Lucien stood before the polished mirror in his war chamber, fastening the last clasp of his golden armor. The metal gleamed beneath the torchlight—pristine, ceremonial, untouched by blood.
But tonight, that would change.
His reflection wasn't steady. It shimmered faintly, warped by the bond that tied his soul to Selene's. He could feel her pulse beneath his own, distant but constant, like a second heartbeat just under his skin.
Alaric entered without knocking, cloak still dusted with frost from the outer courtyard.
"They've placed guards on every southern gate," Alaric said quietly. "The Eastern Council is tightening the noose."
Lucien adjusted his gauntlet, gold and leather creaking softly. "Let them."
Alaric's jaw tensed. "We're running out of time."
Lucien's gaze flicked to the side, eyes catching the map pinned against the far wall. Crimson and gold banners marked his strategy, scattered across enemy-controlled territories. The rebellion was growing, but so were the dangers.
"If Evelyne pushes harder, the other kingdoms will step in," Alaric whispered.
Lucien knew.
This wasn't just about Aerthrial anymore.
The moment love became rebellion, it became politics. And politics always invited foreign eyes.
In the Valeburne estate, Selene traced her fingers over the cold steel of her blade. She wasn't wearing a gown tonight—no silk, no velvet. Only crimson-lined armor, lighter than Lucien's but equally sharp.
Lira stood beside her, fastening a shoulder clasp.
"They'll come for you harder now," Lira whispered.
Selene's eyes didn't waver. "Let them."
Her reflection in the glass wasn't fragile anymore. It was something closer to myth—love made into defiance, grief sharpened into steel.
"I've sent the envoy to the northern tribes," Lira continued. "If they agree to stand with us—"
"They will," Selene interrupted softly. "They remember what the Eastern Council did to them."
And if they didn't?
Then she would stand alone.
But she doubted she'd have to.
At midnight, beneath frost-laced skies, Selene and Lucien met in the forgotten corridors beneath the royal city—hidden tunnels carved centuries ago for kings who feared assassination.
No one followed them here. No guards, no advisors. Only shadows and the cold breath of history.
Lucien reached for her hand without hesitation this time.
Selene's fingers closed around his, steady.
"I'm supposed to give a speech tomorrow," she whispered, lips barely moving.
Lucien smirked faintly. "A public one?"
Selene's eyes flickered with defiance. "On the eastern balcony. For the whole city."
Lucien's thumb brushed across her knuckles. "That's reckless."
"Everything we've done is reckless."
He laughed softly, but the sound was bitter at the edges. "That's true."
Selene leaned closer, her crimson eyes sharp beneath moonlit lashes. "Promise me you'll be there."
Lucien pressed his forehead to hers, armor cold between them but hearts burning beneath.
"I'm always there," he whispered. "Even when you don't see me."
Above them, frost drifted silently from the sky.
The rebellion wasn't just banners and battle plans anymore.
It was two souls daring to breathe in a world that wanted them silenced.
And tomorrow, the kingdom would watch as Selene Valeburne stood on the eastern balcony, not to apologize.
But to declare war on the old order.