Chapter 36: Chains of Desire, Chains of War

The air in the cabin felt like a held breath heavy, hot, waiting.

Alistair Von Wolfenstein hadn't moved since the moment Seraphina whispered her answer.

"Fine."

One word a blade wrapped in silk had anchored the storm, but it hadn't calmed it.

And Isolde's silence was just as dangerous.

Because her agreement hadn't been spoken it had been implied.

Not surrender.

Not peace.

Just a fragile, dangerous truce.

Bound not by love but by want, by rivalry, by the thin line between control and chaos.

Seraphina's Unyielding Fire.

Seraphina leaned back against the wall again, her dagger now resting in its sheath against her thigh, though the way her fingers drummed against the hilt told Alistair it wouldn't take much for her to draw it again.

She didn't look at him.

She didn't look at Isolde either.

Instead, her gaze lingered on the wooden floor where the wreckage of the last 24 hours still lay scattered:

The torn sheets.

The broken glass.

The scars left behind by more than just the Hollowfang.

When she finally spoke, her voice was a quiet burn.

"This changes nothing," Seraphina said. "I'm not yours. And I'm sure as hell not hers."

Alistair didn't flinch. "It's not about belonging."

Her lips curled but there was no humor in it.

"No," she murmured. "It's about winning."

And gods above Alistair knew that was the closest Seraphina would ever come to admitting the truth.

She hadn't said yes to the marriage because she wanted to belong to him.

She'd said yes because she refused to lose him to Isolde.

Isolde's Relentless Ice.

Isolde hadn't moved either.

She still stood near the desk, her fingers tapping once, twice against the hilt of her rapier a silent mirror of Seraphina's hand resting on her dagger.

But unlike Seraphina, Isolde's face wasn't burning with emotion.

It was blank.

Too blank.

And Alistair recognized it for what it was not calm, but containment.

A storm so fierce it had to be locked behind ice before it shattered everything.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, was soft but sharp enough to draw blood.

"You think this will end the fighting," Isolde said not a question, but a statement. "It won't."

Alistair's jaw tightened. "It doesn't have to end. It just has to stop tearing us apart."

Isolde's smile didn't reach her eyes. "You think marrying us will hold us together?"

Seraphina's laugh was dark. "It'll only make the knives sharper."

The Collision of Fire and Ice.

And just like that

The storm cracked again.

Seraphina pushed off the wall too fast, too reckless and closed the distance between her and Isolde in two short strides.

"Let's get one thing straight, Ice Queen," Seraphina growled. "I didn't say yes because of you."

Isolde didn't move.

Didn't blink.

"Good," she said softly. "Because I don't care why you said yes."

Alistair felt the tension in his chest like a physical weight like a rope pulled too tight, threatening to snap.

"Enough," he growled stepping between them, his hand a firm barrier against Seraphina's stomach, keeping her from getting any closer. "We're not doing this."

Seraphina's eyes burned. "Then what are we doing, Alistair?"

He didn't have an answer.

Because this wasn't a resolution.

It was a new battlefield.

The storm hadn't ended it had just changed the rules.

The Oath That Binds Them.

Finally after another long silence Alistair spoke.

Not as a lover.

Not as a man caught between fire and ice.

But as their Captain.

"This marriage isn't about love," Alistair said his voice steady, rough. "It's about loyalty."

Seraphina's lips twitched but the smile didn't hold.

Isolde's fingers still hovered too close to her rapier.

And Alistair met both their gazes the fierce fire of Seraphina, the quiet fury of Isolde knowing they weren't standing on opposite sides anymore.

They were standing inside the storm.

Together.

"If we do this," Alistair said slowly, "it's not to calm the storm between us. It's to survive it."

Another silence.

Longer this time.

And then

Seraphina's dagger slipped back into her thigh sheath with a soft click.

Isolde's hand fell away from her rapier.

And Alistair

He didn't smile.

Because this wasn't a victory.

It was a pact.

A dangerous, fragile pact.

And the next time the storm broke…

It wouldn't be with words.

It would be with fire and ice colliding.