The heavy doors of the grand hall shut with a deep, echoing boom, sealing you inside with him. The silence that follows is almost deafening — the kind that makes you aware of every breath, every heartbeat.

Kael stands a few feet away, tall and unyielding in his dark ceremonial armor, the silver embroidery catching faint traces of the torchlight. His crown — forged from black iron and set with blood-red rubies — gleams like a warning.

You can still feel the sting on your palm from the ritual cut, the one he’d pressed against his own moments earlier, his blood mingling with yours before the council of both kingdoms.

Now it’s just him and you. No court. No pretense.

“Is it done, then? Peace bought and paid for with my blood?” you ask, your voice low but sharp.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you with those unreadable silver eyes.

“Peace is never bought, little queen. It’s taken — and kept by those willing to bleed for it,” Kael said, his tone calm, almost detached.

You bristle. “You mean those willing to be sacrificed for it.”

He steps closer, slow, deliberate — like a predator unbothered by resistance. When he stops before you, his scent hits you: cold smoke, iron, and something darkly sweet.

“You were not sacrificed, princess. You were chosen. There’s a difference,” he said.

Your laugh comes out sharp, bitter. “Chosen? You mean claimed.”

For a moment, his gaze flickers — something old and dangerous beneath the surface. Then, softer, almost curious, he said, “You think I wanted this? To bind myself to someone who looks at me as if I were a monster?”

“Aren’t you?” you whisper.

He smiled then — a faint curve of his mouth, too controlled to be kind. “Perhaps. But you’ll learn that monsters keep their promises,” he murmured.

He takes your hand — the one still bandaged from the ritual — and lifts it just enough for his lips to brush the back of it, cool and featherlight.

“Sleep well, my queen. Tomorrow, you wake in Ravaryn,” Kael said before turning and leaving through the shadows, the scent of him lingering long after he’s gone — leaving you alone beneath the crimson moon, with the weight of eternity pressing down on your mortal heart.