Night wrapped Dravenfall in deceptive calm.
Torches burned low. Music drifted faintly from the lower halls where visiting rulers were housed — wine, laughter, false relief. The kind of peace that only existed before blood.
Elira felt it before it happened.
Not danger.
Intention.
She paused mid-step outside the council wing, breath hitching as a cold prickle slid down her spine.
"Someone's lying," she murmured.
Kael, beside her, stilled instantly. "Who."
"I don't know," she said. "But they're close."
The serpent stirred, alert.
They didn't have time to isolate suspects.
The attack came disguised as reverence.
---
Lady Maevra of the Southern Reaches approached alone — barefoot, unarmed, veiled in white. A symbol of surrender among her people.
She knelt before Elira.
"I wished to thank you privately," Maevra said softly. "For standing between us and annihilation."
Elira hesitated — then stepped forward.
Kael's hand shot out, catching her wrist.
"Stop."
Maevra smiled.
And detonated the ward carved into her spine.
The explosion was silent — anti-divine magic folding inward, collapsing space around Elira like a coffin. Chains of void-light snapped into existence, wrapping around her arms, her throat.
Elira cried out as her power buckled.
"Heaven sends its regards," Maevra hissed. "They don't want you dead."
"They want you contained."
Kael moved.
No strategy.
No restraint.
Shadow erupted from him like a living storm, tearing through the chains as if they were thread. The backlash hurled Maevra across the hall — bones shattering as she hit the far wall.
Kael caught Elira before she fell.
His hands were shaking.
"Are you hurt," he demanded, voice raw.
She clutched his armor, gasping. "N-no. Just—dizzy."
The room filled with soldiers.
Kael didn't acknowledge them.
"Get her out," he barked. "Now."
They obeyed without question.
Maevra was still alive when Kael turned back.
That was mercy.
He removed it.
---
Elira didn't realize she was trembling until Kael closed the chamber doors behind them.
The moment the latch clicked, the control she'd been holding shattered.
Her knees gave out.
Kael caught her — dragged her against his chest, one arm around her back, the other cradling her head like he was afraid it might fracture.
"You almost died," he said hoarsely.
"I know," she whispered into his shoulder. "I felt how much it scared you."
His breath stuttered.
"That's not—" He stopped. Swallowed. "That's not something you should feel."
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
His eyes were burning — not with rage now, but something far worse.
Need.
Fear.
Control hanging by a thread.
"I can't lose you," he said quietly. "Do you understand that? I've survived wars. Gods. I am not surviving that."
Her chest ached.
"Kael…"
He leaned closer — too close. Their breaths tangled. His hand slid unconsciously from her shoulder to her waist, gripping like anchor.
The bond flared — heat, pressure, a sharp awareness of bodies, of how easily this could tip.
For a heartbeat—
He almost kissed her.
Stopped a breath away.
His forehead dropped to hers, fists clenched at his sides.
"No," he breathed. "If I cross that line right now… I won't stop."
Her pulse thundered.
"I'm not afraid," she whispered.
"I am," he replied. "Of what I'd become if you asked me to choose between the world and you."
She lifted her hand — touched his chest, right over his heart.
"Then don't choose yet," she said softly. "Just stay."
He exhaled shakily.
Wrapped his arms around her — not gentle, not crushing.
Protective.
Restrained.
Outside the chamber, alarms rang as Maevra's death was discovered.
Inside, two weapons of ruin held each other like the world might break if they didn't.
And somewhere far above…
Heaven watched.
And adjusted its strategy.