A New Day with the Queen

After only a few hours of restless sleep, Gregor was awakened by a loud knock on his door. A guard stepped in, his armor gleaming in the torchlight. In a voice both formal and firm, he declared, “The Queen will dine with you in one hour. I will return to escort you to the royal family’s dining room.” Without waiting for a reply, the man turned sharply on his heel and shut the door behind him, leaving Gregor blinking in the silence.

Gregor dressed slowly, his thoughts heavier than the crown he had seen placed upon Luxa the night before. He had expected to see her again, but not like this—summoned, as though he were both honored guest and subject at once. He ran a hand through his hair, choosing the cleanest shirt he had carried down from the Overland. When the guard returned, Gregor followed him through corridors he remembered only in fragments: the echo of boots on polished stone, the flicker of torches, the way the air seemed both colder and sharper than anything above ground.

The dining chamber was smaller than he expected—no sprawling banquet hall, but a long table dressed simply with bread, fruit, and a roasted bird that filled the air with savory warmth. At its head sat Luxa, wearing no crown now, only a plain violet tunic that softened her regal bearing. She rose when he entered, and for a moment the stiffness of royalty fell away.

“Gregor,” she said, and the sound of his name was enough to make him forget the guard at his back.

He bowed, awkward as always. “Your Majesty.”

Her lips twitched in something between amusement and irritation. “I asked you last night not to call me that.” She gestured to the seat beside her. “Sit. We have much to speak of.”

Gregor lowered himself into the chair, uncertain where to begin. Luxa reached for the bread, tearing off a piece with sharp movements, as though the very act of eating could tame the storm inside her. “Your coming here has stirred the Council,” she said finally. “They wonder why I summoned you. Some believe it was sentiment. Others believe I intend to place you among them, as an advisor.”

Gregor blinked. “An advisor? I don’t even live here anymore. I barely understand the laws of the Overland, much less those of Regalia.”

Her eyes lifted to his, fierce and unflinching. “And yet, you understand more than most. You have seen war. You have seen peace attempted. You have lost and won, and you have chosen to return. That is wisdom no Council member can claim.”

The words lodged in his chest. He had expected reproach, perhaps formality, but not trust. Not faith.

“Luxa… I didn’t come here for politics. I came because—well, because you asked. Because I couldn’t stay away.”

Something softened in her gaze, and for the first time since his arrival, she looked less like a queen and more like the girl he remembered: fierce, vulnerable, carrying too much. “And I asked because I could not bear to face this throne alone. Not without one who knew me before it.”

Silence settled, filled only by the clink of plates and the distant hum of Regalia beyond the walls. Gregor felt the years collapsing between them—not erased, but bridged.

They spoke then of smaller things: of Boots, who had learned her letters; of Howard, who now led a wing of the Regalian guard; and of Nerissa, whose visions still unsettled the Council but guided them more often than they admitted. Gregor listened, asked questions, and found himself smiling at Luxa’s dry humor and sharp wit, which had not dulled with time. For every shadow in her eyes, there was still light enough to remind him of why he had once followed her into battle without question.

When at last the plates were cleared and the torches burned low, Luxa leaned closer. “Tomorrow, if you are willing, I would walk with you. Not in the halls of marble, but in the tunnels. I would show you what has become of the Underland since you left.”

Gregor felt his pulse quicken, not with dread, but with something dangerously close to anticipation. “I’d like that,” he said quietly.

Her smile was faint, but genuine. “Then it is settled. At dawn, the Queen will walk with her Overlander.”

As he rose to leave, escorted once more by the silent guard, Gregor looked back. Luxa remained seated at the table, her hands folded, her gaze following him. For all her crowns and councils, for all her titles and duties, she looked—for just an instant—like a friend reaching across a chasm of years.

And Gregor knew that tomorrow’s walk would not be a matter of politics or ceremony alone. It would be the first step into whatever future bound them still.