The nights had turned colder.
Not from the weather—but from the weight pressing against Lysandra's chest.
Another night. Another kiss. Another act of stolen passion in the dark.
And yet, as the door clicked shut behind Caveen once again—leaving her alone in the silence—Lysandra sat up in bed, the sheets clinging to her bare skin like ghostly reminders of what they shared.
It wasn't enough.
This... was not love.
It was a wound that never closed. A reminder that he was close enough to touch, but never close enough to stay.
That night, she didn't cry.
She stood.
Dressed.
And walked barefoot through the stone corridors of Ravenshade, her long robe flowing like a storm behind her, fueled by rage, sorrow—and something more dangerous: hope.
She found him on the balcony of the war chamber, staring out at the mountains like the answers were hidden in the stars. His shirt was half-buttoned, chest rising and falling with unspoken thoughts.
"Caveen," she said, voice low but firm.
He turned. Eyes narrowed slightly. "Lysandra. Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"No," she said, stepping closer. "Because sleep doesn't come easy when you break me night after night."
Silence.
He looked at her then—truly looked. And something in his eyes flickered.
"You shouldn't have let me in," he said, turning away again. "You knew what this was."
"No, Caveen," her voice rose, trembling. "I don't know what this is! You come to my chamber like I'm yours, like I belong to you—but when the sun rises, you vanish like none of it matters!"
He said nothing. The wind howled through the mountain cliffs.
"I let you in because I thought... I thought there was still a piece of you that wanted this. That wanted me. But I'm not your punishment, Caveen. And I refuse to be your secret anymore!"
His shoulders tensed. "You think this is easy for me?" he muttered.
"Then tell me!" she snapped. "Tell me what this is, Caveen! Why are you doing this? Why are you torturing me if you don't care?"
He turned slowly, eyes dark like an endless abyss. "Because you still love me."
Lysandra froze.
His voice was quiet—but sharp as a blade.
"And that... is your punishment."
Her lips parted in disbelief. "What...?"
Caveen stepped closer, closing the distance between them in slow, burning steps. "You hid my daughter from me. You made me believe there was nothing left between us. You looked me in the eye and let me go... while carrying the only piece of light I had left."
Lysandra's chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes glassy. "I did what I had to do to protect her."
"I know," he whispered. "But knowing doesn't make the pain go away."
She looked down, shaking. "So this is about revenge?"
He cupped her face suddenly, forcing her to look up at him. "This is about you," he said, voice cracking. "You broke me, Lysandra. You left a hole in me that no crown, no war, no empire could fill."
Her tears slid down her cheeks like rivers of guilt.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"No," he replied. "You hate that you still want me."
And with that, he kissed her again.
But this time, she didn't respond.
She pulled away.
Shaking.
Broken.
"This isn't love, Caveen," she said, turning her back. "It's cruelty dressed in passion."
He watched her walk away.
And for the first time... he didn't follow.
The Ravenshade war room was dimly lit, the stone walls glowing amber from the crackling torches. The long table bore the weight of strategy maps, sealed letters, and the unspoken tension that coiled like smoke.
Caveen sat stiffly on one end, hands folded, jaw tight. Across from him, Lysandra leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, her face the picture of indifference—except for the fire flickering behind her eyes.
Alaric stood near the hearth, arms crossed, lips thinned. Seraphine sat beside Carlos on the bench, the silence between them thick as fog.
"…We'll need to reroute the scouts near the Ember Path," Carlos offered carefully. "Too many patrols moving west."
Lysandra shrugged, voice clipped. "Then reroute. You don't need my blessing."
Caveen's head turned sharply. "Are you always this charming when lives are at stake?"
Lysandra didn't look at him. "Only when I'm forced to work with arrogant men who think they own every room they walk into."
Seraphine's eyes darted between them, worry creasing her brow.
Alaric didn't flinch. "Maybe this isn't the time—"
"I'm sorry," Caveen said, cutting him off coldly. "Would you prefer I ignore the blatant disregard for authority?"
Lysandra finally turned to him, lips curling. "You mean your authority?"
Carlos subtly stepped back, pretending to study the wall maps.
Caveen leaned forward, voice low and lethal. "Don't forget whose name is stamped on every contract in this alliance, Lysandra."
"And don't forget who dragged your sorry empire out of the ashes when the Council came for your neck," she snapped.
A beat.
The flames in the hearth popped.
Alaric raised a brow, then moved to refill his wine glass—because this, apparently, was the evening's entertainment.
"You always think you're the martyr, don't you?" Caveen said with a bitter laugh. "Always the savior. Never the villain."
Lysandra stood slowly, her chair scraping back. "It's not martyrdom. It's survival. Something you wouldn't understand—you were too busy playing politics with your human wife while I was risking everything in the shadows."
"You think I had a choice?" he hissed.
"You always had a choice," she said coldly. "You just never chose me."
The words hung in the air like a blade.
Seraphine stood, visibly shaken. "Maybe we should take a break. Everyone's on edge—"
"No," Lysandra said, her voice steel. "Let's not sugarcoat things for once. Let's talk about the damn truth."
Caveen's eyes darkened. "You want truth? Fine."
He stepped around the table, every movement slow and deliberate, stopping just inches from her. She didn't flinch. Neither of them breathed.
"I never stopped wanting you," he said quietly. "Even when I hated you."
Lysandra's throat bobbed, but her chin lifted defiantly. "Then why do you treat me like a mistake every morning?"
"Because you made it easier," he whispered. "Because if I don't hate you, I'll fall for you all over again."
Seraphine turned away. Carlos muttered under his breath. Alaric stared into his glass like it held the meaning of life.
Lysandra's voice cracked when she replied, "Then fall. Or walk away. But stop bleeding me dry in the process."
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
And Caveen, silent, turned and left the room, his cape sweeping behind him like a storm.
Lysandra didn't move.
Her hands trembled only after he was gone.