The snow had cleared, and the surface of Mirror Lake still glowed with the embers of lingering flames. With the Flame-Blood Alliance oath sealed, the royal capital appeared as calm as ever on the surface. Yet the new vow had barely cooled when the old alliance began to crack.
Beyond the Flame Oath, a secret letter emerged within the Silver Oath Knight Order. Written in the archaic script of the Bone Rift, it accused Illya—the foremost female general under the flames—of privately releasing a remnant of the Cinder Wraiths during the Battle of the Broken Tower, suspected of colluding with the "Crescent Rift."
The letter sent shockwaves through the court, leaving ministers uproarious.
Aveline summoned Illya to the Fire Hall, her expression grave: "This letter… do you know who wrote it?"
Illya knelt, sword in hand: "I stand unashamed before royal blood, nor do I consort with dark spirits. If this is slander, I vow to shatter my Flame Oath and let my soul burn in purgatory."
Lucian stood in the shadow of the side hall, silent, his gaze fixed on the silver blade she never left behind.
Aveline dismissed her attendants, leaving only Illya and Lucian to face each other.
"I believe you," Aveline finally spoke, "but between 'letters' and 'truth,' there is sometimes a layer of ashes."
She rose, stepping closer to Illya: "Will you swear a sub-oath for me—let your soul seal remain, carved by Lucian's hand?"
Illya lifted her eyes, barely hesitating: "I will."
Lucian pressed a silver soul-ember ring into her palm as the flame array activated. Aveline ignited the oath seal in her palm; silver light pierced Illya's body. She gritted through the pain, her back straightening sharply as cold sweat dripped.
Word by word, she declared: "With the Flame Oath upon me, if I defy the royal command, let fire scorch my soul."
When the oath fell, silence filled the hall. Aveline patted her shoulder gently: "You never disappoint me."
But in the moment Illya bowed her head, a faint, unreadable smile flickered across her lips.
Flame of Longing Entwines the Heart
Late that night, in the west palace chamber, Aveline sat alone before the flame mirror, staring at a sliver of silver-gray in the firelight—the trace of the oath seal.
Lucian pushed open the door, finding her expression hollow, still in her day clothes, hair unbound.
"You don't trust her?" He stepped behind her, palm resting on her shoulder.
She said flatly: "I trust her, but not completely."
Lucian leaned to whisper in her ear: "Do you want absolute loyalty… or absolute obedience?"
She turned to him, flames in her eyes deep as an abyss: "Which can you give me?"
He didn't answer, lifting her from the seat and pressing her back onto the firelit couch. Her gasp was cut short as she sank into silk pillows; firelight caught her half-open ,her collarbone glowing.
"Lucian… I'm not a woman you can easily tame." She breathed, though familiar hunger flared in her gaze.
"I know," he kissed her neck, "so I'll take it slow—make you surrender inch by inch."
His tongue traced from her ear to her chest; his hand slid beneath her skirt, gently kneading the soft flesh of her thigh.
Her nails dug into the fire-embroidered bedding. She trembled as he stripped her bare, laying her on crimson velvet. He bent to suck her nipple, licking and teasing until her moans rose, his fingers sliding inside to draw wet sounds with each thrust.
"Tonight, you're mine—even that ruling heart of yours." He said.
But she flipped him beneath her the next moment, lowering herself onto his rigid heat, gasping: "You'll never conquer me… unless I want to be conquered."
She sank slowly, taking him inch by inch, the stretch and fullness making her whimper. Then she set the pace, riding him like a ruler.
Lucian threw his head back, driven wild by her tightness and control. He gripped her waist, thrusting faster, legs locking around her hips to make her sink deeper,
When climax hit, Aveline trembled, crying out. He held her close, still thrusting as he whispered:
"You are the king—but I am your only fire."
They merged in the flames, souls falling like ashes, yet kindling a hotter, unyielding obsession.
After the Storm
By morning, Silver Oath knights traced the letter to an elder minister in the "Heavenly Fire Council," who'd hanged himself the night the letter surfaced.
Illya was cleared of suspicion, but Lucian kept watching the "smile" in that midnight oath.
"She's too clean—too unmarked for someone who survived war." He told Aveline.
Aveline stared at the morning light, her gaze sharp: "You doubt her?"
"I doubt everyone," he said, "except you."
She turned, a faint smile tugging her lips: "Good—we dance on flames. We shouldn't fear getting burned first."