The light had barely touched the curtains,
but I was already awake.
Lucian's breath was steady beside me.
Calm. Unburdened.
Unlike mine.
His arm rested loosely across the blankets.
Not possessive.
Just… there.
I turned my head, slowly.
Watched the rise and fall of his chest.
He looks like a man.
Not a duke.
Not a commander.
Just a man.
Sleeping beside his wife.
But I mustn't forget—
Love is not my goal.
Survival is.
Still…
I leaned forward.
Pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
Soft. Barely there.
And slipped out of bed.
The halls were quiet,
the air cold against my skin as I stepped into my boots.
Lucian had promised—
He said he'd join me at the training grounds today.
Said he'd teach me.
But the bed remained warm behind me.
Empty of movement.
So I left.
As always.
Before the sun could climb.
Steel met frost.
I welcomed the chill.
Let it bite.
Let it wake me.
My sword cut through the air—
unrefined but eager.
Again.
Again.
Again.
No Duke.
No teacher.
Just me.
And the weight of what I must become.
Then—
Crunch.
The snow behind me shifted.
I didn't stop.
But my grip tightened.
"Starting without me?"
His voice, smooth. Sleep-warmed.
Almost smug.
I exhaled.
Didn't look back.
"You were still asleep."
"You could've woken me."
"You looked peaceful."
He stepped closer,
boots brushing the edge of my shadow.
"So you watched me sleep?"
I rolled my eyes, swinging again.
"You snore, by the way."
"I do not."
"You do. Softly. Like a bear in denial."
He laughed—
low and warm.
"Is that what I am now? A bear?"
"A tired one. Who forgets his promises?"
Lucian caught my wrist mid-strike.
Our eyes met.
"I never forget," he said,
voice closer now,
too close.
"You were late."
"I was watching you walk away."
A pause.
"You didn't think I'd let you train alone today, did you?"
"I mostly train alone."
"Not anymore."
His hand slid from my wrist to my fingers,
guiding the blade gently down.
"I said I'd teach you," he murmured.
"And I meant it."
Our breath mingled.
Mist and silence.
"I'm not weak."
"I know."
"I'm not yours to guard."
"That's not why I'm here."
He stepped back.
"Again," he said, drawing his blade.
"But this time, try not to look so distracted."
I smirked.
Took my stance.
Let him watch me.
Let him see I don't need saving.
But gods help me—
I wanted him to look anyway.
Steel clashed once more—then paused.
Lucian held his blade steady.
I twisted mine. Just enough to gain the edge.
He smiled.
So did I.
"Better," he said.
"Faster," I replied.
He lowered his sword.
"I prefer you like this."
"Sweaty?"
"Unyielding."
I didn't answer.
Not with words.
But the fire in my chest agreed.
Later, I changed quickly.
Wiped frost from my collar.
Braided my hair with wet fingers.
There wasn't time to look presentable.
Only time to be prepared.
The council chambers smelled of dust and old nerves.
Men with silver hair and sour expressions.
Lucian's seat at the head.
Mine—next to his
But unwelcome by the audience.
"Your Grace," one of them said,
as if the words tasted wrong.
"There's a merchant from the Eastern reach… insists on speaking with the Duke or his consort directly."
Lucian gave a slight nod.
"Let her speak."
She entered, wrapped in copper silks.
Sharp eyes. Rough hands.
The kind of woman who's never been told no.
"I've brought something you've lacked for years," she said.
"And I'm not speaking of goods. I bring potential."
She unwrapped a velvet pouch.
Mana stones.
Glowing. Buzzing.
Like caged storms.
Gasps echoed across the chamber.
"Where did you get these?" a noble demanded.
"They've been banned since the eastern rebellion."
"And yet," she said, smiling, "here they are."
I stepped forward.
"They're real."
I didn't touch them—
but I didn't have to.
My magic sang at their presence.
"What do you want for them?" I asked.
"Access to Noctare's western pass.
And a trade permit.
Exclusive."
A long pause.
Then chaos.
"She dares ask for—"
"This is treasonous—"
"She could be a spy—"
Lucian raised a hand.
Silence fell.
His eyes flicked to me.
I stepped forward again.
Bolder.
"Let her have the trade pass."
Gasps again.
"She has something more valuable than gold."
I met every gaze that turned to me.
Didn't blink.
"She has power.
And if we don't take it—someone else will."
One of the lords leaned forward, sneering.
"And what do you plan to do, my lady?
Harness them yourself?
Build an army of wild magic?"
"No," I said.
"I plan to build an army of survivors."
Lucian didn't interrupt me.
He let me speak.
Let them see.
Let them doubt me—so long as I moved the board.
When the merchant left, the stones in our possession,
I turned to Lucian.
"You'll let me lead this?"
"You already did."
"But they won't follow."
"They will," he said,
"Once they realize the war is already at their doorstep."
A beat.
"And if they don't?" I asked.
He smiled faintly.
"Then they'll burn."
We dismissed the council by noon.
Some left with muttered curses.
Others… with narrowed eyes.
But Lucian stayed silent beside me.
As always—still as stone.
But when the doors closed, and only the two of us remained—
He spoke.
"You enjoyed that."
I smiled, slowly.
"They underestimated me."
"They always will."
"I'll make them regret it."
He stepped closer, brushing a stray braid behind my ear.
"You already have."
His voice dropped.
"And I may never recover from it."
The sky outside had cleared.
Snow melted into mud.
The training fields buzzed with life again.
Knights lined the arena.
Sweat on steel.
Boots in rhythm.
Chests puffed with pride.
Too clean.
Too rigid.
I saw it instantly—
the same flaw in every one of them.
They'd never fought a mage.
Lucian watched them with the same narrowed focus I'd seen on battlefields in my past life.
But this time, I stepped ahead of him.
"May I?" I asked.
He arched a brow.
"Planning to join them?"
"No," I said. "Planning to correct them."
They stared as I walked the line.
Not with respect.
With confusion.
Whispers followed me like shadows.
Why is she here?
Does she think she's a general?
Just the Duke's wife. Nothing more.
I stopped in front of one of them.
A tall man. Broad. Smirking.
"Form up," I said.
He didn't move.
"Begging your pardon, my lady, but we weren't informed—"
Lucian's voice cut through the air.
"Form up."
They obeyed.
Not for me.
For him.
But I'd take it.
I had them run the mage formation drills.
What little they knew.
I saw it immediately—how slow their pivot was.
How easily a fire wielder could flank them.
How a water mage could turn the terrain against them.
How dead they'd be in five minutes.
I didn't hold back.
"That shield wall is useless against enchantment shockwaves."
"This stance—this right here—gets your front line burned."
The cocky knight from before stepped forward.
"If the lady knows so much," he said, "why doesn't she show us?"
I didn't flinch.
"I already did."
I flicked my wrist.
Snow bloomed from the air, curling around his boots.
His smirk faltered as frost slithered up to his calves.
"You were dead five seconds ago," I said.
Gasps.
A few stifled laughs.
And then—
Lucian clapped.
Slow.
Deliberate.
With the barest trace of pride.
"She'll be running your drills tomorrow," he said.
"Any man who objects can duel me."
No one spoke.
Later, as the knights filed out, Lucian stayed behind.
We stood alone in the field.
Mud and snow beneath our boots.
"You didn't need to defend me," I said.
"I didn't."
"Then what was that?"
"Fear."
I turned.
"Of the knights?"
He stepped closer.
"No."
Then leaned down, voice low against my ear.
"Of what you're becoming."
I swallowed.
"You mean strong?"
"I mean unforgettable."
His fingers brushed mine.
Not a grab. Not a claim.
Just a question.
"Will you walk back with me?"
I looked up at him.
And for once—
I didn't measure the risk.
I slipped my hand into his.
Let the knights talk.
Let the lords rage.
Let the world prepare for war.
I was becoming something they couldn't define.
And Lucian—
Lucian wasn't trying to stop me.
He saw the fire in me,
And ignited it more.
The sun dipped low behind the walls,
casting long shadows over melting frost.
Lucian and I walked in silence.
Not out of coldness—
but something else.
A kind of awareness.
His hand in mine was warm.
Too warm.
Too steady.
It was easier to face war
than it was to hold hope.
When we reached the threshold of the manor,
he paused.
"I have a meeting," he said, reluctantly.
"But Kaelen's waiting for you in the east courtyard."
I blinked.
"What for?"
His lips curved.
"You'll see."
Kaelen was waiting.
As usual.
Quiet as stone, shadowed by twilight.
"You brought them?" I asked.
He nodded.
"They don't trust easily."
"Neither do I."
He stepped aside.
Three figures emerged from the far wall.
Each cloaked.
Each different.
Each was dangerous in their way.
The first—
Caelen,
a boy, maybe seventeen.
Tattered sleeves. Eyes like lit coals.
He crackled with energy he barely controlled.
"She's the one?" he asked Kaelen.
I raised my brow.
"She's standing right here," I replied.
The second—
Karly,
a silent woman, taller than me,
hair bound in cords,
magic leaking from her like mist.
She did not speak.
But her eyes followed every twitch in the air.
And the last—
Ryn,
a man older than both.
Smirking. Sharp.
Too confident for someone hiding in ruins.
"Well, if this is the duchess," he said,
"Then I might've come out of hiding sooner."
I didn't blink.
"Touch me without permission," I said,
"And I'll freeze your tongue mid-flirt."
He laughed.
Kaelen sighed.
"She's serious," he warned.
The flirt dropped the act, just for a second.
Enough to show me the exhaustion beneath the charm.
"You've all lived through enough," I said, softer.
"But now I need you to live for something."
"For what?" the youngest asked.
"Another crown?"
"No," I said.
"For a future that doesn't exploit people like us."
I showed them my magic.
Not all of it—
just enough to make the air shimmer.
The silent one tilted her head.
Then nodded.
The boy looked at Kaelen.
Then at me.
Then stepped forward.
And the flirt?
He just smirked again.
"You've got eyes like someone who's already seen the end," he said.
"And hands like someone ready to change it."
"Will you fight under me?" I asked.
He gave a mock bow.
"I'll fight beside you."
Fair enough.
Later, I stood in the quiet of the courtyard,
watching them walk into the manor.
Kaelen joined me again.
"You trust them?" he asked.
"No."
"But I understand them."
He glanced at me sideways.
"You're not like them."
I turned to him.
Voice quiet.
Even.
"I'm exactly like them."
"I just had better dresses."
That night,
I stayed in the study with Kaelen.
We reviewed maps.
Outlined troop movement.
Discussed training strategies for mage integration.
But even with parchment spread before us,
I could feel it—
the heat behind me.
Lucian stood in the doorway.
Watching.
Silent.
Kaelen noticed.
He closed the book without being asked.
"I'll return in the morning," he said, nodding to me.
Then to Lucian.
"Your Grace."
Lucian didn't respond.
Only stepped aside to let him pass.
Then closed the door.
Click.
Locked.
I turned.
"You don't usually lock that."
"I don't usually feel like this."
His voice was low.
Flat.
Coiled.
"What exactly do you feel?" I asked.
He stepped toward me.
"That boy. The one with the lightning eyes."
"Ryn?"
He nodded.
Jaw tight.
"He looks at you like he already belongs at your side."
I tilted my head.
"I need him to feel safe. To trust me."
"And what about me, Liora?"
His voice cracked like flint.
"Do I get to trust you?"
I didn't answer.
Not with words.
I stepped closer instead.
Lifted my hand to his collar.
Smoothed it flat.
Deliberate.
"He's a child to me, Lucian."
"That didn't stop the way he looked at you."
I sighed.
"You're being ridiculous."
"And yet," he murmured, "I still want to burn him for it."
He reached for me.
Not rough.
But not soft either.
Both hands at my waist.
Pulling me closer until we barely breathed.
"You've changed," he whispered.
"So have you."
"I don't know how to be gentle with this," he admitted.
"With us."
"I don't need gentle," I said, voice steady.
"I need truth."
He leaned in, lips brushing mine—
barely.
"So tell me the truth," he whispered.
"Did you think about me today?"
I nodded.
Eyes still closed.
"When?"
"When you weren't there."
He kissed me.
Not careful.
Not cruel.
Just… passion.
His hands slid up my spine.
Mine tangled in his collar.
The desk behind me pressed against my legs.
Wood. Sharp. Real.
He broke the kiss.
Only slightly.
"Tell me to stop."
"I won't."
"Tell me you're not mine."
"You'd hate me for lying."
I pulled him down again.
Lips, heat, breath.
The room swam.
This wasn't the kind of kiss people remembered.
This was the kind they regret never having.
When we finally broke apart,
I was breathless.
And burning.
His forehead rested against mine.
"This can't be a weapon," he whispered.
"What we have."
"It won't be," I said.
"But if it must be…"
I opened my eyes, voice soft.
"Then let me choose how to wield it."
TO BE CONTINUED-