They broke eye contact at the same time, the heat of the moment cooling into sharp, jagged edges.
Astelion was on her knees, her breath coming in shallow hitches. "My humble Majesty," she gasped, her head bowed so low her forehead brushed the stone. "The Void is breaking."
The words didn't just echo; they detonated.
Castel's eyes ignited not with the warm glow of desire from moments before, but with a cold, radiant, and merciless light. Every candle in the room flared violently. Rose petals froze mid-air, suspended in a stasis of pure force. The heavy oak bedposts groaned as invisible pressure clenched the chamber like a titan's fist.
The walls seemed to want to kneel. The stone floor cracked under the strain of his telekinesis. Then, Arastella reached for him. Her hand wrapped around his wrist—warm, steady, and unafraid.
"Be calm," she said. It wasn't a command; it was an anchor.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Castel inhaled, his chest heaving, and slowly, the crushing force receded. The candles steadied. The petals fell. He looked down at her, the King mask slipping to reveal a man haunted by possession and a sudden, sharp fear.
"It is my wedding night," he said, his voice a low growl as he turned toward Astelion. "Who allowed you in here? This could have waited."
Thank the gods I made it, Astelion thought, her heart hammering. Those guards nearly ended me before I reached the door. "Unfortunately, no, Sire," she said aloud, keeping her voice tight. "If we wait, they may come through. They may take the Queen back to the Void."
Castel went still. Too still. The kind of stillness that precedes a landslide. Slowly, deliberately, he turned back to Arastella.
"My Queen," he said, his voice lowering into something reverent and dangerous. "You will remain here tonight. I will stay elsewhere to secure the perimeter. I will return before you sleep."
He pulled her into an embrace not gentle, but not crushing. It was purely protective. His power hummed beneath his skin like a contained sun, and for one breath, Arastella felt the full, intoxicating weight of it.
Then, he was gone.
"Guards!" his voice thundered down the corridor, shaking the very foundations of the palace. "Summon the Council! Now!"
The doors slammed shut. Silence rushed back into the room. Astelion exhaled shakily and stood up, her face flooded with relief as she looked at Arastella.
"Grandma—I mean—"
Arastella's brow lifted. "Grandma?"
Astelion froze, her pale eyes wide. "I misspoke, my Queen. The adrenaline..."
Arastella studied her, eyes narrowing. "I've seen you before. At the Choosing Festival. You were the one who told me to run."
"Sorry I never listened," Arastella added quietly.
Astelion hesitated, stepping closer. "If I may... Castel is mad about you. He is impatient, obsessed, and dangerous." She swallowed hard. "But his love is real. You don't have to return it, not yet. But if you play this right... you can free the dragons without a single drop of blood."
In the original timeline, he died for you, the thought burned behind Astelion's eyes, but she bit her tongue.
The doorway darkened. "Taking advice from a lowly maid, my Queen?"
Cion's voice slithered into the room like oil on water.
Astelion moved instantly, dragging the silk covers over Arastella's exposed shoulders before spinning around. "I see the bitch is barking without its master again."
Arastella gasped. Cion's thin smile faltered. "Excuse me?"
"Oh was that out loud?" Astelion tilted her head, her gaze mocking. "If you thought I was talking about you, Councilman, perhaps that says more about your character than I ever could."
"Stop it," Arastella hissed.
"Zote istis liu," Astelion murmured in a low, melodic tone. (Never trust him.)
Arastella's eyes widened. "You speak the native tongue?"
"Vaa." (Yes.)
Cion sneered, his shadows beginning to coil around his feet. "Who do you think you are, girl?"
"She does not need to answer you," Arastella said, steel entering her voice as she stood up from the bed.
Cion stepped forward, his hand rising perhaps to strike, perhaps to intimidate.
He shouldn't have done that.
The temperature didn't just drop; it vanished. The candles bent inward as if fleeing a predator. The door slammed shut without a hand touching it. Castel stood behind Cion, and the world stopped turning.
Castel saw red. Not metaphorically crimson bled into his vision as his power erupted. Cion was ripped off the floor, his body slamming into the stone ceiling with a sickening crack. He remained suspended there, limbs splayed, his throat crushed by an invisible grip.
Astelion stepped back, gripping Arastella's hand.
"You raised your hand," Castel said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.
"I—only toward the maid—" Cion wheezed, blood beginning to stream from his nose.
"Did I give you permission to speak?" The calm in Castel's voice was worse than fury. He stepped forward, and the pressure in the room multiplied until the walls fractured. "You raised your hand... in front of her."
Death-pressure rolled through the room. Any other man would have collapsed. But the force passed over Arastella like a gentle breeze. It always did.
"My... my King..." Cion choked.
Castel didn't look at him. He looked at Arastella. "Do you know," he murmured, his voice trembling with a raw, broken devotion, "how many nights I imagined this? How many futures end with his heart in my hand?"
A rib snapped in Cion's chest.
"Castel." Arastella stepped forward. Just his name.
His power faltered. Cion dropped a few inches, coughing violently. Castel turned to her, his eyes blazing with a toxic light. "He would have hurt you. He thinks you are a piece on his board."
"Trust me," she said, her voice like cool water on a burn. "He cannot hurt me. There is no point in killing him tonight."
Castel's hands shook at his sides. "I would end the world for you," he whispered. "I would burn every kingdom to ash and call it mercy if it kept you safe."
The tragedy wasn't the words. It was that he believed them.
Slowly, he released his grip. Cion collapsed in a broken heap, sobbing and shaking. Castel stepped over him as if he were nothing more than trash.
"You live," Castel said hollowly, "because she allows it. If you ever raise your hand again... I won't kill you. I will keep you alive just long enough to regret every breath you've ever taken."
He turned back to Arastella. He reached out to touch her cheek but stopped himself. He was always stopping himself.
"I am sorry," he said softly. "You should never have to see me like this."
Astelion bowed quickly. "If you need me, send for me." She slipped out, her eyes lingering on the broken Cion.
Castel looked at the man on the floor. "Stand. Come near the Queen again without my command, and I will take your fucking head off."
He turned and strode out, Cion staggering after him like a beaten dog.
The doors closed. Silence.
Arastella stood alone in the center of the room, her heart pounding against her ribs. Power. Devotion. A love that would burn the world just to stay warm.
She threw her head back and screamed. It wasn't a human sound. A dragon's roar tore from her chest a sound of grief, fury, and terror that shook the palace walls and split the night wide open.
And somewhere beyond the palace, the Void answered.