The kiss changed everything.
And nothing.
The next morning, Selene rose before the bells.
She dressed herself, simple black velvet, no jewels, no crown.
The woman who stared back at her in the mirror looked the same.
But the queen behind her eyes was different.
Sharper.
Colder.
More dangerous.
Victory had a taste.
It was bitter.
It was bloody.
It was addictive.
By noon, the first whispers reached her ears.
The Duke of Marvane had summoned a private council in the southern gardens.
The merchant lords were speaking of "alternative futures."
The temple priests had begun holding clandestine services not sanctioned by the palace.
The court was not cowed by Lord Ilthorn's execution.
It was enraged.
And the fury was no longer hidden.
It was moving.
Spreading.
Building.
Selene walked the halls of the palace like a wraith.
The nobles bowed.
The servants lowered their heads.
But their loyalty was no longer certain.
She could feel it, a tremor beneath the marble floors, a crack in the golden walls.
Fear was a powerful weapon.
But fear bred hatred.
And hatred, unchecked, bred revolution.
Cassian summoned her that evening.
The war chamber was empty when she entered.
Only him.
He stood at the map table, rolling the hilt of a dagger between his fingers.
When he looked up, there was no anger in his eyes.
Only a grim understanding.
"They're gathering," he said.
Selene nodded.
"I know."
"They'll strike soon."
"Let them," she said.
Cassian's mouth twisted into something like a smile.
"You're playing a dangerous game."
"I learned from the best."
He crossed the room and stopped before her.
Close enough that she could feel the heat of him.
Close enough that she remembered the taste of him from the night before.
"You could still walk away," he said.
Selene smiled faintly.
"You could still kill me."
They both knew neither would happen.
They were too entangled now.
Two blades sharpened on each other until neither could break without destroying the other.
Cassian pressed the dagger into her hand.
The hilt was warm from his touch.
"Use it," he said quietly.
Selene curled her fingers around the blade.
"I intend to."
The Hidden Court summoned her again that night.
This time, she went without hesitation.
She entered the Tower of Ravens through the servant's tunnels, her cloak drawn tight around her shoulders.
The council was smaller this time.
Lady Alessa.
Corvin Dalreth.
A handful of the bolder nobles.
Their faces were tense.
Tired.
Desperate.
Lady Alessa spoke first.
"We have news," she said.
Selene arched an eyebrow.
"Good or bad?"
The merchant lord Corvin grimaced.
"Both."
Lady Alessa tossed a parchment onto the table between them.
Selene unfolded it.
Recognized the seal instantly.
It was from the Temple of the Twin Moons.
Calling for a gathering.
A "cleansing."
A removal of corruption from the Crown.
Selene understood immediately.
They were preparing a public denouncement.
A coup disguised as righteousness.
And once the court had the priests' blessing, the rebellion would no longer be whispers in the dark.
It would be banners on the palace gates.
Steel at the king's throat.
Fire at the queen's feet.
Lady Alessa leaned forward.
"We must act."
Selene tapped a finger against the table.
"No," she said.
The court murmured.
Confused.
Frightened.
Selene smiled slowly.
"If they move too early, they reveal themselves. If they think they have won, they become careless."
She looked up, meeting each of their gazes in turn.
"We do not fight this battle in the streets. We fight it here."
"In the courtrooms."
"In the gardens."
"In the temples."
"We let them march."
"And then we cut their throats."
The silence that followed was not dissent.
It was awe.
Fear.
Respect.
Selene stood slowly.
"You gave me your loyalty," she said.
"Now you will give me your patience."
"And when the time comes," she said, her voice dropping into a whisper, "you will give me their blood."
She left them in silence.
The ring of the Black Flame burned in her pocket like a brand.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Soon.
The next week passed in a blur of preparations.
Selene moved through the palace with a dagger's precision.
She spoke to the merchants.
She whispered to the soldiers.
She planted rumors like seeds in fertile, desperate soil.
Every word calculated.
Every glance measured.
Every smile a blade waiting to slip between ribs.
Cassian moved too.
He tightened the outer defenses.
Pulled loyal soldiers from the provinces.
Shifted his guard rotation daily.
The court called it paranoia.
Selene called it wisdom.
He was a king under siege, and he knew it.
But what he didn't know, what he would never know, was that some of the wolves outside his gates had already bent the knee to his queen.
The temple gathering was set for the night of the new moon.
A holy day.
A day when the gods were said to judge mortal hearts without mercy.
Selene attended, dressed in the soft gray robes of penitence, a veil covering her face.
Cassian stood beside her, a silent sentinel in black.
The high priestess stepped forward, her hands raised.
"The kingdom is rotting," she intoned.
"The blood of the wicked stains the stones."
Selene felt the shift then.
The subtle, almost imperceptible pull of the crowd.
The tightening of muscles.
The glances.
The weapons hidden beneath robes and prayer books.
It was beginning.
The high priestess turned.
Raised her voice.
"Let the corrupt be cast down."
The signal.
Selene tensed.
Across the courtyard, a noble drew a dagger from his belt.
Another unsheathed a sword.
Cassian reached for his weapon.
And Selene moved.
She seized the edge of her veil and tore it away.
Her face bared to the crowd.
Her voice rang out.
"Traitors!" she cried.
"The gods see you! The court sees you! The king sees you!"
The assassins hesitated.
Just for a heartbeat.
It was enough.
Cassian's loyal guard struck first.
Steel met steel.
Screams echoed through the sacred courtyard.
Selene stood unmoving.
Watching.
Waiting.
Until the last blade fell.
When it was over, she crossed the bloodied stones to the high priestess.
The woman knelt, shaking, blood splattered across her robes.
Selene reached down and took the ceremonial dagger from her belt.
Held it high.
"The gods do not need temples built on lies," she said.
Then she turned to Cassian, still breathing heavily from battle.
His eyes met hers.
And in that moment, they understood each other perfectly.
Survival was not about strength.
It was about ruthlessness.
Selene lifted the dagger.
And plunged it into the ground at Cassian's feet.
A gift.
A declaration.
Not submission.
An alliance.
For now.
Later, in the shadowed corridors of the palace, Cassian found her.
He pressed her against the cold stone wall, his hands framing her face.
"You saved me," he said roughly.
"No," Selene whispered.
"I saved myself."
He kissed her then.
Hard.
Desperate.
Not a prince's kiss.
Not a king's kiss.
A warrior's kiss.
A survivor's kiss.
And Selene kissed him back.
Because in a kingdom of thorns, the only way to survive was to bleed together.
Or to die alone.