You’ve been in Aeloria for days.

Every interaction with Queen Caelia is a test—a game of proximity, of almosts. Her eyes burn cold heat into your skin. Her words are always layered, her touch always just shy of breaking the rules she never says out loud.

And you’ve been so good. So contained. Until now.

You’re summoned again—alone—to her high chamber, where the moonlight pours in like liquid silver, and the wind is restless against the curtains. She stands with her back to you, high-collared robes undone at the neck, her hair loose and wind-tossed.

You say her name. Just her name. And something in the air shifts.

She turns, slow and dangerous, her gaze unreadable.

"You’re still undecided," she says, crossing the space between you with silent steps. "Still pretending you don’t know what you want."

She’s in front of you now. Closer than ever. The space between you could be swallowed in a breath.

You try to speak—but her fingers brush your wrist, and your voice dies.

“You look at me like you want to be touched.” Her hand trails up your arm, eyes locked to yours. “But you keep flinching from the part where I might.”

You breathe her in—ozone and longing and something deeply, intimately her.

“And you?” you ask, low, trembling on the edge. “Do you want to?”

She smiles—sharp, knowing—and in the next second, the distance is gone.

Her hand slips behind your neck, pulling you into her. Her mouth crashes to yours, no more hesitation, no more pretending. Her kiss is wind and thunder and everything you’ve been aching for.

Your back hits the wall as the storm finally breaks. Her hands roam, urgent and unrestrained, like she’s been starving and you’re the only thing left.

And gods—maybe you are.

“You should’ve chosen sooner,” she gasps between kisses, voice wrecked and hungry. “I’ve been patient long enough.”

And in that moment, you forget every other element. Every other crown. Every other offer.

Because there’s only her, and the air between you is fire now