CHAPTER 139: THE VACATION - THE GREAT CITY OF SERIONA

Alessia’s eyelids fluttered, heavy as fog.

The mirror in front of her shimmered with condensation, the steam curling around her like whispers from her dream.

She was standing, bare feet cold on the marble floor, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

Her mind replayed fragments of shadows, the child’s voice, the locket pulsing like a heartbeat in her chest.

"Alessia."..... She heard her name.

The sound was low, deliberate, carrying a warmth that made her shiver even in the foggy morning light. Her eyes opened slowly.

It was Luca, her husband.

He was standing in the doorway, the early sun catching the sharp angles of his jaw, hair mussed from sleep.

The dark linen shirt clung to his frame, sleeves rolled just enough to hint at strength restrained.

His eyes were fixed on her, a mixture of amusement and concern.

"Why are you dreaming again?" His voice was soft, but threaded with authority, and it made her heart stumble.

"I... I don’t know," she murmured, still caught between sleep and wakefulness. Her fingers traced the cool marble as if holding herself together.

He crossed the room in two long strides, hand reaching to cup her cheek. "Come, let me help you." His thumb brushed her jawline, slow and possessive. "You’ve been dreaming too much lately, too many ghosts in the night."

Alessia’s breath caught. He didn’t touch the locket around her neck, not yet. He didn’t need to.

Every glance, every shift of his weight radiated the kind of intimacy that made her pulse thrum louder than the dream’s echo ever could.

He guided her toward the bath, fingers pressing gently to her lower back, grounding her. Steam rose from the water, curling like smoke from some ancient ritual.

The scent of jasmine and cedar filled the room.

"You don’t have to tell me," he said, voice dropping to a whisper against her ear as he leaned close. The heat of him brushed the back of her neck. "Not today again, Not about the dream, Let it be just... us."

Alessia’s lips parted slightly. The dream’s shadows clung to her, but Luca’s presence was a fire that burned them away.

She closed her eyes, leaning into him for just a heartbeat longer before letting go, stepping into the warm water.

He knelt beside the tub, arms resting on the rim.

His gaze traveled over her like a silent vow, like he was memorizing every line and shadow. "Breathe and relax," he murmured. "Just breathe, Alessia. Nothing else matters."

The steam fogged the mirrors, and she caught her reflection—pale, wet hair clinging to her neck, eyes still echoing the remnants of the dream.

Her fingers instinctively touched her Ancient necklace,,, she carried the locket, it fell from her hands while she was asleep after it got removed accidentally and she opened it.

There was nothing, no photograph, no boy and no woman, Only her name, etched in flowing, ancient script she could translate, it read :

"Alessia of the Bound Veil."

The letters shimmered faintly, as though alive, as though aware of her gaze.

A chill ran through her, but not the fear of the dream—this was something else, something intimate, personal, and waiting.

Luca’s hand found hers, brushing her knuckles. "See? Nothing but you, amore mio."

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

The warmth of the bath, the proximity of him, the intimacy of this shared morning—it was intoxicating.

She wanted to ask about the dream, to unravel it, but she let it go. Let him hold the edges of her world in his hands instead.

"You’ll dress?" he asked, standing. His shirt fell open at the collar, the morning light painting gold and shadow across the planes of his chest.

He held out a robe for her, silk smooth, almost like his touch lingered in the fabric.

"Yes," she breathed, letting him help her into it.

He adjusted the belt around her waist, fingers brushing her hips, a slow, deliberate reminder that the world could wait while he claimed these small moments.

Once dressed, they moved together to the bedroom.

Clothes for travel lay neatly arranged—dark silks, linens, tailored pieces that whispered of power and elegance.

Luca watched her, hands lightly brushing her hair from her shoulders. "Seriona," he said softly, as if testing her memory. "That’s where we’re going for vacation. My late father took us there when we were children. You’ll love it. The streets are older and beautiful than memory, seas that burn like wine, sunsets that could kill a man with their beauty."

Alessia leaned into him, letting the warmth of his chest settle into her back. "Seriona..." The name felt familiar, distant, like a half-remembered story.

He kissed the nape of her neck, brushing hair aside. "Pack light, The city doesn’t wait for anyone."

*******"

Far away, under a sky bruised with the soft blood of dusk, two travelers climbed the crest of a hill.

Princess Elowen adjusted her torn gown, the wind tugging at the golden threads that had survived the day’s journey. Beside her, Donato’s jaw was tight, eyes scanning the horizon with the vigilance of a man who had lost far too much already.

They had been lost and wandering for days, the location map Donato was holding has finally faded away. And they were searching for a path that seemed to shift under their feet.

The forest thinned, revealing a glimmer of something below—something unexpected.

A small city glimmered at the base of the hill, roofs catching the last light like scattered jewels.

Donato shaded his eyes. "Elowen... do you see that?"

She nodded, breath catching. The city seemed almost unreal, too perfect for the wilderness around it.

A man pedaled up the hill, hat low, weathered face shadowed. Donato called out. "Hello sir!, What place is that?"

The man stopped, glanced at the glowing settlement, then back at them. His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.

"That," he said quietly, voice carrying the weight of something old, "is the great City of Seriona."

Elowen’s hand gripped Donato’s sleeve....