Bride of the Forgotten Throne

The council chamber had been cleared.

No robes. No scrolls.

No witnesses.

Just the Queen and the King, seated side by side on twin thrones. Kaelira had never sat in this room with Dorian like this before.

As equals.

As something more than shadow and flame.

She stared at the map sprawled across the war table—fresh ink marks bleeding over old borders. Rebel factions in the south. Loyalist fractures in the east. The Hollow's quiet, unpredictable pull on all things.

Dorian sat beside her, fingers steepled. Watching her.

"You still read maps like a soldier."

"I still think like one," she replied.

He smiled faintly. "You used to think like a storm."

She didn't smile back. "Maybe I still do."

They argued.

Quietly.

Not as enemies, but as two leaders with truths that didn't align.

"We need to send emissaries to Lethra," Dorian insisted. "Show them stability before they crown a rebellion."

"If we show them peace, they'll smell weakness," Kaelira countered. "Lethra bows to flame, not treaties."

His eyes narrowed. "You'd burn them before speaking?"

Her gaze never wavered. "I'd remind them what silence costs."

The air between them charged again—tension blooming like thunderclouds.

But then…

Kaelira looked away.

Softened.

"I don't want war. Not again. But I won't lose this throne twice."

Dorian's voice dropped. Gentle. "Then let me hold it with you."

He reached out—tentative. She didn't flinch this time. Her fingers slipped into his. The world didn't stop.

But for a moment, it softened.

Later, they walked the gardens alone. No guards. No masks. Just memory and slow, aching steps between flowerbeds that hadn't bloomed since she left.

"You planted these?" Kaelira asked, kneeling beside a row of bleeding hearts.

"You hated them," he replied.

"I never hated them," she whispered. "They reminded me of what I couldn't feel."

Now, she touched one gently. And it didn't wilt. Dorian crouched beside her, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers.

"What are we now?" he asked.

"Unwritten," she said. "But... writing."

He leaned in.

His forehead against hers. And the Hollow inside her quieted for the first time in weeks.