At midnight the sky split open just wide enough for a jagged slice of purple-black cloud to light the throne-room balcony. Inside, a smudge of pale glow spilled over two figures standing a breath apart-two people wrestling with their own doubts, longings, and duties.
King Corven stayed mostly hidden, a dark statue framed by the flashing sky. His knuckles turned bone-white on the railing, the leather glove straining to contain a grip that was almost frantic. The steady chill in his blood surged now, thumping in his ears like a storm-a sensation he had not felt in years, not since a young Ravencourt noblewoman had leveled her fierce gaze at him and refused to yield.
Behind him Kaelith lingered silent for a heartbeat, allowing the hush to fill the space before her words carved it open. Rain from the balcony moments ago clung to her midnight hair, tiny beads catching the purple light as they dripped toward her collarbone. Stepping closer, she brushed aside his frozen walls and the threat that crackled between them, her own resolve blazing brighter than either.
Your Majesty. Her tone rang out-calm, full, a sound born for orders-and yet a shake folded underneath it. I dont blame you for doubting me. But I will not let you wreck us, wreck whatever future we might have, just because you are scared of trusting someone again.
Corven stayed quiet, fingers whitening on the rail. His jaw quivered ever so slightly-a hairline crack in the frozen mask. His sharp blue-gray stare flicked to her and then back up at the stormy sky.
That future is a dream, not a real thing. His voice was gravel, scratched from years of burying the man under the crown. Dreams are dangerous, Kaelith. They eat power. They eat resolve.
That may be true. She nodded. But without a dream we are already beaten.
The silence stretched again-a heavy pause loaded with old doubt-then Kaelith stepped the last few strides to him.
Slowly, on purpose, she laid her palm over his tightened knuckles and eased his grip from the railing. His breath caught at the contact. His barriers shook.
"For once in your life..." she whispered, leaning closer, "let something, someone, win."
Her simple plea cut through him harder than a thousand blades.
King Corven clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, wrestling with himself. His fears howled as loud as his pride, but a tiny spark of hope grew-that maybe, just maybe, this woman was worth the risk.
Breath trembling, he turned, took her hand, and pulled her gently into his space.
For the first time in years, the king allowed himself to feel. His frozen guard melted under her steady stare and, with thunder rumbling overhead, the two worn souls sank into a fierce, hungry kiss.
It was a promise spoken without words, a promise to face doubt together, shoulder to shoulder.