Rain lashed the valley like a tantrum from the gods. Soldiers marched in formation, their boots pounding mud as they approached the abandoned watchtower.
Prince Cassian rode at the front, cloaked in black, jaw set like carved marble. His mood? A thunderstorm bottled into a man.
"Fan out!" he barked. "The traitor's hiding with her. Bring me the Princess. Kill the peasant if he resists."
Inside, Elara's head shot up from Arian's chest.
"They're here."
He kissed her forehead. "Let them come."
She smirked. "That's my line."
The "Rescue" Plan (Which Wasn't Supposed to Involve Swords)
Lina was supposed to arrive first, waving a fake bandit flag and pretending to "rescue" the princess with dramatic flair, giving them both an excuse to re-enter the palace without suspicion.
Instead, Cassian beat her to it—with an army.
Arian dressed quickly, sword in hand, eyes burning.
"No," Elara said, standing in just his shirt, hair wild from last night's kisses. "We're not fighting them. We're outwitting them."
"Oh good," Lina said from the window, having just climbed in through it like an overenthusiastic squirrel. "Because I brought costumes, not weapons."
The Great Rescue-Fakeout-Fiasco
When the guards burst through the tower doors, they were greeted by the sight of:
Arian shirtless, leaning over a map like a war general.
Elara in nothing but one of Arian's shirts and defiance.
Lina dramatically wailing, "Thank the saints, I've found her! She's been taken by lust and liberty!"
Cassian shoved past everyone. "Elara. You're coming home. Now."
She tilted her head. "Why? Afraid the people might find out I have more chemistry with a carpenter than with the royal scarecrow?"
Arian chuckled. "That's generous to scarecrows."
Cassian growled. "I'll have you executed for treason."
Arian stepped forward. "You'll have to get through me."
The two men squared off.
Chest to chest.
Storm against fire.
"You think she loves you?" Cassian hissed. "You have nothing. No crown. No name."
Arian smiled. "But I have her. And she's worth more than every throne in the world."
The Queen's soldiers hesitated.
Because that sounded a lot like a line from a romance novel—and even hardened knights couldn't deny it was kind of hot.
Cassian turned to Elara. "You want to be with him? Fine. Then you'll never sit on a throne again."
"I never wanted your throne," she said coldly. "But I will take your crown if you push me."
Back at the Palace…
The Queen sat in the war room, sipping wine and watching the drama unfold through her crystal spy orb (which Lina may or may not have installed as a joke that accidentally worked).
"She's changed," the Queen murmured.
"She's becoming powerful," said the court advisor.
"She's becoming me," the Queen whispered with a smirk.
The Public Scandal of the Year
The next morning, Elara made a royal declaration.
On the palace balcony.
In Arian's shirt.
Hair messy, lips still swollen from last night, eyes blazing like a queen in the making.
"My name is Princess Elara of Alveria," she declared, voice echoing across the courtyard. "And I will not marry for politics. I will not be pawned, traded, or silenced."
Gasps. Cheers. A swooning baroness.
"I am in love," Elara said. "With a man who makes me laugh, who lets me fight, and who kisses me like I'm made of stars."
The people erupted.
Some fainted. Some wept. Some started painting murals on the spot.
Inside, the Queen raised a brow. "Dramatic. Bold. Possibly insane."
Lina nodded. "That's our girl."
That Night… in the Royal Guest Quarters
Elara wasn't technically allowed back in the royal wing. So Arian's "guest" suite had become their shared den of sin and strategy.
They lay tangled in sheets, candlelight flickering across bare skin, wine on the table, and Lina's emergency exit plan pinned to the headboard.
"She kissed you like a queen," Arian whispered.
"She kissed me?" Elara laughed.
"You know what I mean." He kissed her neck, her jaw, her collarbone. "You could start wars with your mouth."
"Or end them," she purred.
They made love again, slower this time. Sweet and soft. Her body was his temple, and he worshipped. She moaned his name like a secret. He whispered hers like a vow.
When it was over, they stayed tangled in each other, bare and blissed and utterly fearless.
Elsewhere… A Storm Gathers
Cassian wasn't gone.
He was planning.
Scheming.
Smiling in the dark with a letter from his father—the King of Westerholt—in hand.
"If she won't marry me," he said softly, "I'll invade her."
He turned to the shadowy man beside him.
"Ready the ships."