Morning came draped in frost.
The eastern balcony of the Valeburne estate had not been used for decades—not since the last royal coronation. It faced the heart of the city, where nobles gathered in silks and gold-laced cloaks, their eyes hungry for spectacle.
Today, they would get one.
Selene stood behind the velvet curtains, her crimson-lined armor gleaming beneath a cloak of black silk. Her heart beat in strange rhythm—part hers, part Lucien's. She could feel his presence below, hidden in the crowd, watching.
Lira adjusted the clasp at Selene's throat one last time. Her hands shook slightly, but her voice was steady.
"You don't have to do this," she whispered.
Selene's lips curved faintly. "Yes, I do."
Lira stepped back, eyes sharp with quiet pride.
Beyond the curtain, the nobles waited. So did the spies, the Eastern Council's informants, the foreign emissaries who had come to see a house fall. Posters bearing Selene and Lucien's faces still fluttered from the walls. Wanted. Dangerous. Cursed.
Selene pushed past the velvet drape and stepped into the cold.
The crowd silenced instantly.
No guard announced her. No trumpet sounded. She simply appeared, crimson eyes gleaming in the winter light.
She stood at the edge of the balcony, frost dusting her cloak.
When she spoke, her voice carried without magic. Without amplification spells. Just pure, cutting clarity.
"I am Selene Valeburne," she began. "Daughter of Aerthrial. Bearer of crimson blood. Branded traitor by the Eastern Council."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd, but no one dared interrupt.
"I stand before you not as a noblewoman," she continued, her voice sharper now, "but as a citizen of a kingdom that has forgotten what love is."
Her gaze swept the rooftops, the towers, the cold eyes of the gathered court.
"For centuries, this kingdom has chosen power over truth. Lineage over heart. Magic over meaning."
The silence thickened.
"Today, that ends."
Someone in the crowd gasped.
Selene lifted a crimson banner in her hand—gold thread woven through it, shimmering like sunlight through blood.
"I do not apologize for loving Lucien Aurelian," she said, voice unwavering. "I do not apologize for binding my soul to his."
Her eyes narrowed, ice and fire in perfect balance.
"And I do not apologize for declaring that this kingdom needs to change, or fall."
From the edge of the rooftops, Lucien watched, heart steady.
Alaric stood beside him, cloak wrapped tight.
"You realize," Alaric whispered, "this is no longer rebellion."
Lucien's golden eyes flicked toward the balcony.
"I know."
Selene held the banner high.
"Join us," she called out. "Or try to silence us. But know this—"
Her crimson eyes locked onto the Eastern spies in the crowd.
"Love will not be buried this time."
In the silence that followed, snow began to fall.
Not natural snow. Crimson snow.
Magic laced the wind, soft but unmistakable.
The crowd stared upward, hearts pounding, as the flakes drifted onto cloaks and skin—gentle, harmless, but unforgettable.
A storm had begun.
And no one could pretend the world was the same anymore.