The city didn't sleep that night—a buzz of voices, lights flickering in palace windows, whispers slithering through the corridors like old ghosts who refused to rest. Seraphina moved through the halls with Lucian at her side; she never let him get too far, not after the way he'd unraveled her just hours before. His presence steadied her. His touch—when they were alone—still set fire to her blood.
In the council chamber, after the latest strategy meeting, she slouched in her chair and pulled Lucian close, letting the world shrink, just for a heartbeat, to the space between his lips and hers. Her twin barged in, arms full of dusty ledgers, smirk in place. "You two are insatiable," they teased, dropping the books on the table. "But at least you work better together than apart. Can you stop devouring each other long enough to actually inspect these reports?"
Seraphina grinned, not bothering to hide the blush that painted her cheeks. "Only if you promise not to look so proud when you're right."
The three of them poured over the reports: border raids, unrest in the merchant district, strange magic blossoming near the old cathedral ruins. But what caught Seraphina's attention most was the repeated mention of people vanishing—street kids, healers, even a lowborn sorcerer. No ransom notes, no bodies. Just gone, as if the darkness itself had decided to claim them.
Lucian's hand rested over hers, reassuring. "We'll find them," he said, voice full of that steady thunder that made her believe anything.
Her twin bit their lip. "What if it's something old—something from the time before us?" A shadow flickered over their face, then vanished. "Ancient magic has a habit of coming back when it's least convenient."
Seraphina nodded, pushing back from the table. "We'll handle it. All of it. If this city wants a fight, then we'll show them what it means to stand with kings and queens who actually give a damn."
That night, she wandered out to the ruined garden. The moon painted silver over broken stone and wildflowers. Lucian joined her, wrapping strong arms around her from behind, pressing his lips to her neck in a silent vow of protection.
"It's just you and me now," he murmured, breath coaxing shivers. "Let trouble come."
Seraphina closed her eyes, letting herself believe—just for tonight—that their love was enough to burn away every shadow. Her twin's laughter drifted from a nearby balcony, bright and mischievous, a reminder that family doesn't leave, not anymore.
Down in the city, trouble simmered. But up here—between hungry kisses under the moon and the warmth of family mending broken places—a new kind of future was taking root. One stitched together by passion, defiance, and a fierce, unbreakable hope.