The storm had not ended. It clawed at the palace walls, rattling windows, and shaking the earth as if jealous of the fire now blazing between them.
Kira leaned into Sajah's chest, her lips still swollen from his kiss, her body trembling not from fear but from the intensity of his claim. His hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb brushing her pulse, as though he could anchor her heart to his.
But outside the chamber, the sound of steel against steel echoed. Shouts. Footsteps. The world was crashing back in.
"They're coming," Kira whispered, her fingers tightening on his blood-stained shirt. "Whoever stormed the chapel… they won't stop until one of us lies dead."
Sajah's mouth curved, not in humor but in something sharper. "Then let them come." His eyes gleamed, fire dancing in their depths. "I have already sworn to burn kingdoms for you. What is a handful of assassins compared to that?"
Before she could answer, the door to the chamber slammed open. Armed men flooded in, cloaked in shadows, eyes burning with the same unholy fire that seemed to echo Sajah's.
Kira's breath caught. "Not soldiers," she realized. "They're… storm-marked."
The intruders moved as one, their steps unnatural, their blades dripping with lightning that hissed when it touched stone.
Sajah stepped forward, shielding Kira with his body, his pistol raised in one hand, his sword drawn in the other. "Stay behind me," he growled.
But Kira's blood surged with defiance. The storm outside… it had bent to her once before. She felt it again now—pressing against her skin, pulling at her lungs, whispering her name.
She gripped her blade and stepped to his side. "No, Sajah. I swore to fight in fire, in blood, and in betrayal. Do not dare tell me to cower now."
For the briefest moment, his eyes flicked to hers, and what she saw there made her heart twist—pride, fear, and an aching tenderness he would never admit aloud.
Then the first assassin lunged.
Steel clashed, sparks raining as Sajah's blade met lightning. The chamber erupted into chaos, gunfire cracking, thunder answering, shadows writhing like serpents across the floor. Sajah fought like a storm given flesh, each strike of his sword carving arcs of fire through the dark.
But it was Kira who stunned them all.
She raised her blade, and as she screamed her defiance, the storm screamed with her. Lightning tore through the walls, striking her enemies, throwing them to the ground in a shower of sparks. Her hair whipped around her face, her gown clinging to her body as wind coiled around her like a second skin.
Gasps rose from the fallen soldiers. One whispered, terrified: "The Bride… she commands the Storm."
Sajah's blade stilled mid-swing, his gaze snapping to her. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, blood dripping from a gash along his side—but his expression was one of awe, almost reverence.
"You," he said hoarsely, his voice nearly drowned by thunder. "You were never meant to stand behind me, Kira. You were meant to stand with me."
Kira's grip tightened on her blade. Her heart thundered as she turned toward him, their gazes locking in the eye of the storm they had summoned together.
And in that moment, surrounded by fire, lightning, and blood—they were not prince and princess, not pawns of kingdoms, not even bride and groom.
They were storm and flame. Equal. Unbreakable. Bound by a vow written not on parchment but on the bones of the world itself.
The storm was not outside anymore. It had followed them into the chamber.
Wind rattled the glass, thunder cracked the walls, and lightning licked across the ceiling like veins of fire.
Kira pressed her back to Sajah's chest, his heartbeat pounding hard and fast against her spine. His arm circled her waist protectively, but she refused to cower. Her blade gleamed in her hand, trembling not from fear but from the power thrumming in her veins.
"They're coming," she whispered.
"Then let them," Sajah growled, his breath hot against her ear. "Let the storm feed them to fire."
The door exploded open. Soldiers poured in—men cloaked in black, their eyes lit with unnatural silver light. Not assassins. Not soldiers. Storm-marked.
Kira's throat tightened. They moved as though pulled by strings, their blades humming with lightning, their voices low chants lost to the roar of thunder.
Sajah stepped forward, shielding her. One hand held his pistol, the other his sword, his presence a wall of fire. "Stay behind me."
"No." Kira slid beside him, her blade raised. "We swore together. I will not stand in your shadow."
His eyes flicked to hers. Pride burned there, mixed with something deeper, rawer. Tenderness. Fear. And then the storm cracked, and the battle began.
⸻
Steel clashed. Gunfire thundered. Sparks lit the chamber like a cathedral set aflame. Sajah moved like fire given flesh, every strike of his blade a deadly promise. His enemies fell in smoking heaps, yet more pressed forward, relentless.
Kira screamed her defiance—and the storm answered.
Wind coiled around her, lightning struck at her command, thunder roared with her heartbeat. Her gown whipped like a banner, her hair a halo of fire.
Gasps erupted from the intruders. One staggered back, trembling. "The Bride… she commands the Storm."
Sajah froze for the briefest moment, his sword dripping blood, his chest heaving. He turned to her, his eyes wide, almost reverent.
"You," he whispered hoarsely. "You were never meant to follow me. You were meant to stand with me."
Their blades clashed together, side by side. Their lips met between strikes, fierce and fleeting, a kiss stolen in chaos. They were not prince and princess, not pawns of kingdoms. They were storm and fire. Equal. Bound.
And yet…
⸻
The last soldier fell. Silence thickened, broken only by the crackle of lightning. Sajah wiped his blade clean, turning toward her. His hand reached for her cheek, but before it touched—
A slow, mocking clap echoed through the chamber.
Kira's stomach dropped.
From the shadows at the far end of the hall, another figure stepped forward. He bore the same eyes. The same fire. The same face.
Sajah's sword lowered. His jaw tightened.
Kira's breath caught. "No…"
The twin smiled, sharp and cruel, his voice a mirror to Sajah's. "Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. You thought you were wedding a man, little bride. But you were wedding the Storm. And the Storm does not belong to one flame."
Her blade slipped in her grip. She looked between them—Sajah, breathless and bloodied, and this other man, whole and untouched, the storm curling eagerly at his feet.
"Which one…?" The words scraped her throat raw. "Which one is real?"
The twin's laughter cut through her chest. He tilted his head, eyes burning. "Both. You signed yourself to both. Fire and shadow. Flesh and storm."
Sajah's hand gripped her wrist, hard, desperate. "Don't listen—he twists the truth."
But even as he spoke, the storm bent, bowing toward her. The chandelier shook, the windows shattered inward, and the wind whispered her name.
Kira's knees buckled. Her lips parted in horror.
The vow she thought she had sealed with love was not with Sajah alone.
It was with the Storm itself.