28: THEY ARE HERE!!

The moment Erythian received word that war was coming to Calithea, a storm of fury ignited in his chest, because he knew that it wasn't just Calithea that was under threat, the true target was Lysandra; his hands curled into fists as he processed the weight of that truth. Someone wanted to have her and whoever It was didn't mind whether they had her dead or alive.

Without hesitation, he stormed toward the council chambers, his heavy footsteps echoing through the marble halls. The doors burst open as he entered, his presence and aura felt like a thunderclap in the silent room, he was visibly filled with rage.

Every council member turned to face him, but before any could speak, his voice tore through the space like a blade.

"Two wars waged against Calithea within such a short period! And yet, you stand here, useless! Inefficient!" His voice dripped with venom, his fury barely contained. "How could you let this happen? How could you fail so miserably at protecting your queen and your kingdom?"

Murmurs spread through the room, the council shifting uneasily under his gaze, some lowered their heads in shame, while others clenched their jaws in defiance. It was one of the latter who finally stood, an older man, his robes stiff with authority, his expression hardened.

"The rumors are true," the man declared with his voice sharp. "A witness has come forward. They saw her use powers and not just any powers...healing powers!" He let the words hang in the air, knowing their weight. "It is only a matter of time before word spreads, not just within Calithea but to the entire world. And when it does, do you think the people will still see her as queen? No. They will see her as a healer. They will bring their sick and wounded, demanding she mend them. They will question her vitality, her right to rule. This, Erythian, she has brought upon herself."

another council member stands up, riding off the confidence of the council member who has just spoken "if the queen has lied about her powers, what else has she lied about!" she steps forward "we have protected and fought for the queen, but she is the one who has failed us" she added.

"you have protected and fought for the queen? and yet only the queen is ever found fighting on the battleground defending the heart of Calithea...you are all pathetic!" Erythian's breath was ragged with frustration as he responded. His nails dug into his palms.

They spoke as though she were a threat to her own kingdom, as though she were not the very woman who had bled for this land, who had suffered for it. He had to protect her.

And there was only one way left.

Without another word, he turned and strode from the room, his mind made up. He needed to see her. Now!

Lysandra was in her chambers when the doors burst open, the sound startling her. She turned sharply, her heart pounding, until she saw Erythian. His expression was fierce, but beneath that, she sensed urgency, a desperation he rarely showed.

"We need to marry, Immediately!"

She blinked, trying to process the sudden declaration. "Erythian, what is happ—"

He saw the fear in her eyes and he took a breath to calm down "War is coming, and it is not Calithea they want. It is you." He moved closer, his hands finding her arms, holding her with a kind of gentleness that contradicted the fire in his eyes. "They know about your healing powers. The council is already turning against you. If word spreads, every desperate soul in this kingdom will flood the palace gates, demanding you save them. Lysandra, I cannot let them reduce you to a vessel for their needs."

Her throat tightened. She knew this was always a risk. But hearing it from him, spoken with such intensity, made it real.

"how do they know? who was the witness? who is behind all of this?" She asked with her eyes tearing up In fear.

He took her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. "I don't know my love...but If we marry, they will have no choice but to see you as their queen first, as mine. It will bind you to the throne in a way they cannot dispute and most of all, Zethro would be forced to release their army in your defence."

There was no hesitation in her when she answered. "Then we do it."

His relief was visible, though brief. They wasted no time calling upon the necessary figures, the marriage committees, the noble representatives, the high priest who would oversee the union. Within the hour, a date was set. In two days, they would be bound by sacred vows.

But not everyone would be pleased with this.

Alaric received word the next morning, and for the first time in his life, he felt something he could not contain.

Rage.

He had been patient. He had been careful, he had watched from the shadows, waiting for the right moment. He had stayed close enough to Lysandra without forcing her to despise him. And yet, despite all of it, she was slipping through his fingers.

No.

He would not allow it.

That night, he moved unseen through the palace, his presence ghostly in the moonlight. When he reached the queen's balcony, he descended without a sound, landing on the stone floor of the balcony with the grace of a predator.

The curtains swayed from the night breeze as he stepped inside her chambers.

And there she was.

Draped in white silk, her hair tumbling down her back, she sat brushing it, lost in her own thoughts. She hadn't noticed him yet. He stepped closer.

"Lysandra."

Her hand froze mid-stroke. Slowly, she turned, her eyes widening as she took him in.

"Alaric?"

He took another step. "Is it true?" His voice was softer than the storm inside him. "Are you marrying him?"

She inhaled deeply. "Yes."

His jaw clenched. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Alaric," she whispered, her voice steady. "I love him."

He exhaled sharply, as if the words had struck him like a blade. But he did not retreat. Instead, he moved closer, the space between them tightening with an unseen force.

"Do you really feel nothing for me?" His voice was laced with something dark, something almost broken.

She held his gaze. "No."

He studied her, his eyes piercing through her lie. And then, he stepped even closer, until her back met the cool stone wall.

"You're lying," he murmured, " you think I don't know what you do? " he says as he slowly walks closer to her.

"You push me away, you fight me at every turn, but when I get too close-"

Alaric hovered just above her, not touching.

His hand came up, fingers brushing against the side of her neck, trailing slowly down to her collarbone; His voice was a low rasp,

"You don't move."

Lysandra's pulse pounded. She hated that he was right.

Hated the way her traitorous body responded to him, how she couldn't seem to pull away even when she knew she should.

"Let me go,"

she whispered, though there was no conviction in her voice.

Alaric smirked.

"Liar."

He pulled her closer, The air between them turned electric, heavy and suffocating.

"Tell me to leave," he murmured.

The words were there, on the tip of her tongue, but they wouldn't come.

She wanted the way he made her feel-like fire and chaos.

And when his lips finally, finally crashed into hers, she stopped trying to fight it.

It was not gentle. It was raw, unyielding, a silent battle between desire and restraint. His hands found her waist, pulling her against him as if he could make her feel everything he had held back. And for a fleeting second, she did.

The world tilted, heat flooding her veins, her breath stolen.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against hers, his breath uneven. "Tell me you felt nothing."

She swallowed, forcing herself to hold onto her resolve. "I felt...nothing."

A flicker of pain crossed his features, but then it was gone, replaced by cold fury. Without another word, he stepped back, his wings unfurling as he ascended into the sky.

The next afternoon, the palace gates trembled under the weight of desperate fists.

Word had spread.

They came in droves, the sick, the wounded, their voices rising in a chorus of anguish. "Bring the queen! Let her heal us!"

Lysandra watched from the balcony, her heart pounding.

This was her greatest fear.

But then, warm fingers intertwined with hers. She turned to find Erythian at her side, his expression unwavering.

"You are not alone," he whispered.

And for the first time that day, she breathed.

That night, on the eve of their wedding, she found solace in his arms.

Their love had always been soft, but tonight, it burned.

Every touch was laced with reverence, every kiss a vow before the vows. They moved as if the world did not exist beyond the space between them, as if this night were their last.

And when it was over, they lay tangled together, whispering against each other's skin.

"We belong to each other now," he murmured.

"Always," she breathed.

But then—

A deafening explosion shattered the night.

The walls trembled. Fire erupted outside, turning the sky to embers.

Screams filled the air.

They scrambled from the bed, racing to the balcony.

Chaos reigned below. Flames engulfed buildings, people ran in terror, and amidst it all, one cry rose above the rest...

"They're here! They're here!"