The city outside was hungry and restless, as if every citizen could sense that history was about to tilt. Seraphina barely had time to catch her breath after Lucian's kiss before her twin pounded on the door, voice sharp. "If you two are done setting the palace on fire, the council is demanding we show our faces before rumors get any wilder."
Lucian grunted something indecent and put his shirt back on—reluctantly, if his sly smile was anything to go by. "You go first, troublemaker," he said, tapping Seraphina's nose. "I'll follow before you start a war with your eyes alone."
She rolled her eyes but her insides fluttered, giddy as a girl. She pulled on a dress, threw her crown into her hair, and stalked into the hall like she owned every step. Her twin waited with an arched eyebrow, wings half-fanned, tension humming between mischief and anxiety.
"Please tell me you two actually slept last night," they deadpanned, falling into step. Seraphina just grinned, letting the scent of Lucian cling to her a little longer.
They pushed through tall doors into the council chamber, a room already thick with voices and worry. Advisors from every corner of the fractured kingdom crowded the table—some loyal, some clearly hoping for any sign of weakness. Their eyes danced over Seraphina's bare throat, the way her twin's wing brushed her shoulder, and the way no one could ever seem to separate their new rulers from the rumors burning through the city.
Seraphina leveled her gaze and let her voice ring. "We're aware there have been new arrivals at the gates. Some seek mercy, some seek trouble. Let's be clear: this is not the old regime. Sanctuary is offered to those who come in good faith. But if you threaten the peace of my people, you answer to both of us."
A murmur went around the table—a mix of hope, fear, a desire for drama.
Her twin spoke up, voice softer but unyielding. "And we intend to protect this new peace, no matter which old ghosts decide to test it."
It was working—at least for now. The advisors calmed, the tension eased, and as the session wound on, Seraphina caught Lucian slipping into the back, arms crossed, eyes full of wicked praise just for her. The meeting ended without blood or shouting. For the first time in weeks, victory didn't taste like steel—it tasted like possibility.
Later, she found Lucian in the archway overlooking the ruined gardens, sunlight tracing the lines of his jaw. He reached for her, silently, and she leaned into his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, the steady rise and fall of dreams built together.
"Think they'll let us rule in peace?" he asked, voice rough with hope and worry.
Seraphina watched her twin in the courtyard below, corralling new arrivals with gentle hands and a fierce tongue. "Doesn't matter," she whispered. "We fight for it anyway. Together—always."
From her window she surveyed the city: a patchwork of light and shadow, love and old fears, trembling with the danger and promise of change. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but she was done running from her own story. She was ready to write it—one wild, gorgeous, dangerous day at a time.
And she knew Lucian and her twin would be right there with her, battling fate, making kingdoms, and loving with a kind of ferocity that would echo through every stone in Westraven.