The palace did not sleep.
Outside Kael's chambers, guards rotated every hour, their footsteps measured and tense. Inside, silence stretched thick and heavy, broken only by the low crackle of the hearth.
Elara lay stiffly on the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling.
She was very aware of two things.
First—this was Kael Blackthorn's bed.
Second—Kael Blackthorn was only a few steps away.
He stood near the window, back to her, arms crossed as he stared out into the moonlit courtyard. The fire cast long shadows across his broad shoulders, making him look larger, darker—more dangerous.
"You can sleep," he said quietly. "No one will get past the wards."
Elara let out a soft, humorless laugh.
"That's what you said the night before I died."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Kael's shoulders tensed.
He didn't turn around.
"I know," he said hoarsely.
Silence pressed down again.
Elara shifted, sitting up. "Why are you really doing this?"
He finally faced her.
"Because I failed you once," he said simply.
She shook her head. "You failed me a thousand times before that."
Kael didn't deny it.
He moved closer, stopping a careful distance from the bed. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the pull of the bond tightening like a drawn thread.
"In my dreams," he said quietly, "you never scream at me. You just… look disappointed."
Her breath caught.
"That's worse," she whispered.
He swallowed. "I know."
The fire popped loudly.
Elara swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing. "I can't pretend this is normal," she said. "You're my future murderer."
His jaw clenched. "And you're my dead mate."
The words hung between them—raw and unfiltered.
She stepped toward him before she realized what she was doing.
"You held me," she said softly. "Right after they stabbed me. Do you remember that?"
Kael's hands curled into fists.
"Yes."
The admission shocked them both.
"I felt your heartbeat," Elara continued. "Fast. Terrified. Too late."
Kael's voice broke. "I didn't know how to save you without destroying the realm."
"And so you chose the realm," she said gently.
He nodded once.
"That won't happen again," he said fiercely. "If it comes down to you or the throne—"
"Don't," she interrupted. "Don't promise what you haven't been tested on yet."
He fell silent.
The bond pulsed painfully.
Elara pressed a hand to her chest.
Kael mirrored the motion without thinking.
Their eyes snapped to each other.
Slowly, involuntarily, they stepped closer.
The air between them crackled—heavy with longing, fear, and everything unresolved. Elara could feel his breath on her skin, could sense his restraint straining to breaking.
"You shouldn't look at me like that," she whispered.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm already yours."
His voice dropped dangerously low. "You are."
Her heart thundered.
"No," she said. "I was."
The bond flared violently.
Pain ripped through both of them.
Elara gasped, stumbling forward.
Kael caught her instantly, arms wrapping around her as her knees buckled. The contact sent a wave of heat through them both—stronger, deeper, undeniable.
She clutched his tunic, breath coming in shallow gasps.
"Let go," she whispered.
"I can't," he admitted.
Their faces were inches apart.
So close.
Too close.
His gaze dropped to her lips.
Her body responded traitorously, leaning in despite everything she knew, everything she remembered.
Just one kiss, a treacherous voice whispered.
Just to see if it still hurts.
Kael's hand slid to her waist, gripping tightly—then stopped.
He closed his eyes.
"No," he said harshly, pulling back as if it physically pained him. "Not like this."
Elara swayed, disoriented.
He stepped away completely, putting space between them with visible effort.
"I won't take from you what I haven't earned," he said. "Not again."
Her chest ached.
She nodded slowly.
"Good," she said. "Because if you kiss me now…"
She trailed off.
He looked at her questioningly.
"I might forgive you," she finished softly. "And I don't trust forgiveness yet."
Something in his expression shattered.
Kael turned back toward the window.
"You can take the bed," he said quietly. "I'll remain here."
She hesitated.
Then, cautiously, she lay down again.
Sleep eventually claimed her—uneasy, fragile.
In her dreams, the moon glowed brighter than ever.
Far away, deep beneath the palace, an ancient sigil awakened—responding not to love, nor hatred, but choice.
And for the first time, fate hesitated.