The world was at war but the room they chose was quiet.
Hidden beneath the eastern wing of the Iron Crown fortress, the chamber was older than the empire itself. Stone walls carved with sigils. A shallow basin etched into the floor. Candles burning low with flames that smelled faintly of iron and myrrh.
Ancient.
Unforgiving.
True.
Isabella stood barefoot at the center of the circle, her hands resting instinctively over her stomach. The child stirred as if sensing the weight of what was about to happen.
Damian watched her from across the chamber.
No crown.
No armor.
No title.
Just the man who had survived fire, chains, betrayal and still came back to her.
"You don't have to do this," he said quietly, breaking the silence. "Not tonight. Not like this."
Isabella lifted her eyes to him. They were steady. Resolute. Nothing like the girl who had once been handed into a world of monsters.
"Yes," she said. "I do."
