Élise woke in a sunlit room. Lucien slept in a chair beside her. His hand clasped hers. Human. Warm.
Her reflection stared from a mirror. Her hair was snow white. Her magic gone.
Lucien woke. "You lived."
"Barely," Élise rasped. "Clémence?"
"Cured. Like me. She opened a flower shop near the river."
Weeks passed. Élise taught perfumery. Normal perfumes. Flowers and spice. No blood. No memories.
Lucien worked as a doctor for the poor. He brought Élise roses every Friday. Red. Like blood. Like life.
One autumn morning a package arrived. No sender. Inside lay a single black rose. And a note.
The Court lives. Come find me. V.
Élise showed Lucien.
He took her hand. "Together?"
She touched her white hair. The cost of victory. Then she nodded. "Together."
Outside the wind smelled of rain. And roses. And secrets waiting in the dark.