Chapter 8 – The Hand That Holds, the Hand That Burns

The sky above the palace was awash in silver hues, a twilight curtain hanging before the night fell completely. A gentle breeze brushed across the highest balcony of the Eastern Wing, where Aurelia stood alone, eyes fixed on the wilting rose garden below, its colors fading with the season. Her maroon gown swayed softly in the wind like a restrained flame.

It had been two days since the autumn banquet. Two days since Caelum looked at her with a wound he never voiced. Two days since Serion asked her to trust him again.

And tonight, Serion had summoned her to the Crystal Pavilion—a place reserved only for royal family and dignitaries.

"Am I an honored guest," Aurelia whispered, "or just a pawn you're trying to reclaim?"

The balcony door creaked open. Familiar footsteps graced the marble floor, and Serion's distinctive scent—spiced cedar and something more subtle—filled the air.

"Aurelia," he said gently, his voice both soft and commanding.

She turned slowly. Serion stood at the threshold, draped in a black mantle embroidered with gold, his hair neatly styled, his lips holding a faint smile. Not his usual cunning smirk—there was something nearly sincere.

"Prince Serion," Aurelia replied flatly.

He approached, letting silence fill the space between them.

"You look tired," he said. "Should I blame myself for that?"

"If you want to play the hero of your own tragedy, be my guest," she said, holding back the simmering anger in her chest.

Serion chuckled lightly. "Truthfully... it is my fault." He lowered his gaze for a moment, then locked eyes with hers. "And tonight, I'm not here to play games."

Aurelia said nothing.

"I know you don't trust anyone, especially me," he continued. "But you must know—my engagement to Lady Cyrene was political. A cold calculation from the Northern Council. They wanted stability. I gave it to them. But I never gave them my heart."

She scoffed. "So now you come bearing your heart? After sacrificing and humiliating me before the entire court?"

"If I could choose again, I wouldn't have let that happen."

He stepped closer. "Cyrene will vanish from the stage. That much is certain."

Aurelia raised her chin, narrowing her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Those who play with thorns too long... bleed. An accident, perhaps. A scandal. I've already arranged it."

She held her breath. Serion's words were poison wrapped in silk. He was calm, convincing—more than clever. He was a serpent who knew when to whisper and when to strike.

"And after that?" she asked.

"After that, I take the throne. And you—stand beside me. Not as a tool, but as a queen in her full power."

He stepped closer. Only an arm's length remained. He lifted a hand, not to touch her cheek or hair, but to take her hand—still cold from the wind—and gently lifted it.

With elegant grace, he bowed and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

"If fate gives me one more chance… I choose you, Aurelia. Not because you are beautiful or strong, but because you are dangerous. Like a storm I can't tame—but one I can't forget."

She stared at him, speechless. The world seemed to stop turning. And for a fleeting moment, she saw Serion not as a future king or a traitor, but as a man who adored her—or at least, made her believe he did.

But in this palace, everything has a price.

And Aurelia hadn't forgotten—old wounds still bled.

When Serion left, his scent still lingering in the air, Aurelia stood frozen on the balcony. The hand Serion kissed felt warm—not from tenderness, but from meaning far heavier than she'd anticipated.

She looked up at the darkening sky, realizing one thing: Serion didn't just want power. He wanted her. And that made him far more dangerous.

Footsteps echoed from the rear corridor. Not the soft, deceptive steps of Serion—but something heavier, steadier. Like someone always ready for battle.

Only one man walked like that.

"Caelum," she murmured without turning.

He stopped a few steps behind her, pausing before he spoke. "I didn't mean to intrude."

"You didn't," she replied softly. "You came when I needed to see reality."

Finally, she turned. Caelum stood there, his silver hair neatly tied, still in dark armor though there was no war. His eyes, like frozen lakes, locked on hers, as if trying to read the heart just struck by storm.

"You saw me with Serion," she said evenly.

Caelum nodded. "Yes."

"And you're not going to ask why?"

"I know the answer."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"This is the palace. You don't always get to choose who stands beside you. But I also know... sometimes, you want to choose. And that hurts."

A long pause. The night wind grew colder.

Aurelia stepped closer, and Caelum didn't move. They stood barely a breath apart.

"I'm tired, Caelum," she whispered.

"I know," he said gently. "You don't have to pretend with me."

She lifted her hand, placing it over his chest—above his heart. She could feel it racing. Not from battle. But because of her.

"If I choose to fall," she whispered, eyes locked on his, "...will you catch me?"

Caelum didn't answer. He simply lifted his hand and wrapped his fingers around hers, like sealing a silent vow. In the pressing stillness of night, Aurelia leaned forward.

And kissed him.

Not a kiss of passion or demand—but a kiss born of wounds and trust. Of vulnerability shared only with someone who would never betray her.

Caelum didn't kiss back right away. He just closed his eyes, as if memorizing the moment.

When she pulled away, her breath trembled—caught between fear and wonder.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered.

"But you did it anyway," Caelum replied softly. "And that's enough for me."

Aurelia lowered her gaze. "I hate him. Serion. But I also... once trusted him."

"And now?"

"I don't know," she breathed. "I just know... when I'm with you, I don't feel like a queen. Or a pawn. Just... me."

Caelum took a long breath. He said nothing, but his presence spoke clearly—he would never demand. Never push. He would wait. As he always had.

And perhaps, that was the most painful part.

The next morning, Aurelia stood before her mirror. Her eyes didn't flinch as her maid brushed her hair. The world wouldn't wait for her heart to choose. Politics made no room for romance.

But in her frozen eyes, something had changed.

Two men.

Two fates.

And only one path to take.

But for the first time, Aurelia wasn't sure... who she was willing to sacrifice to reach it.