The palace was quiet now.
Not peaceful — no. Peace was for innocent kingdoms.
This quiet was heavy. Suspended.
Like the world was holding its breath before someone shattered it.
Ariana sat on the edge of the royal bath, her bare feet dipped in the steaming water, her gown half-undone, damp with blood, smoke, and rain.
Her crown — the one the rebels had just bowed to — lay beside her, forgotten.
The war was paused.
But the battle inside her?
Still burning.
Damian found her there, silent in the candlelit shadows.
He didn't speak at first.
Just stood in the doorway, watching her — the rise and fall of her shoulders, the way the moonlight caught the gold in her eyes, the small twitch in her fingers as though she were trying not to cry.
She looked like a goddess after war.
Beautiful.
Exhausted.
Unreachable.
"I didn't think you'd come," she said softly.
"I told myself I wouldn't."
"But?"
"I always do."
He walked toward her slowly, every step echoing louder than the last.
Ariana didn't move.
She let him stand beside her, close enough to feel the heat of his body, close enough to remember how he used to kiss her without guilt or hesitation.
"Do you hate me?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she whispered, "You hurt me. That's worse."
He sank to his knees in front of her.
"I wanted to protect you," he said. "But I ended up protecting the wrong things."
"The crown?"
"My pride."
Her fingers touched his jaw — gently, so gently, like she was afraid he'd disappear.
"You let me think I was alone," she said. "And when I begged you to choose me… you hesitated."
"I didn't know how to love something that scared me."
A pause.
Then—
"You still scare me."
Their faces were inches apart.
The bath steamed around them. His armor was gone. Her breath hitched.
And then…
He kissed her.
Not like before — not possessive. Not dominant.
But slow.
Soft.
Regretful.
His lips tasted like ash and apologies.
Like everything they could've been. Everything they never got to be.
And when she kissed him back…
She knew she would hate herself for it.
When they pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers.
"I love you," he whispered.
She froze.
Tears gathered in her lashes.
"And I hate that I still love you too," she breathed.
Then she stood, walked away, and left him on his knees.
Because even queens can't always survive the people they love.