The next fragment of memory shifted to show Aiona going back to her residence—her magnificent palace—with absolutely awful amounts of glee radiating from her. She was so genuinely happy that there was a literal skip in her steps as she walked. She had already prepared proper accommodations for her mate to stay in. A beautiful townhouse located in the port city, complete with its own private garden. And in Fulpa specifically, those were genuinely rare finds—valuable property.
Originally she had wanted to take Hunter to live with her in her own residence—the Golden Palace that was dramatically perched on a cliff and overlooked the vast ocean through its enormous windows. But Hunter had politely rejected that generous offer.
"I heard that the palace was built specifically by the King of Heinnas for you—as a token of his deep love and devotion," Hunter had explained his reasoning. "Wouldn't that be incredibly weird and awkward if I was living there with you? I'd feel like an intruder."
Well, his logic and concern wasn't too far off the mark, honestly. But the full truth was somewhat different. Originally the palace had been presented to her as a gift from the grateful people of Heinnas collectively—not the king personally—for her many centuries of loyal service protecting their country. That collective origin was the main reason she had felt comfortable accepting the extraordinarily lavish palace that had been built specifically to reflect all her personal likings and preferences.
The gold-plated windows and doors, the gilded furniture and household items, and the pristine white colors mixed throughout the background to make the golden hues of the palace pop visually—all of it was designed precisely to her taste. And she absolutely loved that there were floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere and enormous balconies providing spectacular views of the ocean from the top of the cliff.
The King of Heinnas—no, Jarun personally—knew her better than she even knew herself sometimes. That's exactly why the whole situation bothered her conscience so much. She felt like she had only ever taken things from him over the years, without giving him anything meaningful in return. He had never really asked her for anything at all, except her hand in marriage of course. Which was the only thing she could never, ever give him, no matter how much she might want to make him happy.
As Aiona got closer to approaching her palace, a very anxious-looking Yana, her young devoted servant girl, came into clear view. The poor girl was pacing back and forth nervously in front of the palace's main door, her long skirt swaying dramatically as she moved. Right next to her stood a young man whom Aiona recognized almost immediately despite the years. It was Garam.
The pale, short, and somewhat skinny young man had distinctive freckles scattered across his face, and his brown hair and blue eyes were clear proof of his identity as someone of Western heritage. He had been abandoned by his birth mother when he was just a helpless baby, left by the shores to die. And Aiona had made the decision to raise him under her wing and protection. Now it had been twenty years since that day. Her adoptive son had grown and become a royal servant of one of the highest ranks possible—directly serving under the King himself as his personal manservant. The distinctive red and white uniform he wore was clear proof of that elevated status.
If Garam was here at her palace, that could only mean one thing. The King himself, Jarun, was here waiting for her.
To Aiona, Jarun was essentially her godson. Another son, even though she hadn't raised him entirely by herself from infancy. She had been quite close to his mother, the beloved queen. She had been a wonderful woman with a naturally humorous personality, and Aiona had genuinely liked her a great deal as a friend—one of the few true friends she'd had.
Aiona had been there throughout the queen's pregnancy, present during the difficult birth, and involved in raising young Jarun during his childhood. She had even been there holding her friend's hand when the queen passed away far too young, when Jarun had just turned eighteen. Despite all of Aiona's considerable efforts and magic to keep her dear friend alive, the queen had only been given forty years on earth by fate before illness took her.
"Please keep my son safe, Aiona," had been the queen's final words, spoken with her last breaths. "I know it's terribly selfish of me to ask, but he is my entire world. I give my world to you to protect. Keep him safe from harm."
It was never easy to send off a cherished friend on her final journey to whatever lay beyond. But that particular farewell had been especially hard on Aiona emotionally. Because of that profound loss and that deathbed promise, she had developed a particular soft spot for her friend's son over the years. But never, ever in the romantic way that her godson had eventually come to expect and hope for. That was simply impossible for her. To Aiona, Jarun was no less than Garam—like her own son. The idea of anything else was unthinkable.
"Mistress! You've finally returned!" Yana exclaimed the moment Aiona came into view. The servant girl rushed over and grabbed onto Aiona's arm urgently. "His Majesty the King has been waiting for you for quite some considerable time now."
The poor girl had been visibly trembling with obvious anxiety about the situation. And Aiona's son Garam appeared no better—he was also fidgety all over, some unknown fear having clearly settled heavily on him. Yet despite his nervousness, he greeted her politely and formally.
"Mother, you are back," he said, carefully wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
Aiona walked over to him and affectionately ruffled his soft brown hair, a gesture she'd done since he was small.
"Did he give you a hard time while waiting?" she asked softly, already knowing the likely answer.
Garam shook his head and said no, but Aiona knew the truth without needing confirmation. Of all of her various adoptive children over the centuries, there was one that had never been tameable or controllable. He was as ruthless and uncompromising as he was determined and driven. That was Jarun—the current King of Heinnas.