War didn't begin with a clash of swords.
It began with logistics.
By the time the kingdom realized what was happening, supply lines had already shifted. Small villages that once answered to Eastern councils now pledged quiet allegiance to Selene and Lucien. Caravans rerouted. Grain silos were emptied and restocked under new banners. Blacksmiths sharpened blades for unfamiliar clients, no longer caring who paid, as long as the gold came on time.
The rebellion wasn't just romantic anymore.
It was strategic.
Selene stood in the war chamber beneath the Valeburne estate, tracing her gloved fingers over the new maps. Crimson ink marked safe zones; gold marked dangerous territories.
Lira stood beside her, sleep-deprived but focused.
"We control forty percent of the capital's supply routes now," Lira whispered. "If we cut off the northern port, Evelyne will be forced to react."
Selene's eyes narrowed. "She'll respond by burning it."
Lira swallowed. "I know."
Selene didn't flinch. Her hand lingered on the map, tapping the northern lines.
"Do it anyway."
In the depths of the Aurelian estate, Lucien met with mercenary leaders and beastkin emissaries beneath torchlight. His golden eyes reflected the flames, but his tone stayed cold.
"We don't hold territory yet," he said. "We hold people. That's more dangerous."
The Ash Serpent riders offered their allegiance in exchange for protection from the Eastern Council's hunts. The Whisper Wolves sent their shadow-bound scouts, swearing to help—not out of kindness, but because Lucien promised them autonomy after the war.
He meant it.
Even if no one else in the room did.
The cost of rebellion wasn't just politics.
It was trust.
And Lucien knew better than anyone how fragile that could be.
At night, Selene wrote again.
Not letters of love this time, but orders.
Deployment lists. Contingency plans. Names she hated writing but had to.
Every rebel had a role now.
Every rebel had a price.
And she knew she was sending some of them to die.
Her quill hovered over one name—Captain Serina Vale, the first guard to defect.
Selene closed her eyes for a moment before signing the order.
Lead the northern defense line.
A beautiful death, Selene thought bitterly, is still a death.
Meanwhile, Evelyne's spies continued their work in the shadows.
They poisoned wellsprings in small villages. Spread rumors of betrayal inside Selene's camp. Left anonymous letters suggesting that Lucien would abandon the rebellion once his power was secure.
Whispers were sharper than blades.
And sometimes deadlier.
Alaric saw it happening.
Late at night, he stood in the underground tunnels with Lucien, his hands wrapped in bandages from a scouting mission gone wrong.
"They're trying to break us from the inside," Alaric muttered.
Lucien nodded, golden eyes distant.
"Let them try."
His voice didn't shake. But his pulse did.
Because he could feel Selene through the bond—exhausted, but unyielding.
And he knew they couldn't hold this tension forever.
For now, the rebellion still stood.
But Aerthrial was tilting toward something darker.
Not victory.
Not defeat.
Something in-between.
The kind of ending no one wanted but everyone saw coming.