Seraphina woke to sunlight snaking across her bare stomach, runes glowing faintly as they soaked up the warmth. Lucian was already awake and watching her, hair still wild, eyes dark with something softer than sleep. For a moment, she let herself drift—memories of the night tangled in her limbs, satisfaction simmering in every tender bruise, every mark his mouth had left along her chest and hip.
He brushed golden hair from her cheek, lips curving in a smile that was just for her. "You were loud," he teased, voice thick with pride and mischief.
"Only because you earned it," she retorted, arching into his palm, shameless and undone. The rest of the palace might be on alert, but here the world was slow and honey-warm; for once, no prophecy, no council, no traitors. Just the softness of dawn and the aftermath of being utterly, desperately wanted.
She stretched, content, letting the sheet slip so the curves of her body caught the light. Lucian's gaze drifted over her, hungry and worshipful; she felt like a goddess, worshipped at an altar of tangled limbs and whispered secrets.
He pressed his mouth to her navel, slow and deliberate. "Don't tempt me," he warned, grinning against her skin, "unless you want to miss your first ten meetings."
Seraphina's laugh was low and throatier than she meant. "What's a crown worth if I can't be late to my own throne room for you?"
But duty tugged—outside, raised voices filtered through the window, shouts about new arrivals, a councilor's anxious footfalls. She sighed, brushing a final kiss over Lucian's lips before sliding out of bed, gathering her golden robe with a showy swirl.
He grabbed her wrist gently. "Don't forget what's real, Sera. You and me, this… it's more powerful than any war."
She looked back, raw and soft all at once. "I won't." Then she was gone—bare feet on cold stone, heart beating wild, skin still glowing with last night's fire.
Seraphina entered the outer chamber and her twin was waiting: rumpled, pensive, trying to look stern but failing at the corners of their mouth. "You smell like sin and spring flowers," they remarked, more fond than snide.
Seraphina just grinned. "Jealous? Plenty of time for you to steal the city's troublemakers—or their hearts."
Their laughter cracked the tension. Outside, the city braced for another day of uncertainty, but inside the palace—between tangled sheets and teasing glances, between shared power and sweet defiance—something like hope was starting to bloom, fragrant and unstoppable.
And Seraphina realized: the real kingdom was what she and Lucian built together, wild and beautiful, a love story burning brighter than any crown.