Chapter 25
Jul 18, 2025
The palace no longer whispered.
Gone were the echoing footfalls of fear, the clipped orders barked by matrons in ceremonial black. The marble halls, once sterile and watching, now breathed. Quietly. Patiently. As though the walls themselves waited to see what we would become.
In the healing ward, Sariah reclined against a nest of pillows, her face pale but steady. The wound had closed. The fever had broken. And yet something deeper lingered in her eyes—an understanding that victory was not the end.
“The Council is waiting,” she said, her voice scratchy but clear. “They’re offering you complete control. Chair of the High Council. Authority over all bloodlines. All decisions.”
I stood at the window, one hand resting on the sill. Outside, the courtyards pulsed with quiet freedom. Servants and nobles shared space. Children chased each other barefoot across grass that once belonged only to the ruling class. The air smelled like night-blooming magnolia and sootless fire.
“Let them wait,” I said without turning. “I’ve already given them my answer.”
“You could reshape everything from the inside,” she pressed gently.
I exhaled. “I’ll lead. But not from a throne. The moment I sit in their chair, I become what we fought to destroy.”
There was a pause. Then her voice, softer now. “Then what comes next?”
I turned, meeting her gaze. “We build something new. From the ground up.”
Sunset burned low behind the horizon when the knock came. Three measured taps. I didn’t need to ask who it was.
I opened the door before he could knock again.
Hector stood there, war-worn and brilliant. A faint bruise darkened his jaw. His shirt was dusted with dirt and sweat. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were rimmed with exhaustion. But he still stood tall—like the spine of the new world we had written into being.
“How bad?” I asked.
“Not bad.” His lips curved into a tired smile. “The territorial disputes are settling. The north has agreed to recognize our charter. The coastal clans just want trade again. The south… well, they sent a peace cake. It tasted terrible, but I ate it.”
I snorted. “And the rebels?”
He shrugged. “Disbanded. Voluntarily. Their leaders say they’ve done their job.” He stepped closer. “There’s no war left to fight, Lyssira. Just you.”
The words hit like lightning.
For months, we’d survived in battle rhythm. His hand on my sword hilt. My voice behind his declarations. Always reacting. Always defending. Never being. Not really.
I nodded once. “Walk with me.”
The moon garden shimmered like another world entirely.
Starlight spilled across silver-petaled flowers and winding paths dusted with glowing pollen. We walked slowly, without guards or protocol. His fingers brushed mine occasionally, casual but electric.
We paused beside the old fountain. The one where, weeks ago, we’d spoken not as heir and rebel, but as man and woman.
He broke the silence first.
“I have to tell you something.”
I looked at him, heart already tilting forward.
“I’ve been dreaming of you since I was fifteen,” he said. “Long before we met.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Dreams. Visions. A girl surrounded by fire. Not burning, just… glowing. Silver heat in her blood. I thought I was cursed.” His eyes met mine. “Then I saw you during the first trial, and I knew.”
I didn’t know how to breathe. The moonlight tangled in his lashes, turning him into something both myth and man.
“Maybe fate dreamed of us both,” I whispered.
He turned fully toward me. Our bodies swayed closer. My heart thundered against my ribs, not from nerves, but from relief. He reached for me slowly, his hand cupping my cheek, thumb brushing a line just beneath my eye.
His breath touched mine.
And then—
I placed my hand on his chest.
“If we do this,” I said quietly, “it’s because we’re free. Not because we survived. Not because the war’s over. Not because we need something to hold onto.”
He froze. Not in offense. In understanding.
“We choose it,” I added, voice steady.
His eyes held mine, gold and shadow. Then he leaned his forehead against mine and whispered, “Then let’s live.”
