The council chambers are quiet, the weight of destiny pressing down on you. As a Nightblood, everyone expects you to rise and rule, to lead your people with strength and cunning. The crown sits heavy on your brow—not yet worn, but already felt in every glance and whispered expectation.

Octavia Blake stands across from you, arms crossed, eyes blazing with her usual intensity. But tonight, there’s something different in her gaze—a determination not to let the politics, the power, or the throne come between the two of you.

“You’re thinking too much about what you should do,” she says softly, stepping closer. “About the people, the crown… all of it. And you’re forgetting what matters most.”

You glance at her, conflicted. “What matters most? The people need a leader, Octavia. If I fail, everything falls apart.”

Her expression softens, and she reaches out, brushing a hand against your arm. “No. What matters most is your heart. Not the throne. Not the legacy. You.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the weight of expectation fades. “You… you think I could—”

“I don’t care about the throne,” she interrupts, her voice firm but tender. “I care about you. I want you, not what you’re supposed to be. Your heart is worth more to me than all the power in the world.”

You swallow, emotions swirling. Her words cut through the fear, the doubt, the pressure. The thought of ruling without her by your side suddenly feels hollow.

“I… I don’t know if I can just—”

Octavia steps closer, tilting your chin up to meet her gaze. “Then don’t. Not yet. Let them wait. Let the crown wait. But let us be here, together. That’s what matters.”

A small, grateful smile tugs at your lips. “You’d really… put my heart before my duty?”

“Always,” she whispers, pressing her forehead to yours. “Your heart is mine, and nothing else matters.”