The rumble of last nights storm had faded, yet the sky still clung to an uneasy gray. A timid, purplish dawn brushed the palace rooftops, setting the gilded tiles and black stone gargoyles to faintly sparkle. In the kings private suite, Kaelith waited by the glass, her outline bold and curvy against the brightening backdrop.
Behind her, King Corven lay propped on the heavy iron mattress-a monarch now wrestling not with lords or brigands, but with his own wishes and fears. Slowly his sharp blue-gray eyes peeled open, studying her not as a commander but as a woman woven from gentleness and grit.
Cautiously he slid from the bed, letting the linen pool at his hips; dim light slid over hard muscle and old scars, trophies of countless campaigns. When he settled beside her a heartbeat stretched, and the world hushed. His palms found her waist, wandered higher, and clasped below her ribs in a grip that was both shielding and ardent.
Last night, he breathed against her ear, his steady baritone trembling. It opened something inside me, something I thought was buried for good.
Kaelith turned in his arms and tipped her chin upward. You mean your humanity-your capacity to love, to trust, he whispered, her eyes searching his.
For a heartbeat their gazes locked, two souls tethered by fate and fire.
Then their lips met again, a slow, burning seal of vows forged beneath storm clouds.
It was more than hunger; it was spirit weaving with spirit in the dark.
Yet calm inside the palace is a china doll: beautiful, easy to crack.
While king and queen wrestled with fears behind closed doors, a colder game took root in court-a plot that wanted the crown and felt nothing at all.
The first warning came minutes after the king finished dressing, a breathless guard sprinting across the antechamber with sealed scrolls.
A cabal of high lords, led by Viscount Elric and Lady Thalia Ravencourt, was mustering steel beyond the city wall and openly threatening revolt.
"It's a coup," the soldier whispered, kneeling on the chilly floor, his hands trembling. "People are saying the king's lost his wits-turned soft-blind with love. And they're blaming you-"
He jerked his chin toward Kaelith-"for turning him into the flimsiest of rulers.
They're planning to march at sunset, to wrest back the crown and wipe away everything your father built."
Corven held his tongue, knuckles white on the armrest. His glaring eyes-fixed on Kaelith-made a silent promise: whatever storm came, they'd weather it together.
Kaelith moved closer and lowered himself to the tiles, not bowing to the throne but to the bond they shared. "Your Majesty, let me lead the loyal battalions. Let me be your sword and shield. Every shadow we meet, we'll face it shoulder to shoulder."
The king breathed slowly, his nod igniting a flicker of courage against his fears.
For the first time in years, a king and queen stood as one-not apart, not hedging-a single force forged in love and loyalty.
As drums of war began to beat and bells tolled through the streets, the plot closed in…
But this time the crown did not stand alone.