The sky over Polis remained blanketed in storm-gray clouds, even though the thunder had passed. Kira leaned against the stone railing of the Commander's balcony, a mug of steaming pine tea cradled between her palms. Below her, the city stirred—early patrols moving, traders preparing carts, children chasing each other through the morning mist. The summit was over, but the consequences of it still echoed like aftershocks.
Behind her, the rustle of blankets and the soft sigh of breath told her Lexa was waking.
"You're up early," Lexa murmured sleepily, her voice still husky.
Kira didn't turn. "Didn't sleep much."
"Too much on your mind?"
"Something like that."
She felt Lexa's presence a moment later, felt the warmth of her arms wrapping around her from behind. Lexa rested her chin on Kira's shoulder, eyes half-lidded, still blinking the last traces of sleep away.
"You humiliated a clan leader yesterday," Lexa said softly. "You know that, right?"
Kira huffed a laugh. "He humiliated himself. I just let him do it publicly."
Lexa's lips quirked against her skin. "I'm serious. They'll talk."
"They always talk."
"They'll say I let you fight for me."
"You did."
Lexa's arms tightened. "And I'd let you do it again."
There was no hesitation in her voice. No fear. Just acceptance—simple and solid like the foundations of Polis itself. Kira closed her eyes, leaned back into her.
"That scares me a little," Kira admitted.
"Why?"
"Because I'd do the same for you."
They stayed like that for a while. Two warriors from separate worlds, bound by shared fire.
Later that morning, the war council reconvened. The five visiting clan leaders had returned to their holds, but the cracks in the Coalition had grown visible.
"They'll retreat and regroup," Indra warned. "The young one may lick his wounds, but he won't forget the embarrassment."
Titus, ever grim, added, "He may not challenge you again directly. But he has powerful allies in the Ice Nation's remnants."
Lexa stood still, arms folded, eyes unreadable. Kira remained silent, watching everyone else argue. Finally, Lexa spoke.
"We draw them out."
Titus frowned. "Another summit?"
"No," Lexa said. "A provocation."
Kira narrowed her eyes. "You want to bait them."
Lexa nodded. "We choose a contested border village. Invite the clans to witness a renewal of oath—public, ceremonial. We make it seem vulnerable."
"And wait for them to bite," Kira finished.
"Yes."
Indra was already nodding. "It could work."
Titus looked displeased, but said nothing.
Lexa turned to Kira. "I want you to help plan the defense. Quietly. They need to believe it's poorly guarded."
Kira arched a brow. "And if they bring more than we expect?"
"Then we remind them why the Commander still reigns."
That night, they walked the garden paths together—Kira and Lexa, alone beneath hanging lanterns and damp ivy. Rain had passed earlier, leaving the stone slick and cool beneath their boots.
Lexa plucked a blossom from one of the moonlit vines and offered it to Kira without a word.
Kira took it, twirled it between her fingers. "You're not usually this romantic."
Lexa shrugged, but her voice was quiet. "I don't have the luxury to be. Not often."
"You shouldn't have to earn peace through blood and deception."
"I don't know any other way."
Kira stopped, turned to face her. "Then maybe… maybe after this is over, you can learn. You don't have to carry it all."
Lexa reached out, brushed her fingers down Kira's cheek. "I know. I have you now."
Their kiss was slow, lingering—not full of fire or desperation, but something deeper. Steady. Sure. Like roots entwining beneath storm-soaked earth.
That night, they shared a bed not as warriors or rulers, but simply as two people trying to hold onto something warm in a world too cold.
The preparations for the oath ceremony began quickly. Kira hand-picked a squad of guards—those she trusted to remain invisible when necessary and lethal when it counted. She worked closely with Gaia, a Flamekeeper in training who had long watched her with wary curiosity.
"You do not believe in the Flame," Gaia said as they sparred one morning.
"No," Kira admitted. "But I believe in what Lexa does with it."
"That's not the same."
"It's enough."
Gaia frowned. "You fight well. But belief drives our people."
"Belief also drives them to war."
Gaia didn't respond, just nodded slowly and returned to training.
Three days later, the village of Vardos was bathed in ceremonial banners and firelight. Lexa rode in at the head of her procession, Heda's mark painted down her brow, her guards flanking her in silent formation. Kira rode behind her, in darker armor—no sigils, no paint. A shadow at her shoulder.
The crowd was smaller than expected. Suspicious. Watchful.
The ceremony began, and Lexa stood before the firepit, calling on the oaths of unity, the promise of blood and loyalty.
And then, just as expected—the trap snapped.
A horn cried out from the trees. Screams followed. Smoke rose beyond the perimeter. Armed riders poured from the hills, wild-eyed and painted with Ice Nation war symbols.
Kira was already moving before the first blade was drawn.
She slipped into the chaos like it was home. Her fists and daggers found targets before any attacker could process what was happening. Her squad emerged from hiding, cutting down the would-be saboteurs with ruthless precision.
Lexa held her ground. Regal. Unflinching.
By the time the smoke cleared, the attackers were routed. Captured. The village stood.
And so did the Coalition.
That night, under quiet stars, Lexa sat with Kira outside the wreckage of a burned-out hut. The fire flickered low between them.
"You've done more for me than anyone ever has," Lexa said softly.
Kira shook her head. "I've done what had to be done."
"Don't diminish it."
Kira looked up. Their eyes met.
"You're not alone, Lexa."
Lexa leaned in. Their foreheads touched.
"I know."
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