Night fell heavy over Ice-Flame Citadel. Above the royal palace, a crimson moon hung high, casting the sky in a fiery blood-red glow.
Two days after the battle, snow still fell unceasingly in the Northern Realm, yet a different kind of heat smoldered quietly within the royal city. The feast had ended, nobles returned to their chambers, and only silent night watchmen and one lingering man remained beneath the throne.
When Lucian pushed open the bedroom door, a faint scent of incense lingered in the air—it was Evelyn's usual fragrance, a blend of snow lotus and flame feathers, as if it could pierce flesh and bone to reach the very soul.
She stood by the window, draped in a scarlet robe, her waistline faintly visible, her eyes dark as night.
"You're back."
"You knew I would return." Lucian removed his armor, the weariness in his brows instantly recognized by her gaze.
Evelyn did not turn, only asked softly: "What are you hesitating about?"
He fell silent for a moment, stepped closer, and pressed a light kiss to the faint flame scar on her neck: "Wondering if I've already… passed the point of no return."
She finally turned, placing her palm against his chest, her voice so low it was nearly a whisper: "Then let us fall together."
Their lips met, and heat spread through the air.
Evelyn reached back to tear open his outer robe, her fingers trailing over every scar on his skin, as if confirming that every mark of battle still lingered within him. Lucian let out a low growl, lifting her horizontally onto the bed. Flaming curtains fell from above, shielding the stars and the world beyond.
Lips and tongues tangled, fingers and nails interlocked, clothing scattered like feathers layer by layer. Her gasps grew heavier beneath him, her back arching slightly as his kisses moved from her collarbone, to her chest, to her waist, and lower.
"Lucian…" she murmured, her voice nearly breaking, yet still refusing to retreat.
He knelt before her, his tongue brushing her most sensitive spot. She sucked in a sharp breath, her body trembling, nails digging into his shoulder.
"You know you shouldn't…," she gasped.
"I want to." he whispered, his lips and tongue teasing with a hint of punishment.
Soon, words failed her, leaving only soft whimpers and moans.
The bed shook, flamesilk slid away, legs intertwined, and the night grew darker still.
They clung to each other like stars fated to burn out, until the last trace of reason was devoured by the flames.
After midnight, they lay naked in each other's arms, Lucian's fingers tracing the flame patterns on her back.
"Tomorrow—will you still be a king?" he asked softly.
Evelyn closed her eyes, her voice low but steady: "I am no longer the Snow-Flame King. I am the woman who will burn the gods to ashes."
He fell silent for a moment, then lifted her chin and kissed her: "Then I am the sword that walks beside you."
—
At dawn, the whistle of a windrider's messenger pigeon echoed from afar—the envoys of the Cracked Moon King had reached the Northern Realm, and with them came the first chapter of the true upheaval in the divine temple.
The flame pact was sealed. Kings would fracture. The war against the gods was about to ignite in full.