The Crown Of Ash And Blood

"The fire lit for power... cannot be extinguished by the water of betrayal."

Night had fully descended upon Velnoria, blanketing the sky with shadows. Inside the palace, the cold air slipped through the tall windows and crept along the marble corridors like a whisper. On the eastern tower balcony, Aurelia stood still. Her midnight-blue gown fluttered lightly in the breeze, her eyes fixed on the garden below, now cloaked in mist.

Her mind was in turmoil.

Serion's words from earlier echoed still in her ears. "You will remain my Queen... even if not my fiancée in the eyes of the world."

A promise of power. A vow laced with betrayal.

"Do you think I will accept scraps from your table of power, Serion?" she whispered bitterly. Yet a part of her knew—it was more than an offer. It was a test. A test from a man who still sought to control her, even as he presented another woman as his betrothed to the world.

Footsteps approached—soft, steady. She did not need to turn to know who it was.

"Caelum."

Her voice was calm, but something fragile threaded through it.

The knight stopped a respectful distance behind her. "The palace guard mentioned you had not returned to your chamber. I was... concerned."

"Since when does a knight worry because a royal woman stares too long at the night sky?" Aurelia turned halfway, a cynical smile playing on her lips.

Caelum held her gaze silently for a moment. "Since I swore to protect you—even from wounds unseen."

She closed her eyes briefly. The words struck too close, too deep. She had grown used to lies sweetened by poison. But with Caelum... there were no lies.

"I thought I could control everything," she murmured. "That I knew when to retreat, when to play, when to win."

"And now?"

"Now I don't even know if I am playing... or being played."

He stepped closer. Close enough that their breath mingled in the cold air.

"If you feel like a piece in someone else's game, let me be your shield."

She looked at him. In the darkness, his eyes remained unwavering—honest. Dangerous.

"Don't speak like that, Caelum," she said softly. "You know how easily I manipulate feelings."

"I know," he replied. "And still I choose to stand here."

Silence stretched. The wind toyed with her hair. Her fingers moved, almost on their own, resting against his chest, then up to his neck.

"Aurelia..." Caelum whispered, a warning in his breath.

But she met his eyes. She didn't want to be vulnerable tonight. Not when the world threatened to crumble.

"I need something real tonight," she murmured, and pulled him into a kiss.

It was not gentle.

It was fire and fear and desperation. A release of everything they had never said.

Caelum stood still at first—rigid with conflict. But when she grasped his tunic tighter, he gave in. One hand rose to her waist, cautious, reverent.

When they pulled apart, their breaths were ragged. Their eyes locked.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, more to herself.

"You don't have to apologize for feeling," he said.

She stepped back, lowering her gaze. "This shouldn't have happened."

"Then let it be something that never did," he said, voice calm but cut deep. "I'll still be by your side. No matter what you feel... or don't feel."

She looked to the night sky.

She didn't know what hurt more—the ambition in Serion's affection, or the quiet loyalty in Caelum's restraint.

"Those who understand wounds... know how to turn them into weapons."

The morning sun sliced through the mist, gilding the rooftops and towers in gold. In her chamber, Aurelia stood before the mirror. Her deep red gown fit perfectly, radiating both elegance and unyielding power. But it wasn't her appearance that made her heart thunder.

It was what lay ahead.

Today, she would attend a private council with Serion and his closest advisors.

To discuss his marriage alliance.

Not with her.

With a daughter of House Gravielle.

She held her breath.

A knock interrupted her. Caelum entered upon her invitation, his face unreadable, showing no trace of the night before.

"Your Highness. The Crown Prince awaits you in the small council room."

She rose, gave him a glance, said nothing.

They walked down the corridors, past portraits of kings and queens who built their reigns on blood and secrets. Aurelia felt the weight of history pressing closer.

In the council room, Serion waited alone. Poised, silver-cloaked, and smiling without warmth.

"Aurelia. You came."

"You summoned."

He studied her. "Are you angry with me for the announcement?"

She didn't respond immediately.

"It was a political move. I understand."

"But you didn't like it," he said. "Neither did I."

He leaned in. "Gravielle is a tool. I need their backing to ascend the throne. But afterward... there will be a tragedy. An accident. And the engagement will end."

"And you will come for me next. Once the blood clears."

He hesitated. "Yes."

"How romantic," she murmured. "To be the post-tragedy queen. The replacement."

Serion stiffened. "Aurelia—"

"Save it," she said. "Just answer this: If I refuse, if I walk away, will you still respect me? Or eliminate me like a rogue pawn?"

He rose. "You are not a pawn. You are fire. And I want that fire to burn for me, not against me."

"Fire bows to no one."

They stared across the silence.

"We'll see who burns first."

He left.

Aurelia stood alone.

And she knew she had just declared war.

That afternoon — Inner Garden

The soft breeze rustled the lavender blooming along stone paths. Aurelia sat on a marble bench, her cloak loosely draped. Before her, Caelum stood like a shadow that never strayed.

"Caelum," she said quietly. "What would you do if I chose a path opposite of the Crown Prince?"

"Protect you."

"No questions?"

"No questions."

"Even if they call you a traitor?"

He met her gaze. "Then I will have betrayed anyone who tried to harm you."

She smiled. Tired. Real.

"You know... men like you are rare in this world, Caelum."

He said nothing. But when he sat beside her—close enough to hear each other's heartbeat—no more words were needed.

The world might fall. Power might shift.

But beneath the copper-stained sky, there were still two people who understood each other without asking.

And for once, just once, Aurelia allowed herself to hope.