Night draped the royal capital in silver and red as Selene stepped onto the frost-laced balcony of her chambers. Her breath rose in quiet clouds, her eyes fixed on the twin moons—one crimson, one gold. The same as always. And yet everything beneath them had changed.
Her heartbeat still echoed strangely since the binding ritual. It wasn't just hers anymore. Somewhere across the estate, Lucien's pulse tangled with her own, golden threads woven through crimson veins. She could feel it even now—the faint tug of his exhaustion, the undercurrent of his worry.
Inside the war chamber, Lira sifted through scrolls and parchment, eyes sharp. Gone was the sheltered cousin who once feared ballrooms and political whispers. Now she drafted letters to the shadow clans beyond the southern borders, offering terms no noble house dared to mention aloud.
Selene joined her silently, scanning the parchment. Some letters bore seals from rogue mages, others from forgotten mercenary factions. Lira had done what no Valeburne before her had dared—she was building a rebellion beneath the guise of diplomacy.
"We can't win through nobility alone," Lira murmured without looking up. "The court will never side with love over power."
Selene's fingers hovered over the edge of the parchment. "Then we change the court."
Lira's lips pressed into a thin line. "That's not how it works."
Selene's eyes gleamed softly beneath her lashes. "It is now."
In the Aurelian estate, Lucien tightened the straps of his armor. He wasn't planning for battle yet, but each breath he took felt like prelude. Across the room, Alaric leaned against the window, arms folded. His gray eyes betrayed no emotion, but his silence spoke louder than words.
Lucien knew the look. Alaric was caught between loyalty and bloodline, torn between helping him and protecting his family's old allegiances. For now, Lucien let it slide. He couldn't afford to lose Alaric—not yet.
"I need you to gather the Shadow Guard," Lucien said quietly, fastening the last clasp of his cloak. "We're not assassinating anyone. But we will send a message."
Alaric's brow twitched. "And if Evelyne responds with death warrants?"
Lucien's gaze sharpened. "Then we show her what happens when she threatens someone with nothing left to lose."
The night air carried whispers from the Eastern capital. Evelyne Greymoor's blood ritual had failed, but her next move was already unfolding. She met with foreign emissaries behind veiled curtains, forging alliances with kingdoms beyond Aerthrial's borders. Her strategy was simple—trap Selene and Lucien in a war they couldn't win, then let time and isolation do the rest.
But Evelyne underestimated one thing.
They weren't just fighting to survive now.
They were fighting for something far more dangerous.
Each other.
By morning, Aerthrial's streets trembled beneath a new rumor. Shadow banners appeared overnight—crimson and gold threads stitched together on black silk, flown from rooftops and hidden alleyways. The symbol was not royal. Not sanctioned. But everyone knew what it meant.
The cursed lovers had declared rebellion.
Some called it foolish.Some called it treason.
Others?
Hope.
In the frost-lined courtyard, Selene and Lucien met before dawn. No guards, no advisors—just the quiet space between breaths. Selene reached for his hand first this time, her fingers steady.
"I'll stand beside you," she whispered.
Lucien's golden eyes softened, his lips brushing her knuckles.
"And I'll fall beside you, if I have to."
The wind carried their words into the breaking morning. Crimson snow drifted from the sky—not natural, but woven from lingering magic in the air.
For the first time in centuries, the people of Aerthrial saw something different in the storm.
Not just tragedy.
But defiance.