The cart rolled through the valley, wheels creaking against the stone path, the wind brushing past their faces like a whisper of old memories.
They were all quiet.
Tense.
The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a strange stillness — not fear, but reflection.
Elaine looked down, fingers curled in her lap.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "For everything. The chaos… the danger. It was all because of me."
No one spoke at first.
Then Carmine reached over and squeezed her hand.
Marco nodded. "It was worth it."
Colden smiled. "You're not the same person who caused the chaos. You're the one who chose to leave it behind."
Elaine blinked, tears welling.
Francis looked out the window, his voice low. "Sometimes the mess is the proof that we're alive."
Windmere appeared on the horizon — tall, regal, familiar.
The palace gates opened.
Maids rushed out, smiles wide, eyes glistening. They bowed, they cheered, they whispered.
"They're back."
"They made it."
"They're safe."
The group stepped down from the cart, feet touching the stone courtyard like a homecoming.
Dinner was prepared quickly — warm bread, roasted vegetables, spiced wine, and of course, pastries.
They sat together at the long table.
Elaine looked at her plate, but her mind was elsewhere.
She thought of August — his quiet strength, his conflicted eyes, the way he'd stepped aside for her.
They had been close.
Closer than she realized.
Francis, too, was quiet.
He thought of the moment he'd locked eyes with August — something had stirred in him, something he hadn't named yet.
And at the far end of the table, Marco and Colden held hands.
No words.
Just warmth.
The dinner began.
And for the first time in days, they all breathed.
To be continued…