Rain whispered against the palace windows like an old lover returning from exile. The night was thick with silence, and the torches lining the courtyard flickered in submission to the wind. In the tallest tower of the Palace of Thorns, Princess Naledi paced barefoot across her chamber floor, silk gown trailing behind her like a river of moonlight.
She wasn't supposed to be awake. And she definitely wasn't supposed to be thinking about him.
But she was.
Kabelo.
The Crownless.
He had returned.
After three years of whispers and false deaths, of blood on the streets and the mark of the Jaglion carved into his back, he was here. In the palace. Somewhere beneath the very floors she walked. And he hadn't asked to see her. Not yet.
She told herself it didn't matter.
But her heart told another story.
Naledi opened the window and leaned out slightly. From this height, she could see the west tower, the one they used to sneak into when they were younger. Back when Kabelo still wore a smile that wasn't forged in fire and betrayal. Back when she was just the girl with starlight in her eyes, and he was the servant boy who could turn lions to lambs with his laugh.
Now?
Now he was the man everyone feared. The man the prophecy whispered about. The one with the blood of Isilo and Ngonyama.
A prince in exile. A beast in disguise.
"Princess," a voice said gently behind her.
Naledi didn't turn.
"You're not supposed to be here," she said.
"And yet here I am," Kabelo replied.
She turned slowly. And there he was—leaning against the stone archway, soaked from the rain, hair wild, shirt clinging to a body carved by survival. His eyes, still golden-brown, held something ancient now. Something raw. Dangerous.
"You broke palace law coming up here."
"Then punish me."
She looked away, heart pounding. "You're still arrogant."
He stepped closer. "And you're still afraid of what you feel."
Her breath caught.
"I mourned you," she whispered. "I lit candles for you. And when you didn't return, I swore I would never open this window again."
"And yet you did. Tonight."
He was close now. Too close. Naledi took a step back, but there was nowhere else to go. The cold stone met her back. Kabelo placed his hand gently against the wall, caging her in with just his presence.
"Tell me you don't think of me," he said.
"Kabelo..."
"Tell me you don't still dream of the waterfall. Of the kiss we never spoke of."
Naledi closed her eyes. It had been the day before his exile. They had ridden out to the edge of the kingdom, where the falls whispered secrets and the trees shielded them from the world. It had rained then, too. And they had kissed like time would never end.
"You're engaged to Prince Sefu," he said.
She opened her eyes, pain slicing through them. "It's a political alliance."
"So was my exile."
His voice cracked. Naledi reached out, fingertips brushing the wet line of his jaw. It was a mistake. He leaned into her hand like a starving man.
"If I stay," he said, "they'll try to kill me again."
"Then go," she whispered. "Run. Take me with you."
He froze.
"You'd leave all this? The crown? The legacy?"
She looked up at him, tears threatening.
"I'd leave it all for one night in your arms."
Silence. Then he kissed her.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was a kiss born from years of silence, of yearning, of dreams that refused to die. She clung to him as the storm outside raged, as his hands found her waist, pulling her closer, grounding her to the moment.
They didn't make love that night. Not yet. But they undressed each other in words, in glances, in touch.
And when the palace bells tolled midnight, Kabelo pressed his forehead to hers and said:
"If I survive this war, you'll be my queen. Not in title. But in everything."
Naledi nodded.
"Then win. For us."
Outside, the Jaglion stirred in the shadows of his blood.
And the war for the crown started.Kabelo jumped from the window and transformed into his Jaglion form