The fire in my room had burned lower, its glow flickering across the walls in restless waves of orange and gold. My white hair pooled across her lap like liquid silver, strands curling against her wrists as if alive.
Lysandra's lips were still on mine, insistent, hungry—yet something in the rhythm of the kiss shifted. The urgency softened.
Her mouth slowed, brushing mine with reverence instead of demand. Her hands, once gripping my hips firmly, now caressed gently, trailing upward along my waist, as though she feared I might vanish.
I breathed her in. Smoke and steel and something faintly wild clung to her skin, an echo of battlefields she had never spoken of, but I knew she had seen.
The fire cracked, louder now, like a warning. But I ignored it. For once, I let the world fall away.
We pulled apart slowly, our foreheads resting against each other, our breaths mingling. My lips tingled, bruised, and burning. Her dark eyes glowed faintly in the firelight, shadows clinging to their depths.
"Stay," I whispered, my voice breaking the silence.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile. "Always."
I leaned down again, kissing her cheek, then her jaw, tasting the salt of her skin. She tilted her head back, a soft hum leaving her throat, but she did not pull me down harder this time. She let me linger, let me slow.
I pressed one final kiss to the corner of her mouth, then rested my head against her shoulder.
My hair cascaded down around us both, a curtain of white that shimmered faintly in the fire's glow. We sat like that for a long time, listening only to the fire's crackle and the sound of each other's breathing.
At last, she shifted, her strong arms scooping me up effortlessly. I let out a soft gasp, surprised at her strength, though part of me already knew she had carried burdens heavier than me.
She laid me gently on the bed, her hands careful, her touch reverent. Then she lowered herself beside me, her presence filling the mattress with heat and weight.
I turned to face her, curling onto my side. My hair spilt across the sheets, pooling like a second blanket.
She brushed it aside, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. "You look like the gods themselves touched you," she murmured.
"They did," I said, half-smiling.
Her eyes flickered, dark and intense. "And yet they made you human enough to want."
The words struck me with a force that nearly undid me. I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers, squeezing tightly.
We lay like that in silence, two souls pressed close, hands entwined. But silence was never safe in this house. Somewhere beyond the walls, a floorboard creaked.
My head snapped up, my hair rising faintly, as though it, too, had heard. Lysandra's eyes narrowed, her body tensing like a blade being drawn.
We both listened. The sound did not come again. Only the fire's low hiss and the wind brushing against the shutters.
Still, unease lingered.
Lysandra shifted closer, pulling me against her chest, as if shielding me from unseen eyes. "You're safe," she whispered, though her tone was sharper than her words.
I believed her. And yet—some part of me knew the night was not as quiet as it seemed. Time stretched.
Our breaths slowed. The warmth of her body seeped into mine, her heartbeat steady beneath my cheek. For the first time since I came into this world, I let myself drift.
Not as the villainess everyone whispered about, not as the girl with gods carved into her skin, but as myself—maskless, unhidden, undone.
And I slept. But sleep brought no peace. In the darkness of my dreams, doors opened. The black-and-white door from the garden loomed before me, its surface shivering with light and shadow.
Voices whispered through the cracks.
"Mine. No, ours, she will burn, she will rise."
I reached for the handle, but my hand dissolved into smoke. My body twisted, warped, my hair writhing like serpents. And then I saw them.
Three figures standing beyond the threshold. Death cloaked in black feathers, Life veiled in white flame, Music strumming a stringless lyre.
Their eyes bore into me.
"Your bond is incomplete," Death murmured.
"You tied yourself to us," Life whispered, "but you opened the thread wider.
"Music's voice was soft, a song and a warning both: "The god of war watches her. And through her, you."
I tried to speak, but my throat filled with ash. The door slammed shut. I woke with a start. My body trembled, my chest heaving.
The fire had burned to embers, the room cloaked in shadow. But Lysandra was still there. Her arm was draped over my waist, her warmth pressed against my back, steady and grounding.
I turned slightly, watching her sleep. Her face softened in slumber, her strong features gentled. She looked almost unguarded, almost vulnerable.
And yet, even now, tension lingered in her posture, as though she expected battle even in dreams. I reached up, brushing a strand of her dark hair from her face.
She stirred faintly, but did not wake. For a moment, I let myself watch her. Breathe her in. Believe in the impossible safety of this night. But in the back of my mind, the gods' warning echoed still.
By morning, the manor was restless. Servants moved faster than usual, whispers buzzing through the halls.
When I rose, dressing in a pale gown, I could feel the weight of eyes on me, though none dared speak. My siblings avoided my gaze, though I caught Maris watching me curiously from the corner of her eye.
My father and Caelum had locked themselves in the study since dawn. My mother paced the halls, her steps sharp and deliberate.
And Lysandra stayed close. Always a step behind me, her hand brushing her sword, her eyes scanning every shadow. But the tension in the house was not only because of her. Rumours had reached us already.
The ball. The dance. The kiss in the garden. The gifts from the royal family. And whispers of a lost heir walking again.
At breakfast, my father spoke at last. "The king will not ignore this," he said, his voice heavy. "Nor will the queen. They will want answers. And they will come for them."
Lysandra's hand brushed mine beneath the table. I squeezed it once, though my eyes never left my father's.
"Let them come," I said softly. Because for the first time, I was not afraid.