish preparing for the celebration. We can’t let the Golden Rabbit’s welcome party be a disaster."
Ruthina beamed at her, the confusion fading into excitement. "Okay! What else needs to be done? Can I help? I want to help!"
Arielle laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Of course you can help. Come on, I’ll show you."