70. The Ultimatum

Chapter 70. The Ultimatum

The room was quiet, the noise of the banquet a distant hum far below the stone walls. Zuko had left early, excusing himself with the expected fatigue of the day's ceremony. No one questioned the newly crowned Crown Prince.

Now, he sat shirtless on the edge of his balcony, the crimson ceremonial robes folded over the armrest nearby. The breeze was soft and cool against his skin, stirring the faint wisps of his dark hair. His golden eyes were fixed on the sky—on the tiny crescent moon hanging alone in the darkness.

The stars above the Fire Nation capital shimmered faintly, but they did little to distract him. His thoughts were elsewhere. Spinning, calculating.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

'Iroh's reaction was too sharp to be coincidence,' he thought, his gaze hardening. 'He knew the name the moment I said it. The Order of the White Lotus. His cough wasn't surprise, it was fear. Of what I knew. Of what I might say next.'

Zuko exhaled slowly.

The problem wasn't just Iroh.

Ever since his return to the capital, something had been gnawing at him. Whispers he couldn't place. Patterns he couldn't ignore. Zhao had been working with someone, someone hidden, someone above. He remembered it clearly, back when he was still playing the part of the exiled prince and living under Zhao's thump.

'And that someone wasn't the White Lotus. That group was built to protect balance. This was something else. Something darker. Anti-balance.'

His fingers curled over the edge of the balcony railing.

'Iroh is here now. Watching. Waiting. Suspicious of me. And I can't afford that. Not yet.'

He leaned back slightly, staring at the horizon where the faint curve of volcanoes and hills met the sky. The night was quiet. Peaceful.

It almost made him laugh.

He'd done it. The Avatar was free. The Fire Nation had no idea how. Zhao was finished. Azula humiliated. And he—the once-exiled, disgraced prince, was now the heir to the throne of fire.

And yet…

Something told him the game was just beginning.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence.

It wasn't urgent. It wasn't hesitant either. Just… deliberate.

Zuko didn't move at first. His golden eyes narrowed slightly as he turned his head toward the sound. His hand reached for the robe draped over the chair, sliding it around his shoulders as he stood and walked toward the entrance.

He opened the door.

And there she stood.

Azula.

No guards flanked her. No maids followed in her shadow. She stood alone in the doorway, illuminated by the torchlight lining the corridor behind her. She wore a deep crimson and black robe, not unlike her former royal attire, but looser, still more combative than ceremonial. Her hair was down, flowing like ink over her shoulders instead of tied into its usual severe bun.

Her eyes were unreadable.

"You came," Zuko said simply.

"I didn't say I would," she replied, her voice quiet but sharp. "I'm only here because I have questions."

Zuko stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. "Then ask them."

She walked in, her steps slow but graceful, glancing once around the room before standing in the center. She turned to face him, arms crossed, not moving further.

Zuko closed the door behind her.

"You planned this," she said. "All of it. My humiliation, Zhao's downfall, the Avatar's escape, every step."

"I told you," Zuko answered as he approached her, "you're not the only one who can see the long game."

Azula scoffed softly. "You've changed. You're colder. Sharper."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

She looked at him, really looked at him. The scarred prince she once called pathetic now stood taller, more composed than he ever had. There was something dangerous about him now. Calculating.

"I haven't decided if I hate you more for it," she said.

He smiled faintly. "That's up to you. I offered you a path back to power, Azula. And I gave you my terms."

"Your terms," she repeated, her voice edged now. "You think I'll submit just because you're the favored one today?"

"No," he said, taking a step closer. "I think you've already decided. You just don't want to admit it."

She didn't move.

"I know what you are," he said. "I know how your mind works. You want power back, and I'm giving it to you. All you have to do is be who you've always been."

He paused, stepping close enough that she could feel his presence now, close, but not touching.

"But there's a price."

Her jaw clenched. "You mean…"

"I mean everything I said the other night," he interrupted. "Be mine. Not just in name, but in reality. Stand beside me, not as a rival, but as the one who shares my crown."

Azula's hands twitched slightly. Her face remained composed, but her silence betrayed the storm beneath.

"Don't pretend you didn't consider it," he said. "Even now. You could have walked away. You could have burned this palace down. But you came here instead."

"I came for answers," she replied, though her voice had softened.

"And I gave you one," Zuko said. "Now I'm giving you until sunrise. Stay tonight, and everything begins anew. Refuse, and you'll remain what Father made you—useless, ignored, forgotten."

She looked at him a moment longer.

Then, without a word, she turned away and walked toward the window.

She didn't say yes.

She didn't say no.

But she didn't leave either.

Zuko stepped past her, drawing the curtains and closing the doors to the balcony, leaving only the torchlight to glow in the room behind them.

Night deepened.

And the silence between them grew heavy.

Azula remained by the window, her eyes fixed on the dark horizon beyond the glass. The flickering light of the torches danced along the edges of her robe and the strands of hair spilling down her back. Zuko stood a few paces behind her, watching the tightness in her shoulders, the way her hands slowly uncurled and curled again.

She didn't speak.

Neither did he.

And then, slowly, she turned.

Her golden eyes locked with his. Not with anger. Not with hatred. But with something far more dangerous: hesitation.

Zuko stepped forward.

Azula didn't retreat.

He reached for her, one hand brushing gently against the silk of her waist. The touch was light, almost reverent. Her breath caught, but she didn't pull away. His other hand moved to her cheek, fingertips skimming the edge of her jaw. Then, without a word, he leaned in, and their lips met.

It was not gentle.

It was not polite.

It was heat. Repressed. Denied. Burned down and rebuilt in the aftermath of pain, pride, and rivalry.

But she broke it first, pulling back sharply, her eyes wide, as if surprised by herself.

Zuko didn't chase her. He waited.

She stared at him, almost angry, and then, with a sharp breath, leaned in again.

Their mouths met once more, harder this time. Her hands clenched the fabric of his robes before she pushed him away again, stepping back, chest rising and falling.

"Don't," she warned, though her voice was unsteady.

Zuko stepped forward again.

This time, she didn't stop him.

He kissed her for a third time, slower, more controlled, but deeper. And when their lips finally parted, her hands were trembling, her body tense under his touch.

He held her close, his hand still at her waist.

Her eyes wouldn't meet his.

"What is your decision?" he asked quietly.

She didn't answer.

Not yet.

The air in the room had turned heavier, as though the firelight itself had grown warmer.

Azula still hadn't stepped away from him. Her eyes searched his face like it held a puzzle she couldn't quite piece together. She was a strategist, trained to identify weaknesses. But the way he looked at her, it wasn't just lust. It was... something deeper, something she couldn't name, and that frightened her more than anything.

"You want me," she said flatly. "Not politically. Not tactically. You... want me." Her tone held accusation more than invitation.

Zuko didn't deny it.

"I do."

Her brows drew together. "Why? We're siblings, Zuko. That should mean something."

He studied her. Not with shame. Not even regret.

"It does," he said. "It means everything. I grew up fearing you. Hating you. You were Father's favorite. You were always better, always sharper, always ahead."

She blinked. Something in her chest tightened, but she said nothing.

"And then I was exiled," Zuko continued, "and I thought I would forget you. That I would become someone new, someone free. But out there… in the dark… you were still there. In my head. The standard I had to surpass. The shadow I couldn't escape."

Azula looked away.

Zuko's voice dropped. "That fear I had? It twisted into something else. Maybe because I hated how much I admired you. Maybe because I knew you were the only one who could understand what it meant to be born into this family. But I stopped being afraid of it. Of you."

"And that's your excuse?" she asked, snapping her head back toward him. "Some warped obsession you developed in exile?"

He stepped closer again, voice calm but unwavering.

"The bloodline argument is a convenient excuse. But the truth?" His gaze didn't waver. "I want you, Azula. Not as a symbol. Not for duty. You."

Azula shook her head, trying to step away, but his hand remained at her waist.

"You think just because I've lost everything, I'll throw myself at you to crawl back to the top?" she asked, venom returning to her words. "That I'd need you?"

"No," he said. "I think you're smarter than that."

She stiffened.

"I think you know the position you're in. And I think you're still ruthless enough to do whatever it takes to get it back."

Silence stretched.

"You said you were still a prodigy," Zuko said, "that your bending had no limits. Maybe that's true. But you and I both know, raw talent isn't everything."

He leaned in, his voice almost a whisper.

"The time to choose is now. When I return with the Avatar in chains again, you'll either be beside me... or forgotten."

Azula stared at him. Her fists clenched at her sides.

"Whatever it takes?" she asked finally, the words like iron on her tongue.

Zuko tilted his head. "Whatever it takes, Azuzu."

She grimaced slightly at the old nickname. And then, after a long pause, she exhaled.

"Fine then," she said, voice quiet but clear. "I'll give you my body."

Zuko didn't move. Didn't gloat. He only studied her with that same cold calm.

The fire crackled.

[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]