The morning after Thalion kissed her, Seraphina sat by the window in her private chambers. The garden below was still, quiet, untouched by the stirrings of the court. She hadn't slept. Her body had rested, but her mind hadn't settled.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face. She felt the weight of his hands at her waist, the press of his body, the way their lips met without hesitation. It had started carefully, but it hadn't stayed that way. His touch had deepened. Her body had answered. And even though he had pulled back before it could go any further, the imprint had remained.
She didn't feel regret. What disturbed her wasn't what happened. It was how right it had felt.
There had been a connection between them, and it wasn't just physical. It was alive. Something old in her had recognized something old in him. That same spark had flickered in the Solar. She hadn't understood it then. Now she did.
Her magic, long buried and quiet, had reached for his. And his had responded. Without resistance. Without fear.
It wasn't just desire. It was alignment.
That realization had carried her through the night. She kept coming back to it. Her bloodline, born of the Warden-Empress line, should have pushed against his. His family had ruled the empire for generations. Their powers should have clashed. Instead, they met like pieces of a puzzle.
As if something in her had always known how to receive him. As if something in him had always known how to answer.
The thought unsettled her. It made the Empress's offer feel heavier. Not because it was politically sound. Not because it offered safety. But because it made sense.
It felt like something that had already been set in motion, long before she ever had a say.
And that terrified her. She had fought so long to choose her own path. And now, that path felt carved in stone beneath her feet.
She looked down at the letter resting on the small table beside her. Caelan's handwriting was sharp, clean, efficient. The message had arrived that morning, just before breakfast. She had read it three times before setting it aside.
It was brief, as always. He had cleared the monster nests near the eastern ridge. His squad had taken some injuries but no losses. The situation was stable. He expected to return within a week.
He didn't mention Thalion.
He didn't ask about the court.
He didn't say he missed her.
He never did.
He didn't need to.
That was Caelan. He never wasted words. But even without saying it, she felt him in every line. His care. His loyalty. His quiet presence. He didn't ask her to explain herself. He didn't question her choices.
He trusted her.
That trust had been earned. Through pain. Through fire. Through everything they had survived together.
She thought back to their beginning. It hadn't started with romance. It had started with blood, escape, and silence. He had stood beside her when no one else would. He had helped her run. He had seen her at her worst and never looked away.
And when she stood again, he didn't try to control her. He didn't try to shape her. He simply asked what she needed. And he gave it.
He never asked for anything in return.
But that didn't mean he didn't want something.
Caelan had always been guarded. Even with her. There were still corners of himself he hadn't let her touch. Emotions he locked away. He gave everything, and yet she knew there were still parts of him she couldn't reach.
Their bond wasn't fragile. It had been tested. It had been reforged again and again. It was strong.
But even iron could bend.
And something was shifting. Not just in her, but in Thalion, too. What they shared wasn't built from old pain. It was forming now. Growing.
Thalion didn't protect her like Caelan did. He didn't step ahead to clear her path. He stood beside her. Always facing forward. And that difference echoed through every moment they spent together.
He didn't hide his feelings. He didn't hold his thoughts back. When he wanted something, he showed it. When he disagreed, he said it. There was no guessing with him.
He was presence. He was clarity. And that clarity was beginning to take up space inside her.
With Caelan, everything had been earned. With Thalion, everything felt immediate.
Both connections were real. Both mattered. But they were different.
Caelan was safety. He was steady hands during chaos. He knew how to catch her when she fell. And he never asked for anything she wasn't ready to give. With him, she never had to explain her pain. He already knew it.
Thalion was something else.
He was energy. Direction. When he entered a room, he didn't shrink to make others comfortable. He expanded. And he expected her to do the same.
He didn't try to shield her from the fire. He walked into it and looked back to see if she would follow.
That difference shook her.
Because one made her feel safe.
And the other made her feel seen.
The bond she had with Caelan had been forged through survival. Shaped by time, pain, and quiet loyalty. They had held each other through ruin.
But her bond with Thalion was being formed in real time. Not from what they had lost, but from what they were building.
It felt fast. It felt alive. It felt inevitable.
She didn't know what to do with that.
It would have been easier if one of them had failed her. If one had betrayed her trust or broken her heart. But they hadn't. They had both stood by her. Given her different kinds of strength.
She cared about both of them. Deeply.
That was the problem.
She folded Caelan's letter and placed it back on the table. Then she stood and moved to the window. Her fingers brushed the cool edge of the frame.
Outside, the gardens were fully lit by morning sun. The scent of roses drifted in on a light breeze.
She watched the shadows shift across the stone paths. Watched the gold light climb the hedges.
Two flames lived inside her.
One born of the past. Forged in fire and trust.
The other sparked in the present. Fed by magic and connection.
She could feel both burning.
And she knew she couldn't carry them both forever.
Eventually, one would consume the other.
She closed her eyes.
At some point, she would have to choose which fire to feed.
And which one to let go.