The scent of roasted beans and vanilla cream danced in the air of the café, where Lysandra sat in her usual corner by the window. A soft breeze passed through the open door, brushing strands of her hair against her cheek. Her fingers curled around a mug of lukewarm coffee, forgotten as she stared out at the street.
Outside, the human world pulsed with life—messy, chaotic, real. No crowns. No sigils. No duty.
She was just Lysandra, the healer from the local clinic.
Not a Moonwell. Not a pawn.
The bell above the door chimed softly. She didn't look up—until a shadow fell across her table.
> "Lady Lysandra Moonwell."
She turned and saw a man standing with a silver crest pinned to his cloak. A retainer of her family's estate. His face was polite, unreadable.
> "A message from your parents," he said, and handed her an envelope sealed in deep crimson wax, the Moonwell sigil gleaming beneath the café light.
She took it slowly.
Her stomach already sank.
---
The Kylan Daikun Proposal
Breaking the seal with a sigh, she unfolded the thick parchment. The handwriting was her father's—elegant, firm, diplomatic.
> "We hope this message finds you well. The Kylan Daikun Clan has extended a proposal of union, a marriage that will strengthen our ties to one of the most influential bloodlines in the northern provinces…"
Her jaw clenched.
The Daikun Clan. Of all families, why them?
They were known for their ambition, their ruthless diplomacy cloaked in charm. A union with them would elevate the Moonwell name politically—but what did she gain from it?
A gilded cage with a new warden.
---
Lysandra folded the letter carefully and placed it on the table. She looked up at the messenger, her eyes calm but firm.
> "Tell them I still don't want it."
The retainer hesitated for a moment. Perhaps he expected tears. Or fear. Or even resignation.
But Lysandra was none of those things anymore.
> "Yes, my lady." He bowed. "I will inform them."
He turned and exited the café without another word.
---
Caught Between Two Worlds
Lysandra sat still.
The letter remained untouched on the table. A symbol of everything she left behind, pressing against everything she had slowly built for herself.
She looked out the window again—at the humans bustling in and out of shops, at children running across the pavement, at two women laughing while sharing a pastry.
Here, she could breathe.
Here, she was not some strategic bride to be traded for influence.
> "I have no interest in marrying power," she murmured to herself, her voice bitter-sweet. "Not after all I've already lost."
She didn't belong to the past anymore.
Not to titles. Not to clans.
And not to a world that had punished her for loving.
---
Lingering Doubts
Still, she knew this wasn't the end of it.
The Kylan Daikun Clan was persistent. And the Moonwells, though loving, were traditional. She had refused several proposals before—but this time, the tone of the letter had shifted. There was pressure behind the words.
A future she didn't want… closing in again.
She reached for her coffee and took a long sip, ignoring the bitter taste.
She wouldn't run.
But she also wouldn't surrender.
The park was alive with the golden warmth of the late afternoon sun. Light filtered gently through the trees, casting soft shadows over the blossoms that danced with the breeze. Lysandra walked slowly along the gravel path, her fingers brushing the petals of each flower she passed.
Their colors, so vibrant and full of life, brought a quiet comfort to her heart.
Here, among the blooms, she didn't feel like a broken memory or a discarded lover.
Here, she simply existed.
She crouched beside a cluster of wild blue roses, her favorite, and smiled softly as she traced the delicate veins on the petals.
> "Still drawn to blue roses, I see."
The voice was familiar—smooth, steady, laced with a teasing warmth that made her chest tighten.
Her eyes widened as she turned slowly.
Standing just a few steps behind her was a tall figure in a tailored dark coat, hair tousled by the breeze, eyes gleaming with amusement.
Kylan Daikun.
Her childhood friend. The boy who once followed her like a shadow, stubbornly offering his heart in a thousand ways.
And now, a man—handsome, composed, his presence just as persistent… and just as gentle.
Lysandra rose to her feet with a stunned smile.
> "Kylan…" she breathed, and before she knew it, she was in his arms.
He held her with quiet familiarity, warm and firm.
> "You're blooming," he whispered near her ear, his smile widening. "Just like these flowers."
She chuckled, her cheek brushing his shoulder.
> "And you haven't changed at all—still too smooth for your own good."
They pulled back slightly, eyes meeting with a soft fondness that only time and shared history could create.
---
Old Friends and Honest Conversations
They walked together, side by side along the park's stone path, with Lysandra occasionally stopping to admire a bloom or giggle at the way Kylan still mispronounced flower names on purpose just to hear her correct him.
> "So," he said eventually, as the air grew quieter between them, "I heard about the marriage proposal."
Lysandra let out a soft sigh, nodding.
> "I already refused it."
> "I know," he said with a smirk. "And I'm not surprised. I wouldn't expect any less from you."
> "You're not offended?"
> "Should I be?" he replied, hands in his pockets. "I've loved you in my own way for years. That's true. But I've also respected you just as long."
His voice was genuine, steady.
> "I don't want a crown if it means placing chains on you," he added, glancing at her. "But… I do think it's time to stop clinging to a ghost."
Lysandra slowed to a stop.
The wind rustled softly around them.
The flower she had been about to touch trembled.
> "Kylan…" her voice wavered.
> "You know who I mean," he said gently, his gaze never cruel. "Prince Caveen. You're still looking back, even when he left you bleeding."
Her hand curled into a fist at her side.
Her smile faded.
> "It's not that simple," she whispered. "You don't know everything that happened."
> "No," Kylan admitted, "but I know the Landon Estate has silenced all news of him. No one knows where he is. What he's doing. Whether he's even alive. It's like he's vanished—erased himself from the world."
Lysandra's heart thudded painfully.
She had tried not to wonder.
Tried not to hope.
But the silence… it had always felt like a knife.
> "I'm not asking you to forget," Kylan said softly, his voice wrapping around her like a warm blanket, "but I am asking you to live. For yourself. Not for someone who chose to disappear."
She didn't respond. Couldn't.
But when she looked at him, her eyes were glassy with unshed tears—and gratitude.
> "Thank you," she murmured. "For being here. For always being here."
Kylan smiled and leaned closer, brushing a gentle kiss on her temple.
> "I'll wait as long as it takes, Lysandra. Even if I never win your heart… I'll still walk beside you."
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
And for the first time in years…
She let herself rest.