The Queen's Mage

Chapter 120: I Know

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

The room felt different now.

Not because anything had changed.

Because nothing else was waiting for either of them.

The council could not interrupt.

Everly had gone to bed.

Mara had, with suspicious generosity, vanished.

It was simply...

Quiet.

Allandra rested one hand lightly against the stone beside the hidden passage.

“I believe,” she said, “I have completed the least dignified journey of my reign.”

Serali smiled. “I keep imagining the Queen of Avalusia trying to hurry without looking like she’s hurrying.”

Allandra covered her face briefly with one hand. “The servants were exceptionally polite.”

“Oh?”

“They all became fascinated by entirely different parts of the corridor as I passed.”

Serali laughed. “So they absolutely saw you.”

“Oh, certainly.”

“And they pretended not to.”

“They are professionals.”

Serali’s smile faded by a degree. “Is that all right?”

Allandra lowered her hand. “That they saw me?”

“That they know where you were going.” Serali glanced toward the closed door. “We are meant to be keeping this secret.”

“The bond,” Allandra said. “We are keeping the bond secret.”

Serali looked back at her.

“I trust my household to keep my confidence,” Allandra continued. “But even if a few servants conclude that the queen and her Royal Mage are lovers, that is a rumor the palace can survive.”

“And mates?”

Allandra’s expression sobered. “That would not remain a rumor. It would become evidence. Enchantment. Compromised judgment. A foreign claim on the Mantle. Every fear the council already has, given a name and sharpened.”

Serali folded her arms. “So scandal is acceptable. Ancient magical destiny is not.”

“Scandal is familiar. Courts know how to digest it.”

“And mate bonds?”

“They choke.”

Serali considered that, then nodded. “Comforting.”

“I thought so.”

“I suspect the servants are also gossiping.”

“I imagine the kitchens will have reconstructed my route by breakfast.”

“I hope they’ve exaggerated it.”

“I rather suspect they have.”

Serali’s smile returned. “I do like the image.”

“Which image?”

“You, attempting to appear completely unhurried while secretly trying to reach my rooms.”

Allandra looked at her. “I wasn’t trying very hard to hide my destination.”

“No?”

“I was trying to preserve everyone’s dignity.”

Serali tilted her head. “That seems impossible.”

“It probably was.”

The laughter settled naturally into a quieter silence.

Allandra’s gaze drifted to Serali.

To the violet dress.

Recognition flickered immediately.

”You changed.”

”I did.”

”The blue gown...”

”...was folded carefully away before I spilled tea on it.”

”I approve of that.”

Serali glanced down at the violet skirts. ”I considered wearing the gray.”

”But?”

”But then I remembered.”

She looked back up.

”The first time I wore this.”

Allandra laughed softly under her breath. ”I remember.”

”You looked as though someone had struck you.”

”I was trying very hard not to.”

”You failed.”

”I failed rather completely.”

Serali smiled. ”Mara noticed.”

”Mara absolutely noticed.”

”She didn’t say anything.”

”No.”

They both remembered the faint, impossibly satisfied expression Mara had worn while pretending to adjust the hem.

Serali shook her head.

”I think she considered it one of her finer achievements.”

”I believe she still does.”

Another comfortable pause.

”I chose it because...”

Serali hesitated.

Then sighed.

”...because I knew you liked it.”

Allandra’s expression softened in a way that immediately made Serali wonder if admitting that had been unfair.

”I do.”

”I know.”

”You said that earlier.”

”I know.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Serali’s mouth.

”I surprised myself.”

”I noticed.”

”When I first came here...” Serali said quietly, ”...I couldn’t imagine believing someone if they said I looked beautiful.”

Allandra remained very still.

”I believed they wanted something.”

The words landed gently.

Matter-of-fact.

Not bitter anymore.

”Today...”

Serali looked down at the violet sleeve beneath her fingertips.

”I believed you.”

Silence settled between them.

Warm.

Unhurried.

Allandra crossed the small distance separating them.

Not close enough to touch.

Not yet.

”I’m glad.”

”So am I.”

The quiet settled around them again.

Neither hurried to fill it.

Allandra studied Serali for another heartbeat.

Then she smiled.

”Come closer.”

The words were soft.

Steady.

Not hesitant.

Not apologetic.

Simply spoken as though she trusted they could exist between them.

Serali felt something flutter low in her chest.

Not fear.

Nothing like fear.

Only the strange awareness that Allandra had stopped shrinking herself.

She liked the sound of it.

More than she had expected.

She crossed the remaining distance.

Allandra waited until she stood within arm’s reach before lifting one hand.

Slowly.

Giving Serali every opportunity to stop her.

She didn’t.

Warm fingers brushed a loose strand of black hair behind Serali’s ear before resting lightly against her cheek.

”There you are.”

Serali smiled. ”I’ve been here the whole time.”

”I know.”

Allandra’s thumb traced the edge of her jaw.

”I think...” She laughed quietly at herself. ”I’m finally beginning to believe that.”

Serali frowned. ”Believe what?”

”That if you didn’t want this...”

Her hand remained exactly where it was.

”...you would tell me.”

Serali covered Allandra’s hand with her own. ”I would.”

”I know.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

”You hesitated.”

”I did.”

Allandra looked faintly embarrassed. ”I’ve spent so long trying to make certain I never asked too much that I’m having to relearn what certainty feels like.”

Serali was quiet for a moment. ”I noticed.”

”I imagine you did.”

”You’ve always asked.”

”I needed to.”

”You did.”

She smiled gently.

”And sometimes... I needed you to.”

The admission hung between them.

”When I first came here,” Serali continued, ”I didn’t know if I was allowed to want things.”

Allandra’s expression softened. ”I know.”

”I needed every choice.”

”You still have every choice.”

”I do.”

Serali squeezed her hand lightly.

”And that’s why...”

She searched for the words. ”...I think I like it.”

Allandra blinked. ”...Like what?”

”When you tell me what you want.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.

Only surprised.

Serali laughed softly. ”I wasn’t expecting to say that aloud.”

”I’m very glad you did.”

”I think...”

She looked down at their joined hands. ”I spent so long having choices taken from me that I thought being asked all the time was the only way I could ever feel safe.”

She looked back up. ”But that’s not actually it.”

”No?”

Serali shook her head. ”I feel safe because I know I can say no.”

The words came with increasing certainty.

”Which means...”

A shy smile tugged at her mouth. ”...sometimes I like saying yes.”

Allandra’s breath caught.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for Serali to notice.

”I don’t think I’ll ever stop asking for your consent.”

”I don’t want you to.”

”No?”

”No.”

Serali’s smile warmed. ”But you don’t always have to ask as though you’re apologizing for existing.”

Allandra laughed. ”I’ve been doing that, haven’t I?”

”A little.”

”A great deal?”

”A heroic amount.”

”I see.”

”You can tell me to come closer.”

”I just did.”

”You did.”

”And you came.”

”I liked that.”

Allandra searched her face carefully. ”You did?”

Serali nodded.

”As long as...”

She lifted one finger between them. ”...it always remains something I can refuse.”

”It will.”

”I know.”

”And as long as you remember that I’m choosing it.”

”I will.”

Serali’s shoulders relaxed.

”Then...”

A faint flush touched her cheeks. ”...I rather like when you tell me what to do.”

For a heartbeat, Allandra simply looked at her.

Not because she doubted what she’d heard.

Because she understood what it had cost Serali to say it.

She leaned forward just enough for their foreheads to rest together. ”Thank you.”

Serali laughed quietly. ”That wasn’t quite the response I expected.”

”No?”

”I thought you might look...” She gestured vaguely. ”...smug.”

”I feel a little smug.”

”I knew it.”

”But mostly...”

Allandra closed her eyes for a moment. ”...I’m honored.”

Serali’s expression softened. ”You really are different.”

”Am I?”

”You trust me now.”

Allandra opened her eyes. ”Yes.”

The answer came without hesitation.

”I trust you to tell me the truth.”

She brushed her thumb lightly across Serali’s cheek.

”And I trust myself to hear it.”

Serali leaned into the touch almost without thinking.

”There you are,” Allandra murmured again.

This time, Serali didn’t answer with a joke.

She simply smiled. ”I know.”

The words settled between them with quiet certainty.

Not confidence borrowed from someone else.

Her own.

Allandra’s thumb brushed gently across her cheek one last time.

”May I kiss you?”

The question came without hesitation now.

Not because she doubted the answer.

Because asking had become part of how they loved one another.

Serali smiled.

”You may.”

Allandra lifted a hand to cup Serali’s cheek once more before bending to meet her.

The kiss was slow.

Unhurried.

Peaceful.

Like something they had chosen together.

Serali’s hands found the front of Allandra’s dress, fingers curling lightly into the fabric as she leaned into the kiss. One of Allandra’s arms slipped carefully around her waist, drawing her just a little closer, not enough to trap her, only enough to erase the remaining space between them.

The bond answered with quiet warmth.

Not demanding.

Simply content.

When they finally parted, neither went very far.

Serali hesitated for only a heartbeat before taking the last small step forward.

She rested her forehead, and then the side of her face, lightly against Allandra’s chest.

She could hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath layers of linen and embroidered wool.

It was reassuringly ordinary.

Allandra’s breath caught.

Slowly, carefully, one arm settled around Serali’s waist while the other remained resting lightly against her shoulder, holding her without presuming she wished to be held tighter.

After a moment, Allandra lowered her cheek to the top of Serali’s hair.

Neither of them spoke.

”I think,” Serali said, her voice slightly muffled against Allandra’s dress, ”I’m beginning to understand why Mara keeps finding reasons to leave us alone.”

Allandra laughed, the sound vibrating gently beneath Serali’s cheek.

”I suspect she’s understood it for rather longer than we have.”

”I may owe her an apology.”

”For doubting her motives?”

”For assuming she was only interested in dresses.”

”I don’t believe Mara has ever been interested in only dresses.”

”No.” Serali smiled. ”I don’t think she has.”

Another comfortable silence settled between them.

Outside, the palace had grown almost completely still.

The fire crackled softly beside them.

Allandra glanced toward the hearth, then her gaze lingered, almost shyly, on the bed tucked into its alcove.

When she looked back, there was a question in her eyes this time rather than on her lips.

Serali followed her gaze.

A familiar flutter of nervousness stirred in her chest.

It was still new.

She was still uncertain.

But uncertainty no longer meant fear.

She looked back at Allandra. ”I want you to stay.”

The words came quietly.

Entirely of her own choosing.

Allandra searched her face for a long moment, finding only calm certainty there.

Then she smiled, a smile warmer than any title or crown had ever earned her.

She offered her hand.

Serali slipped her fingers into Allandra’s without hesitation.

”Come with me,” she said.

”Gladly.”

Together, hand in hand, they crossed the room.

The firelight followed them, casting long shadows across the floor as the quiet of the evening wrapped gently around them.

Behind them, the hidden door remained closed.

Ahead of them, there was nothing left to prove.

Only the simple, extraordinary freedom of choosing one another.

Chapter 121: You Will be My Sun

Serali reached the bedside first, her fingers brushing the coverlet as if it were a new boundary she was still testing.

She didn’t let go of Allandra’s hand, but she did pause, turned to face her, and searched her face for any of the old traces of restraint, the careful calculation of risk and consequence that had governed every interaction between them.

There was only quiet anticipation, and a restraint so gentle that it felt like a kind of gravity rather than a shackle.

Allandra, for her part, was acutely aware of how small the room had become. The world beyond the door felt impossibly distant: the court, the council, the obligations, and the thousand ways one could be seen or misunderstood. Here, there was only the crackle of the fire, the creak of old wood, and the awareness of Serali’s pulse beating against her palm.

For a heartbeat, they stood in the hush, hands still tangled, the silence delicate as spun glass.

Serali glanced at the lamps: three, burning low, their halos of light gold against the blue dusk beyond the window. She hesitated. Then, with a tiny, unmistakable gesture, she summoned her magic.

It had been returning by degrees in the weeks since the iron anklet was removed. Each day, the shadows answered a little faster and held their shape a little longer. But the damage from the iron remained, a rough place in the connection where power caught, scattered, or simply refused to come.

Tonight, it came easily.

Not effortlessly. Never that.

But more readily than it had that morning, or the day before, or during any of her solitary practice. Standing close enough to feel Allandra’s warmth, with their hands still joined and the bond resting open between them, Serali did not have to reach so far.

She noticed.

So did Allandra.

Neither of them said anything.

The magic happened as quietly as breathing. The shadows along the wainscoting drew together; first a stretching, then a coiling, as if the darkness beneath the bed and behind the wardrobe had been waiting for invitation.

The flame in the first lamp flickered, elongated, then collapsed inward, curling into itself like a living thing before falling dormant. The second lamp followed, darkness drowning its flame in a single deliberate breath. The third, nearest the bed, guttered but held on a little longer, as if unsure whether to yield.

Allandra watched the darkness settle, every line of her posture relaxed. Even so, she said, “You know, I have heard that shadow magic can be... convenient.”

The last word was careful, almost teasing, not a challenge, but an invitation.

Serali let the question hang, watching the single stubborn lamp. “I used to hate the dark,” she said.

Her voice was easy, but not casual. ”Now I think I just hate not having a choice about it.”

Allandra nodded, understanding exactly how that was meant. ”Would you rather leave one on?”

Serali hesitated, then, instead of answering, she reached for the lamp herself. For a moment, her reflection flickered in the glass, odd and doubled, the sharp angles of her face caught between firelight and shadow.

She turned down the wick so the flame dwindled to a pinprick and winked out. Her hand lingered on the glass, the memory of heat a small, private shorthand for the kind of pain that had once been constant.

She did not want to be visible, not entirely.

Not the way the light could lay her open, displaying the map of old injuries across her back and the delicate, roped lines of healed skin along her arms and shoulders.

She knew that Allandra had seen all of them, once, necessity making secrets impossible, but that did not make her any less aware of the way a body continued to carry its history, regardless of intention.

She turned from the lamp, letting her eyes adjust to the dusk. Allandra, still standing a polite pace away, did not reach for her or for the light. The darkness was not a threat, not here. In this room, it was something Serali could command, could shape, could invite in as a thing she chose, and her body did not tense at the absence of light.

”Maybe I don’t need a lamp,” she said. The words were soft, but they hovered in the air like a challenge.

Allandra’s answering smile was a thing of slow-burning confidence, the rare kind that made her look more like herself than any public mask Serali had ever seen.

“No?”

Serali shook her head. In the hush, the motion felt huge, as if declination itself could topple armies.

She drew a breath, ready to defend the old habit of keeping every exit in view, every hand accounted for. But the words that arrived were simpler, truer for their lack of design.

“You will be my sun,” she said, and knew it was absurd, and did not care.

Then she heard herself.

Some dreadful heroine in one of the palace romances would say precisely that before surrendering to fate, passion, or an exceptionally decorative duke. Serali could practically see the sentence printed across a page, surrounded by excessive moonlight.

Her face heated.

She considered taking it back.

Allandra did not laugh.

The smile remained, but something beneath it changed; softened, deepened, became almost solemn.

“All right,” she said.

As if Serali had offered her something sacred rather than stolen dialogue from a badly behaved romance novel.

Serali’s throat tightened.

“You are not supposed to take that seriously.”

“I take you seriously.”

“That was obviously a mistake.”

“Perhaps.” Allandra lifted Serali’s hand and pressed her mouth lightly to the knuckles. “But I will be your sun.”

Allandra released her hand and for a moment, neither of them moved, as if the words themselves contained a gravity that compelled stillness. Then Allandra exhaled, a long, slow breath, and the careful restraint that had always held her at arm’s length fell away.

She closed the distance between them with deliberate slowness, like a tide choosing not to drown but to cradle.Serali let herself be guided onto the bed, the last inch of distance between them gone in the slide of Allandra’s palm along her jaw, the soft exhalation as two foreheads met again, this time with nothing provisional about it. The moment stretched, profound in its silence, the air thick with the slow, patient desire of two people who had spent a lifetime learning to survive in the absence of gentleness.

When Allandra kissed her again, it was with the purposeful certainty of someone who had decided to stop rationing out small pleasures. Serali’s hands bracketed her waist, then her back, then, when she found herself wanting more, the nape of her neck, fingers twining into the coarse gold of Allandra’s hair.

The bond responded, at first with a measured pulse; answering, echoing, lending its heat and its language to every point of contact. The magic was not hungry, not this time. It was attentive. Curious. Patient in a way.

Serali let herself be drawn in, the last of her resistance evaporating with the nearness. Allandra’s arms slid around her, careful but complete, and the world outside the four walls of the room receded until it felt not simply distant but wholly immaterial.

She was aware of her own pulse, rapid but steady, and of the even rise and fall of Allandra’s breath. In the dark, soft as velvet, the awkwardness of the moment fell away and Serali became simply a person, held.

It had been a long time since she had allowed herself the comfort of being held, of being the one who could surrender weight, even for a few heartbeats, and not expect to be punished for it.

She let her head rest against Allandra’s shoulder. The fall of golden hair smelled of clean linen, and something floral, and something sun-warmed that was not perfume but the actual memory of a thousand afternoons outdoors.

Serali stayed like that, housed in the warm hollow between Allandra’s chin and collarbone, letting herself breathe at the rhythm of the queen’s pulse. This was not the hush of anticipation but the hush of privacy, of being seen and not asked to perform, of a sanctuary that did not require ceremony or defense.

Eventually, she spoke. Not even lifting her head, she said, “Do you want anything?”

Allandra, lips curving against the crown of Serali’s hair, answered without preamble. “You.” The word landed heavy, a stone dropped in the quiet of the room, rippling outward and outpacing even the magic that lapped at their boundaries.

The bond flared, real, this time; the heat of it not patient but immediate. It took her by surprise, how the wanting unfurled; quick, hot, and absolute. The sleepy silk of Allandra’s voice, the blunt honesty of the word, the weight of being wanted and not merely allowed, it crashed through her, and Serali felt herself go slick with it, her body prickling in the cool air and the heat between them.

She sucked in a breath and let it out as a sound, small and involuntary.

Allandra’s arms tightened around her; not trapping, not even urging, simply affirming, as if to say that all of Serali, even the parts that shocked herself, were welcome. In the dark, with the fire behind her and the rest of the world shut out, Serali was nothing but nerve endings and yes, and the curve of Allandra’s mouth pressed to her temple.

The bond surged, all pretense of waiting gone. It was want, and giving, and the particular electricity of remembering you could want without hurting anyone. It was a kind of drowning, a rush that made her want to laugh and cry and writhe all at the same time, but above all it was yes: her body, her need, her choice.

If you would like to read the rest of this chapter (all the spicy bits, for this one it is only a few paragraphs at the end), you can find it here on Inkitt: Chapter You Will be My Sun | The Queen’s Mage by Lemon_Tea_With_Honey at Inkitt

Chapter 122: The Echo

This entire chapter is SPICY! If you would like to read, you can find it here on Inkitt: Chapter The Echo | The Queen’s Mage by Lemon_Tea_With_Honey at Inkitt