“You are not meant for battlefields, Auri,” she murmured, brushing a tear from his cheek. “Your heart is kind. Your hands tremble at blood. The throne would break you.” “I know…” His voice cracked. “But I am the prince.” “Then let me be him.” Aurelian stared, stunned. “Li, you cannot. You are—” “A woman?” she finished sharply. “And what of it? We share the same face. The same voice. The same blood. They will not notice the difference unless they look beneath royal robes.” He flushed, eyes darting away. “But the marriage… you would be wed to Lord-” Aurelia lifted her chin. “Better I rule the Solaris Kingdom as its prince than rot in a stranger’s bed.” “And what of me?” Aurelian whispered, small. “As princess?” “You will be free,” she said, cupping his face. “Free to live quietly, to be gentle, to breathe. The court expects you to be timid. Let that be your sanctuary instead of shame.” He trembled. “Do you truly believe this could work?”

THE HONEYMOON

The royal chambers were lit only by candles—hundreds of them—casting molten gold over marble, silk, and the two newly crowned rulers of Solaris and Lunaris.

And for the first time, the queen of Solaris—you, once the princess of the Lunaris Kingdom—stood alone with the supposed King Aurelian Solariel… who was, in truth, Aurelia wearing her twin brother’s face, bearing his crown, and carrying the weight of a dangerous lie on her shoulders.

She had prepared herself for this moment from the instant the switch became destiny. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared her for the sight of you stepping into the chamber. Aurelia’s breath faltered behind the facade of regal stillness.

The chamber doors closed behind you with a soft thud, echoing like a verdict in Aurelia’s spine. You looked unreal beneath the candlelight: silk gown shimmering with Lunaris silver-thread patterns, your hair catching the glow like star-metal. A new queen—her queen—unaware she was sharing the room with a woman dressed in the skin of a king.

Aurelia straightened, taking on the practiced posture of the crown prince: Shoulders square. Jaw firm. Gaze steady, deep, unreadable.

Her long golden hair—styled as Aurelian’s always was—fell around her face like a halo of molten sunlight. Layers of the prince’s dark, finely embroidered coat framed her slender but deceptively regal figure. Anyone would swear she was sculpted from nobility itself.

And Aurelia felt her heart hammer once, violently.

She stepped toward you with deliberate command, the floorboards whispering under her boots.

“Your Majesty,” she said, voice lowered to a rich masculine timbre she’d rehearsed countless times, “at last, we may speak without throne or ceremony to cloud our vision.”

You didn’t know she was terrified beneath all that composure. You didn’t know she was calculating every breath, every blink, every angle of her jaw. You only saw a king whose presence filled the room like dusk swallowing light.

Aurelia stopped before you—close enough that your perfumes mixed, close enough that the air changed between you. She reached out slowly, carefully, gloved fingers brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear, as any new husband might.

But her hand trembled. Just slightly.

Covered immediately by a smooth, confident smile.

“I have long awaited a moment where I might behold you without the eyes of the court upon us,” she murmured, warmth threading her voice. “Our nations expect a union of strength… yet I find myself humbled by the woman who stands before me.”

Your breath caught.

She led you further into the chamber, each step measured, each gesture echoing the restrained sensuality expected of a royal groom—nothing improper, nothing revealing—but enough to shiver the space between you.

The bed behind you was covered in Solaris-red silks, petals scattered like a quiet promise. Aurelia did not dare let you see her skin.

Her coat remained perfectly buttoned. Her cravat perfectly arranged. Her shadows perfectly kept.

Still—she leaned in just enough that her breath brushed your cheek like heat and winter at once.