(If you're reading this, I suggest this background music playlist while reading: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/49Km3pDpCSI6dEiYlm895D?si=qYMyklLzStGQvDEd6qPmtQ)

Thalia’s POV

The scent of roasted meat lingered heavy in the air. Spices, honey, and mulled wine danced between the laughter of children and the songs of warriors. The festival was reaching its crescendo—the final night ablaze with joy. A bonfire cracked and soared high at the center of the camp, casting wild shadows on painted faces. People twirled around it, hands locked, skirts flaring, boots stomping in rhythm to the beating drums. It was the biggest feast of the year—Valtara’s yearly offering to life, survival, and hope.

Everyone was part of it. Everyone… except him.

I spotted Zagan standing a distance away, half-consumed by the shadows of the trees, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable as usual. His hair glinted faintly under the firelight, and I caught the faintest shimmer of frost clinging to his shoulders—a subconscious defense, perhaps.

Typical. Always at the edge. Always resisting warmth.

I took a deep breath, brushed invisible dust off my cloak, and approached.

“Not here for my antics, don’t worry,” I began before he could turn away. “Just here to talk. Like a normal person. Don’t push me away, my lord.”

He didn’t even blink.

“You love to disturb my peace,” Zagan muttered, voice low and cold.

I shrugged, pretending not to care. “Guilty.”

We stood there for a moment in silence. The music behind us seemed like it belonged to another world. The sky above was endless, stars blinking lazily through soft clouds. But here—beside him—everything felt tighter. Quieter. Sharper.

He didn’t look at me. Just stared at the flames in the distance, jaw tight.

“I was thinking,” he finally said. “About what King Vaelion told me. About what he wants me to become.”

His voice had shifted. No longer cold—just tired.

I tilted my head, but stayed silent, letting him speak. It wasn’t often Zagan talked like this. Not unless it was important.

He drew a breath.

“You’ve heard the stories. The monster. The cursed prince. The mad king’s bastard child,” he said bitterly. “But you don’t know the rest.”

His fingers twitched slightly, as if recalling pain. “When my powers awakened, I couldn’t control them. I was... chaos. People feared me—and they were right to. I couldn’t touch anything without freezing it. Couldn’t speak without the wind slicing skin. Couldn’t sleep without dreams turning to storms.”

He paused, voice quiet.

“But your mother,” he said slowly. “Elena. She was the only one who could repel it. She wasn’t afraid. She knew something—how to anchor it, somehow. Only she ever dared stay close when everyone else ran.”

I blinked, my chest tightening. “My mother...?”

“She took an oath to protect me,” he continued. “As a friend to the former Queen. But it was more than that. She believed I wasn’t... damned.”

I watched him carefully. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried a fragile crack underneath.

“There’s more,” he added, staring up at the stars now. “The council—seven rulers from every corner of Alazne. They rule in secret, guide in silence. Your father, Lord Zephyrion of Eldermere. Your mother, Princess Elena of Lysmere. Former Phoenix King Rafael. King Mikhail of the sea. King Vaelion of Caelithar. Lord Eirik of Dravengarde—pirate lord, brute, and drunk—but a genius strategist. And Lord Cassius of Romea... now called the Bleeding Hallows.”

“But Elena and Cassius are gone,” he murmured. “They’ve been replaced. Queen Adrielle now stands for Lysmere. And in Cassius’ place—my master, Lord Commander Varric of the Night Watch. A man who taught me how to fight like a monster and think like a king.”

I stayed quiet, too stunned to interrupt.

Zagan went on.

“When King Vaelion married Queen Adrielle, he knew what she was. Not a fool, not mad. Just hungry. Hungry for magic. Hungry for power. Her late husband... he could speak to the dead. Her daughter, Circe, is rumored to dreamwalk and curse minds. And now she has Lysander—her son by Vaelion—who inherited her gift for mending and his father's legacy of boosters.”

I frowned. “Boosters?”

“A bloodline trait. Magic that strengthens and multiplies existing powers. Imagine healing that works three times faster. Fire that burns thrice as hot.”

He turned toward me then, finally. And his eyes—dark and storm-touched—looked older than his years.

“She saw me as a threat,” he said. “When my powers awakened, she spread rumors like wildfire. That I was dangerous. Unfit. Touched by death. At the same time... she whispered that the king—Vaelion—was going mad. Sick. Not fit to rule.”

“That's not true...”

“He made a plan,” he said simply.

Zagan stepped away, pacing slowly. His voice dropped to a low murmur.

“He knew people would turn on me. That she would try to claim the throne for her son. So, he disappeared. Left the palace in her hands. Let her think he was fading. Let the court mourn quietly. He knew it would embolden her. He let her grow overconfident.”

My heart raced. “So the rumors of him beddridden…will become death?”

“Officially. On Lysander’s coronation, Queen Adrielle will announce King Vaelion’s passing."

“And?”

“And that’s when we strike.”

Zagan looked back at me now. No longer hiding in the dark.

“He’s planning to return to the capital—with Phoenix King Lucian at his side—and reveal himself alive. Reveal what she’s done. The lies. The manipulation. All of it.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat was dry.

“He has loyal subjects inside the palace. He’s been preparing this for years. But he needed one thing first. Me. To accept my role.”

He looked away again. “I don't deserve the throne.”

A silence fell between us. Only the distant cheer and laughter remained. I saw the boy beneath the crown—the frost-covered boy who never asked to be feared. The prince forged in rumor. The heir torn between rage and duty.

“You speak and think like a king,” I whispered. “But what do you feel like, Zagan?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he stood in the dark—watching the fire, the people, the life that was never meant for someone like him.

I may want revenge. I may want him to be king. I knew it was selfish. I thought this was the right time to convince him. To stand with him. But now...

I understood. I understood why he didn’t want it.

I wanted to hug him. To comfort him. To hold him and say it was going to be okay.

But I couldn’t. I wasn’t his wife. I wasn’t his friend. I wasn’t his woman.

...Wait.

Am I really thinking about that right now?!

My face burned. Dirty thoughts flashed through my mind. His brooding look, his sharp jawline, that voice—oh gods.

He turned to me. "Rest, my lady. You’ve done more than enough. Your eyes are barely open."

He guided me with a gentle arm. I tried to protest.

"Not drunk, my lord," I said, my voice as lady-like as I could manage, though my legs betrayed me.

His lips quirked. I leaned into him more than I should. He brought me to my room, where exhaustion finally pulled me under.

But I felt it.

A soft touch on my cheek.

"I wanted you safe… yet, you’re too stubborn, as always," he whispered.

Always?

Were we... something, before?

Sleep claimed me. His breath lingered. Like eucalyptus and cinnamon. Warm, protective. Dangerous

----

The next day, preparations were underway.

We set off for the Bleeding Hallows.

Horses stampeded through the stone paths as soldiers donned iron and obsidian armor forged for the toxic air of the Hallows. Banners flew, dust lifted under thundering hooves. Men and women who believed in Zagan rode with us—stoic, loyal, and battle-worn.

I brewed a concoction of fireroot, dragon’s sage, and viper thistle to suppress the miasma. It steamed in glass flasks, carried in crates beside the fitted suits of enchanted armor. A fragile protection—but it would do.

When we arrived at the gates, the miasma curled like serpents, waiting.

After settling near the lake’s edge within the Bleeding Hallows, the sun dipped low. Soldiers unpacked, and Lucian’s troops spread out to form defensive lines.

I spotted Zagan near the water, silent again.

Of course.

I joined him. We could speak of the throne. He'll only think it was a curse, not a crown. For me, it was a second chance, a rightful reclaiming. 

He glared at me. I glared back. I couldn't say a word.

Silence. Tension. Unspoken words.

Then, a Celestian beast emerged—screaming through the fog, its wings like glass shards.

I jumped in front of the soldiers to release the concoction. It exploded—miasma cleared—but the beast struck the lake. I fell.

The water swallowed me. Cold. Blinding.

I surfaced, drenched.

The moonlight bathed the lake in silver, glinting off the rippling surface like scattered diamonds. My clothes clung to my body, soaked through from the ambush. The Celestians had struck fast—but not fast enough. Zagan had gotten to me just in time, dragging me out of the water with a grip so strong, so sure, I could barely breathe.

His arms were around me now, one locked behind my back as he pulled me to my feet. The moment should’ve been over, a quick rescue, a duty fulfilled.

But it wasn’t.

I found myself pressed against him—chest to chest, heart to heart. I gasped softly as I realized… my breast, soaked and sensitive, brushed against the bare part of his chest where his shirt had torn open from the fight. I could feel the pounding of his heartbeat. It echoed mine.

His body radiated heat, despite the coldness of the night. Our skin, slick and glistening from the water, shimmered under the pale moon. I watched a bead of water slide from his temple down his neck, and for a moment… I wanted to follow it with my mouth.

His hand lingered on my lower back. Firm. Possessive.

He didn’t let go.

We were so close. His face was right there—just inches from mine. His lips looked too good in the dark. Too soft for someone so feared. Too inviting for someone I shouldn’t even be looking at like this.

He was breathing fast.

I was breathing faster.

I could smell him—like rain, metal, and something else I couldn’t name. Something intoxicating. My lungs felt too small, too tight. I tilted my head back slightly, and he looked down at me—those eyes, dark and heavens all at once, like smoldering coals.

His gaze dropped to my lips.

I knew that look.

And I hated how much I wanted it.

For one suspended moment, everything stopped. The air between us pulsed, heavy and dangerous. If I leaned in just a little… If he closed the distance—

But he looked away first.

His jaw flexed, and he tore his hand away like my skin had burned him. Maybe it had.

“You’re reckless,” he muttered, voice like gravel.

“I’m alive,” I replied, the words barely escaping my lips.

He turned his face slightly, jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone. “It’s still mine to decide your fate… my prisoner.”

My prisoner.

The words shouldn’t thrill me. But gods, they did.

I stared at him, heart lurching in my chest. I wanted to scream, to push him, to pull him back in and ask why—why did he always come so close, only to retreat like he hadn’t almost kissed me?

But I saw it. In his eyes.

The war inside him.

He wanted me. Just as much as I wanted him.

And that terrified him.

It terrified me too.

Because I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not for him. Not for a man they once called a monster. Not when Lysander—sweet, loyal Lysander—still waited for me. I was promised to him. He was supposed to be my future.

But what if this was what I wanted?

Zagan’s silence roared louder than any confession. He hadn’t stepped away. Not yet. He hadn’t let himself speak the truth he was burying, but I could feel it.

He could feel me. I knew he could.

And I... I was falling. Every second, every stolen look, every breath we shared in the dark—it was pulling me in. Deeper. Unforgiving.

I wasn't his wife. I wasn’t his friend. I wasn’t even his woman.

But gods help me… I wanted to be.

Third Person POV.

Elsewhere, Lucian fought on bloodied soil.

Steel clashed. Human Celestians, creatures with human skin and burning eyes, screamed accusations.

"You betrayed us!"

Lucian stood calm. Sword dripping. Eyes hard.

"We had a deal. You’re protected in Valtara. Not outside."

One growled. "You shelter her. She’s a threat!"

Lucian narrowed his eyes. "I never agreed to protect you from others. The deal was peace inside Valtara. And Thalia? Her safety is worth more than all your lives."

His voice rang like steel. "She will be my queen."

Their roars echoed.