The rebellion had no official prisons. Not yet.
But it had cellars.
Dark, frost-laced cellars beneath the Valeburne estate, where traitors disappeared without public trials.
Selene stood at the edge of one such room, her crimson cloak brushing the cold stone floor. Torchlight flickered behind her, casting long shadows on the walls. Her gaze remained fixed on the man kneeling before her.
Lord Corvin.
Her uncle.
His silver hair was disheveled now, his robe stained from the icy floor. But his voice still carried the weight of noble arrogance.
"I did what was necessary," Corvin whispered, his lips curving into a weak smile. "You're young, Selene. You don't understand politics yet. Survival requires alliances."
Selene's crimson eyes gleamed in the half-darkness.
"You mean betrayal."
Corvin's smile didn't fade. "Betrayal is just diplomacy without permission."
Behind Selene, Lira stood silently, her face pale. She had loved Corvin once—as an uncle, as a protector when they were children. But the man in front of them was no protector now.
He was a leak in the rebellion's heart.
Lucien arrived moments later.
He stepped quietly into the cellar, his golden cloak dusted with snow. His eyes met Selene's—no words needed.
They had already decided.
Together.
Corvin's gaze flicked between them.
"Think carefully," he warned, voice soft but sharp. "The court will forgive you if you hand me over to Evelyne. She'll pardon you. Marry you off to someone less dangerous than each other."
Selene crouched down, her crimson eyes inches from his.
"I'm not interested in forgiveness."
Her voice was silk wrapped around steel.
Lucien's hand rested briefly on her shoulder.
He would have done it himself if she asked.
But Selene didn't ask.
She drew the dagger from her cloak.
A simple blade. No magic. No fanfare.
Because not all executions needed to be loud.
The cut was clean.
Corvin's blood spilled silently across the frost.
No screams.
No begging.
Just silence.
Lira looked away, her fists clenched at her sides.
Lucien closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, gaze steady.
Selene stood, wiping the blade with practiced ease.
"This rebellion won't survive if we hesitate," she whispered.
Lucien's voice was quiet but firm. "I know."
By dawn, Corvin's body was gone.
No grave.
No tomb.
No legacy.
Only a rumor, whispered among the inner circle:
Betrayal is no longer survivable.
The rebellion shifted after that.
It hardened.
The defectors who had considered selling secrets to Evelyne suddenly reconsidered.
The mercenary clans tightened their oaths.
Even the beastkin emissaries whispered of Selene and Lucien with new, dangerous respect.
Not just lovers.
Not just rebels.
But rulers now.
Rulers willing to do what love and power required.
Outside, crimson snow still drifted from the sky.
It looked soft.
But the world beneath it had sharpened.