The night after the Hidden Court bent its knee to her, Selene slept little.
When she closed her eyes, she dreamed of crowns shattering like glass.
When she opened them, she felt the weight of invisible chains tightening around her wrists.
Victory was never free.
And the Hidden Court was not loyal because they loved her.
They were loyal because they needed her.
And now they would ask for proof.
The request came before dawn.
A folded note left on her bedside table.
As if it had materialized from the shadows.
She sat up slowly, the silk sheets pooling around her waist, and read it by the thin light of the rising sun.
"The crown demands blood. The loyalty of the Hidden Court cannot be cemented without sacrifice. Choose a name. Deliver it. Or lose what you have gained."
No signature.
None needed.
Selene let the letter fall onto the coverlet.
Then she sat there for a long time.
Staring at nothing.
The day moved around her without touching her.
Court duties.
Reports.
Petitions from border provinces.
She answered every summons.
Smiled where expected.
Nodded where required.
But in her mind, she turned over names like stones in a river.
Who to give them?
Who would bleed for her?
Who would she condemn to die so her crown could rise?
She thought of Lady Alessa.
Too useful for now.
Too dangerous to trust later.
She thought of the Duke of Marvane.
Greedy. Weak. A man who would sell loyalty to the highest bidder.
But he was a public figure.
His death would cause ripples too early.
No.
It had to be someone visible enough to make a statement but disposable enough that Cassian would not burn the kingdom looking for revenge.
That evening, she walked the gardens alone.
The winter air bit at her skin through the thin layers of her cloak.
She liked the cold.
It made the decision easier.
Nothing beautiful survived winter.
Only the ruthless did.
As she passed the frozen fountain, a voice called out softly from the shadows.
"Your Majesty."
Selene turned.
Lord Bren Ilthorn emerged from the hedgerow, bowing low.
Young.
Ambitious.
Arrogant.
He had once sought her favor at court, fawning and preening, offering alliances and flattery like cheap wine.
Now he bowed, his eyes glinting with calculation.
"My queen," he said again, stepping closer.
"My queen."
Selene smiled.
And made her choice.
Lord Ilthorn was arrested the next morning.
Officially, for treason against the Crown.
Unofficially, for disloyalty to Selene.
The accusations were vague.
Correspondence with foreign envoys.
Misappropriation of funds.
Insubordination within the eastern garrisons.
Enough truth laced into the lies to make them impossible to fully deny.
Enough smoke to convince the court there was fire.
Cassian summoned her to the war chamber within the hour.
She found him standing by the long table, his hands gripping the edge as if trying to hold the world still.
He did not look up when she entered.
"Did you order it?" he asked.
Selene stepped closer.
"Order what?"
"The arrest."
"I approved it," she said calmly. "Is that not the same as ordering it?"
Cassian's jaw tightened.
"You move without me now."
Selene raised an eyebrow.
"You gave me a throne. Did you expect me not to sit on it?"
He turned to face her then.
His eyes were dark.
Sharp.
Not angry.
Wary.
Measuring.
"You're building something I can't see," he said.
Selene smiled faintly.
"Then perhaps you should open your eyes."
Cassian exhaled slowly.
"And Ilthorn?"
"He was a liability," she said. "And liabilities are dangerous in a kingdom bleeding from a thousand cuts."
He studied her for a long moment.
"You've changed," he said.
Selene stepped closer, until only inches separated them.
"No," she said softly.
"I've always been like this."
"You're just finally seeing it."
Cassian reached out then, slow and deliberate, and brushed a gloved finger along the edge of her jaw.
Not tender.
Not cruel.
Simply... acknowledgment.
Recognition.
Two predators circling the same wound.
"You're dangerous, Selene," he said.
"And you made me," she whispered.
That night, Lord Ilthorn was dragged through the Grand Courtyard.
Publicly.
Spectacularly.
He was stripped of titles.
Stripped of dignity.
Stripped of life.
A swift, brutal execution.
No trial.
No mercy.
The court watched in silence.
Some turned their faces away.
Others stared, hungry-eyed.
Selene stood at the highest balcony, dressed in black and silver, her face a perfect mask of grief and strength.
Cassian stood beside her.
Neither spoke.
Neither needed to.
The message had been sent.
The blood price had been paid.
The throne was hers for now.
Afterward, Selene returned to her chambers.
Alone.
The silence pressed against her.
Not accusing.
Not comforting.
Simply existing.
A mirror to her own hollow, cold triumph.
She poured herself a glass of wine with steady hands.
Then, without thinking, she crossed to the small wooden box hidden beneath her bed.
The ring of the Black Flame still rested inside.
She stared at it for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she closed the lid again.
Not yet.
There were still battles to win.
Still wars to fight.
Still fires to light.
As she sipped her wine, a knock came at her door.
Soft.
Familiar.
She set the glass down and moved to open it.
Cassian stood there.
Wearing no crown.
Carrying no sword.
Only his own exhaustion.
And something else.
Something dangerous.
He did not ask for permission.
He stepped inside.
Closed the door behind him.
And stood there in the half-light.
Selene watched him in silence.
Finally, he spoke.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For saving my kingdom from itself."
Selene smiled.
And it was not a kind smile.
"Who says it's still yours?"
Cassian stepped forward, slowly.
"Is it yours now?"
She tilted her head.
"Maybe it's ours."
Cassian reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"You're not my queen," he said quietly.
"You're my equal."
Selene leaned in, her lips a breath from his.
"No," she whispered.
"I'm your rival."
And then, without warning, she kissed him.
The kiss was not soft.
Not sweet.
It was fierce.
Demanding.
A clash of wills as much as mouths.
Cassian pulled her closer, his hands rough against her waist.
Selene tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling just hard enough to remind him she was not something to be possessed.
They broke apart only when breathing became impossible.
Cassian rested his forehead against hers.
Breathless.
Smiling faintly.
Selene closed her eyes.
For this moment, they were not king and queen.
Not rivals.
Not enemies.
Just two broken, burning souls clinging to the only thing left in a kingdom built on blood.
Each other.