She fell silent for a moment as she stepped down and stood on the soft red fabric. Her eyes slowly wandered across the faces around her, some she hadn’t seen in so long, and others she didn’t recognize at all.
When she finally looked up at the manor, her breath caught in her throat. It still looked almost exactly the same as when she had last seen it.
Well, of course it did! In this lifetime, she had only been gone to Noctvaris for a few months, and yet... standing here now, it felt like she was returning after a lifetime away.
The flowers in the front garden had long withered, buried beneath a soft blanket of snow. Still, the sight brought back memories of the days when Primrose would walk through the garden, breathing in the sweet scent of blossoms every time she argued with her father or needed to clear her head.
Even the day before she was sent to Noctvaris—after a terrible fight with Lazarus—she had wandered through that same garden more than twenty times, pacing in circles until her feet ached.
Not far from there, she noticed a swing hanging from the old oak tree, its ropes stiff with frost.
It was her childhood swing, the one she had used nearly every day growing up. Even after she became an adult, she still loved to sit there, gently swaying back and forth as she watched the stars or listened to the rustle of leaves.
Now, the swing was buried under snow, the seat frozen solid, like a perfect reflection of Primrose herself, who had been gone for so long that all her memories here felt frozen in time.
For a brief moment, she could almost see her younger self everywhere; running through the garden, laughing, waving at her friends as they visited, or crouching beside the maids to discuss what flowers should be planted next.
Three years.
She had been away from home for more than three years, long enough that she had almost forgotten the life she once had here, the life she lived before being forced to become the living truce between two races.
"L-Lady Primrose, what’s wrong?" one of the maids, Layla, asked nervously when Primrose didn’t say anything.
Her worry deepened when her lady suddenly crouched down, covered her face, and began crying so loudly that everyone could hear.
"My Lady, what’s wrong?!"
"Did we not make the red carpet long enough for you?!"
They all rushed toward her, but all movement stopped the instant Edmund stepped out of the carriage.
[I-Is she crying because the Lycan King did something awful to her before they arrived?!]
[What is he going to do now?! Is he angry because she’s crying?!]
[I won’t let him hurt her again! I’ll never let Lady Primrose return to Noctvaris!]
But before anyone could act, they saw something none of them could have imagined.
The mighty Lycan King knelt down beside their lady, gently patting her back. Then, to their utter shock, Primrose threw herself into his arms, sobbing against his chest.
"What’s wrong?" he asked softly, so gently that everyone froze in disbelief. "You’re home now... so why are you crying?"
The two of them kept whispering back and forth, their words soft and playful.
The guards and maids standing nearby exchanged uneasy glances, unsure if they should keep watching or look away. Somehow, the fear they once felt toward the terrifying King of Beasts had completely disappeared.
When they looked toward the Noctvaris soldiers, the beasts only sighed and shook their heads, as if to say, ’Yeah... we see this every day.’
Finally, after what felt like forever, the manor’s butler, Denish Lennox, cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Your Majesties, forgive me for interrupting, but it seems the snow will start falling again soon. It would be best if you came inside the manor now."
Primrose and Edmund lifted their heads, turning toward the butler, who was about the same age as Lazarus. Primrose was the first to rise to her feet, followed—somewhat awkwardly—by Edmund, who stood beside her like a dutiful husband.
"Mr. Lennox! Why are you being so formal with me?" Primrose wiped her tears and smiled brightly at the middle-aged man. "I’ve missed you so much!"
Denish’s lips curved slightly as he replied, "You are no longer our young lady, but the Queen of Noctvaris, Your Majesty. It’s only proper that I show the right respect."
Primrose sighed softly. She’d been called by that title for years, but hearing it from someone she’d known since childhood made her chest tighten. It just felt... distant.
"Don’t be so formal," she said, slipping her arm through his like she used to when she was younger. "You can call me the same way you always have, at least while we’re in this house. Please don’t make me feel like a stranger in my own home."
Denish’s eyes softened instantly, the stern look on his face melting into warmth. "If that’s what you wish, My Lady," he said gently.
"So..." Primrose smiled sweetly, though her eyes gleamed with mock annoyance. "Where is my dear father? How dare he not come out to greet his daughter at the gate?"

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