Seraphina and Thalion walked through the quiet corridor that led away from the palace courtyard. They didn't speak. Their steps echoed softly along the marble floors, the silence between them heavier than any words.
When they reached a quieter hall, Seraphina slowed, then stopped. She leaned back against the cool stone wall and exhaled sharply. Her shoulders dropped as if a weight had finally slipped from them. Her hands trembled slightly.
Thalion didn't move closer. He waited, hands at his sides, posture relaxed but watchful.
"Thank you," she said, her voice hushed. "For stepping in. I didn't expect him to push it that far."
"He crossed a line," Thalion replied. "You didn't owe him anything. Especially not after everything he put you through."
She gave a tired, wry smile. "I should have seen it coming. He looked at me like nothing had changed. Like I still belonged to him."
"You gave him more patience than he deserved," Thalion said. "More grace than most would have."
Seraphina looked at him fully now. Her expression softened, wearied by the emotional toll of the day.
"I used to think compromise was part of love," she said. "That endurance equaled loyalty. That if I was patient enough, the rest would come. I called it maturity, duty, even wisdom."
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "It wasn't any of that. I just didn't want to face what was right in front of me. That the man I married never really saw me."
Thalion stepped a little closer, slowly, allowing her the space to continue or retreat.
"How long did you know about Evelyne?" he asked.
"Long enough," she said.
She glanced away, then back. "At first, I convinced myself it was nothing. That I was imagining things. I kept telling myself I could understand, maybe even accept it, if they had just told me. If they had been honest. There are nobles with second wives, concubines. It isn't unheard of."
Her voice grew quieter. "But they didn't tell me. They lied to me. They made me feel like I was losing my mind. Like I was the one ruining everything."
She paused, her gaze distant. "In this life, I could almost forgive that. But in the last… I remembered how it ended. And I can't forget that they betrayed me then too. That betrayal cost me my life."
She didn't say those words aloud. She held them close, buried under the skin. Thalion didn't know. Not yet. She couldn't give him that piece of herself.
Not now.
Instead, she said, "By the time I left, none of it surprised me."
Thalion gave a slow nod. He didn't ask for more. He just stood there with her.
"The tribunal changed everything," she continued. "Watching what they did to Caelan, what the system allowed, what I allowed by staying silent. I realized I couldn't keep pretending. Not about my marriage. Not about my place."
"You don't have to pretend anymore," Thalion said. "You don't have to carry it alone."
She turned to him again, something unreadable in her eyes.
"I know."
He stepped closer. This time, closer than before. There was a gravity between them, a pull that neither could ignore. She could feel the heat radiating off him. He didn't touch her, not yet, but the space between them was unbearable.
Thalion's voice dropped. "You were brilliant back there. The way you stood your ground. You didn't just walk away from him—you made sure he couldn't rewrite your story."
Seraphina's throat tightened. She looked at him, really looked, and her chest ached with how much she wanted to fall forward, to close that last inch between them.
She didn't move.
Neither did he.
But gods, it was close.
His hand lifted. Just enough to hover beside her cheek. He didn't touch her.
"I've wanted to protect you from the moment I met you," he admitted, voice barely audible. "Not because you're weak. Because I know how much it takes to survive the way you do. How many pieces you've had to hide just to be allowed to breathe."
She inhaled sharply, his words hitting deeper than she expected.
"And yet," he continued, "you still make space for everyone else. You still carry things no one sees."
Her chest rose, her breath uneven. "You see it."
"I do."
His hand finally moved, brushing against her jaw, his fingers light as breath.
Seraphina leaned into his touch. Just barely. But it was enough.
Enough to feel his fingers tremble.
Enough to make her heart slam against her ribs.
"Thalion…" she whispered.
He leaned in, slower than breath, eyes locked on hers. Their foreheads nearly touched.
But just as their lips were about to meet, the sound of boots.
Both turned.
Caelan.
He walked toward them with calm steps, his cloak shifting behind him. He didn't speak until he stood just before them.
He looked at Seraphina. Not at Thalion. Not at the space between them.
Then he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms.
Seraphina melted. Her arms slid around him, her forehead against his chest. Her body relaxed all at once, like she'd been holding herself together for too long.
He held her tightly but gently, like something precious. Steady. Quiet.
Thalion stepped back, just enough.
He watched the way she folded into Caelan's hold. The way her hand rested on his arm. The ease. The certainty.
He felt the shift like a blade pressed under his ribs.
Caelan's voice was calm. "I heard what happened in the courtyard. The court is already whispering. I came to see how you were holding up."
Seraphina nodded. "I'm okay," she said.
Thalion didn't speak. He didn't need to.
Caelan looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. And she looked back like he was the one place she could exhale.
The embrace ended slowly. Seraphina's hand lingered.
Then Caelan turned his eyes on Thalion.
They locked eyes.
No words.
But everything passed between them in that look.
Acknowledgment. Challenge. Unspoken terms of battle.
Neither backed down.
Neither would.
Seraphina hadn't chosen.
Not yet. But both men knew that when she did, only one would remain by her side.
Later that night, Seraphina sat alone in her chambers. The palace had gone quiet, save for the occasional distant echo of armor or wind curling past the windows. Her cloak hung on the back of the chair, her boots at the door. She had stripped away the armor and silence of the day, but the tension still hummed under her skin.
She stood before the tall mirror in the corner. The firelight flickered against the glass, casting her reflection in gold and shadow. She didn't move. Just looked.
Not at her dress. Not at her hair. At her eyes.
She tried to see herself the way others saw her. Strong. Unbending. The one who walked away from House Vessant, from Alaric, from every lie and expectation. The one who stood between two powerful men and still held the line.
But all she saw was someone exhausted. Someone who had given everything just to keep breathing. Someone who wanted to feel something steady.
Her fingers curled against the wooden edge of the vanity.
The image in the mirror blurred. Her breath caught.
She whispered, to no one, to the glass, to herself:
"I'm still here. I survived. Again."
And then, more quietly: "But I'm so damn tired."
She didn't cry. She had already done that in other lives, in other moments. Tonight, she just stood and let the firelight touch her skin, warming places that had gone cold.
It wasn't grief.
It was clarity.
Tomorrow, the court would stir. Whispers would grow louder. Choices would have to be made.
But tonight, she let herself be still.
Whole.
And her own.