Cassian did not speak to her for two days.
Not a word.
Not a glance.
They passed each other in council meetings, shared the high table at court banquets, even stood side by side during a foreign envoy's reception.
But silence stretched between them like glass.
Beautiful.
Fragile.
One word away from shattering.
Selene didn't push.
She didn't chase.
She simply watched.
Because now, she understood something vital.
Something dangerous.
Cassian might still wear the crown, but she had become the fire burning beneath it.
She spent her days carefully, methodically.
Adding names to her hidden list.
Confirming loyalties.
Reinforcing her control over the servants' network and outer messengers.
Her influence had begun to reach beyond palace walls, east, south, even into the merchant districts.
Not loudly.
Not yet.
But the pieces were shifting.
And they were shifting toward her.
The ring of the Black Flame still rested inside a small wooden box beneath her bed.
Untouched.
Unspoken.
But never forgotten.
Because she knew they were waiting.
Watching.
Ready to offer a throne of ash if she helped them burn Veredon to the ground.
And sometimes, late at night, when her hands ached from writing reports and her eyes blurred from reading noble ledgers, she wondered what kind of queen she would become if she let them.
It was on the third night that Cassian appeared.
Not at court.
Not in the council chamber.
But at her door.
No guards.
No armor.
Only a dark tunic, boots damp from the storm outside, and a look in his eyes that unsettled her more than any weapon could.
Selene answered without hesitation.
They stood facing each other in silence for a long time.
Then Cassian spoke.
"I've doubled the royal guard."
Selene raised an eyebrow.
"Afraid someone might finish the job?"
Cassian didn't smile.
"Afraid someone inside might help them do it."
She stepped back, letting him enter.
He crossed to the hearth, where the fire had nearly gone out.
Selene shut the door softly behind them.
"Are you here to accuse me?" she asked.
"No."
"Then why?"
He turned slowly.
And in the flicker of the dying flames, she saw the truth in his face.
He didn't trust her.
But he couldn't let her go.
Cassian walked to the table where her scrolls and notes were arranged.
He didn't touch anything.
He simply looked.
"You're building something," he said.
"You already said that."
"No," he said quietly. "I mean it now."
She crossed her arms.
"And what are you doing, Cassian? Bleeding your kingdom one province at a time?"
He met her gaze without flinching.
"Trying to hold it together long enough to see who I can trust."
"And have you?"
"Yes," he said.
Then paused.
"One."
Selene turned away.
She moved to the window, where the rain traced silver lines down the glass.
"You're lying," she said softly.
"No."
"You're hoping."
Silence.
Then, footsteps behind her.
He stopped inches away.
"You didn't let me die."
"I let you bleed."
"And you left a trail so I'd find the truth."
"I needed to know who you were when no one was watching."
"And now?"
She turned.
Their faces were close now.
Too close.
"I think I've always known," she whispered.
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then Cassian reached up, slowly, and touched the side of her face.
Not possessive.
Not soft.
But like a man touching something he had once owned and now could no longer claim.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
Selene's eyes didn't waver.
"Everything."
"And what will you give for it?"
She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.
"Exactly what it costs."
They did not kiss.
They did not touch again.
Because what stood between them wasn't love.
It was fire.
And neither one was ready to burn.
Not yet.
The next morning, Selene began expanding her network.
She summoned the steward in charge of foreign documents.
A minor noble from the coastal trade houses.
Loyal to no one but coin.
She gave him a new assignment.
"I want copies of all supply manifests routed to the eastern gates. From every province. Daily."
He frowned.
"That's... extensive, Your Majesty."
She smiled.
"So is treason."
By noon, she had spoken with the mistress of the royal archives.
By dusk, she had personally met with the stablemaster.
By moonrise, she had visited the seamstress's quarter, where half of the servants were born and raised, and where loyalty ran deeper than lineage.
She did not ask for rebellion.
She asked for whispers.
And in return, she offered safety.
They would not serve her out of fear.
They would serve her because in a palace ruled by blades, she was the only one building armor.
Cassian spent the day doing the opposite.
He replaced two generals.
Ordered an audit of the treasury.
Publicly rebuked the Duke of Marvane in full view of the court.
He ruled like a man gripping the edge of a cliff with one hand, and wielding a sword with the other.
And every time Selene looked at him, she saw the same thing.
Strength.
And exhaustion.
The kind that did not fade with rest.
Only with surrender.
That night, she found another letter under her door.
Short.
Blunt.
Written in the same hand as before.
"You have two weeks. Choose your side. The Black Flame does not wait forever."
She read it twice.
Then burned it without blinking.
That evening, she stood again on the balcony of her chambers.
Cassian was below, crossing the courtyard with two guards behind him.
He didn't look up.
But he didn't need to.
She knew he felt her watching.
Selene closed her eyes.
For the first time in her life, she was not being hunted.
She was hunting.
The girl who had once been a daughter of vengeance, a bride in chains, a prisoner behind velvet walls, was now something else entirely.
She was the crown.
She was the knife.
And the flames were almost ready.