That night, the palace garden felt different.
He went anyway.
He didn't expect her to come.
But she did.
No uniform tonight.
No armor.
Just Serah.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, voice trembling slightly.
"I don't care."
"You should."
"I don't."
She stepped closer this time.
"You don't understand what will happen."
"Then make me understand."
Tears shimmered in her eyes — but didn't fall.
"If anyone suspects I'm more than an escort… I become a threat."
"To who?"
"To the throne."
Wind swept through the roses.
Aren stepped into her space.
"I would never let them hurt you."
"You can't protect me from politics."
"Then I'll fight it."
Her composure broke.
"You are promised!" she snapped. "Your marriage secures trade, military alliance, stability. If you refuse—"
"Ireti deserves someone who chooses her."
Serah's breath hitched.
"And what do I deserve?" she whispered.
He didn't answer with words.
He closed the distance.
Their foreheads touched first.
Slow.
Careful.
A silent question.
She should have stepped back.
She didn't.
His hand brushed her jaw gently — like she was something sacred.
And then—
He kissed her.
Not rushed.
Not desperate.
But deep.
Like a promise neither of them could afford.
For one suspended moment, the world disappeared.
No crowns.
No alliances.
No kingdoms.
Just heat. Breath. Heartbeats colliding.
And then—
Applause.
Slow.
Mocking.
Malik stood at the balcony again.
This time, not alone.
Behind him—
The King.
And Princess Ireti.
Serah pulled away instantly.
Aren turned, fury blazing.
The King's expression was thunderous.
Malik's was victorious.
"Well done," Malik said softly. "You've just declared war."